by Ivy M. Jones
The knowledge was still there... All those years in school taught me lots of tools to aid in my search for Zach. I've always had a knack for computers, but a degree in computer science with a focus in network security pushed my search in new directions. I spent less time on the phone pretending to be his sister and more time online, pretending to be him.
A job working as a bank teller taught me how to track money through the internet, trying to find something that would point me in his direction.
Nothing ever did.
With his new identity, it occurs to me that nothing ever would have. Zachary Miles Coffield was dead and gone, permanently replaced with his new, super-famous alter-ego, Zachary Moore of Dark Fire. Buying that identity would have been nothing at all.
At some point, he would have needed to purchase a new social security number, but enough money would have done that. And enough money on top of that would have kept the entire thing anonymous. The hacker in me wonders what kind of money it would take to do that, but in a big city full of all kinds of illegal activity, I'm guessing it wasn't toughing finding someone to supply a new identity.
I skim my finger over the edge of my e-reader, the only computer I allowed myself on my move, other than my iphone. My past is past, I want to assure myself, but I know that's not completely true.
My new job is a testament to all the hours I put in trying to find Zach. As a "network security analyst" for Dewar Data, all the work I did to find the love of my life is finally paying off, just...as a career instead of success in my search. Basically? I am a hacker for hire, going legit. Companies would much rather have me on payroll, keeping my peers out, than have me on the outside, trying to get in.
I fall down onto my bed, curling my hands under my pillow. Like my mattress and sheets, the pillow smells new. My new start has ended abruptly less than forty-eight hours after it began. Late as it is, I flip off the light beside my bed, kick my shoes off, pull the blanket over my body, and curl into a ball. I just don't want to think about it anymore.
The world is cruel.
Lucy tries her best to make me feel better. We spend lunch on Sunday drinking margaritas and eating bottomless chips at the Mexican place a few blocks from our apartment. After posing the question to Lucy, I learn that, in New York City, everything you're looking for is within a few blocks.
Which is a good thing since one: I don't have a car. And two: there isn't any place to put a car unless I want to pay major bucks. Our apartment doesn't even have a place to put a car. It's not nice enough to warrant that. Consequently, Lucy shows me how to ride the subway train to work. We buy a pass and weave our way home, still tipsy on tequila and triple-sec.
By the time the booze is wearing off, Lucy and I are crashing on the couch in our minuscule living room in front of mindless TV until we doze off. My iPhone in my pocket wakes me the next morning and I start my life.
Granted, it's a few days later than I intended, the whole episode with finding Zach delaying it a little bit, but hey... I'm a new girl with a new life. Which I am not going to sully with the memory of a guy who broke my heart not once, but twice now. Nor am I going to risk my new job with my old habit of hacking.
I don't need to anyway.
I've found him.
Bastard.
I get into a rhythm quickly. My job is a whole lot of boring, but after a life of living on the edge, I'm all right with the change. Logging into my computer each morning doesn't bring the adrenaline rush of wondering if this is the time I'll hear sirens in my driveway. I'm actually sick of that rush. I usually ended up feeling sick to my stomach for an hour when I was hacking, and then... depression as I went yet another day without finding anything.
Of course, I also honed my skills in my off-hours doing contract work. I raked in extra cash checking surveillance footage for companies who didn't want to wade through weeks of data to find someone who may or may not have been scooping change from the Pepsi machine. I pocketed more than a few paychecks looking for hidden credit cards or savings accounts opened by cheating spouses. And I spent time scouring and embedding code to send pings to my machine if anyone ran a search for one of my clients... The money helped pay for better bandwidth in the college apartment I shared with two tech-stupid cheerleaders, faster processor upgrades, and a lot of coffee.
So corporate "security analysis" is a nice change. I sip a lot of really good - yet free - office coffee while fielding assignments in my inbox. I spend lunches meeting up with Lucy, who works a few blocks away. We generally meet at one of the thousands of little places between her office and mine, spend an hour rehashing the middle school drama that seems to play out in each of our offices, and then return to said drama to finish out the day.
Our evenings become routine, too, in their lack of routine. Lucy seems fixed on showing me everything New York City has to offer each evening. As we are well into November, the sky is getting darker earlier and earlier. The City compensates by lighting up earlier and earlier, the Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations replacing those from Halloween. It's never actually dark outside and I have to spend some of my yet-to-come paycheck on room-darkening curtains. Small town living does not lend itself well to the change in environment I've taken on.
By my first Thursday in the City, I've gotten my first good night's rest with the black-out curtains, but Lucy starts acting odd around lunch. By Friday, she's downright weird. When I call her on it, she just says it was something she saw at work and she doesn't want to bring me into it.
After putting up with me and my crazy through four years of college, I figure I owe it to her not to make a big deal about it, so I let it go. I knew her well enough to know that she'll give me a heads-up when she's ready to talk.
On Saturday, we go to celebrate my first full week of employment with dinner at a Greek place one of my co-workers recommended. We're walking outside when a group of six women nearly mows us down trying to get into the club down the street. One of them is hopping up and down like a crazy person, her youthful looks nearly obscured by all the makeup she has caked on her face. She has to be in high school, but the makeup doesn't make her look any older- just more like a streetwalker.
I wonder about the large group of women gathering at the door when I hear a whisper and feel the breath leave me. Dark Fire. They are playing inside, at a place called Kermit's. The women are going insane, pushing at the door where a bouncer has stationed himself, checking IDs.
I watched as the girl and her friends make it through, the bouncer tagging their hands with black marker Xs. Bingo- just kids. I'm in line when the bouncer asks me for my ID. Without a word, I hand it over, wait patiently until he puts it back in my hand, and then slide it back into my wallet where I pull out cash for cover.
I'm inside, pressed tight against the back wall, Lucy standing next to me, before I realize where I am.
How did I get here?
I watch the band come out from behind the curtains to deafening cheers. They play through a set and I'm actually enjoying myself until a pair of ridiculously tiny red panties catch on the edge of Zach's keyboard stand.
Fans throwing panties on the stage is nothing new to him and I'm not going to be the thing in his life that changes that. I remember what he said: "I wouldn't let you get involved then and I won't let you get involved now."
Why am I even here?
He didn't want me involved. Panty-throwing fans are a dime a dozen. Why would he even want me?
I was so sure it would be easy to avoid him in a city this big. But in the end, fate wanted to fuck with me again, it seems.
Well, fuck you, Fate. I snag Lucy's hand as Griffin stuffs the panties in his pocket. I pull and the crowd parts enough to let us pass through. We finally make it out the door, the cold air smacking us in the face, and I let out the breath I've been holding.
"I'm sorry," Lucy says, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. "There's something I need to show you."
As we begin to walk back to our apartment i
n silence - a distance I would later learn is best traversed in a cab - I watch her fiddle with her phone until she manages to get a YouTube video playing, at which point she pulls us against a brick building to stop, removing us from foot traffic.
My jaw drops when I see the screen. Someone recorded the show at The Tap, editing it to the time when I called Zach a lying son of a bitch. My march to the stage and our kiss is posted on YouTube for everyone to see. Luckily, it was pretty dark in The Tap- no one could possibly know it was me.
When the scene ends, Lucy scrolls down to the comments section, bypassing so many that it becomes obvious she's looking for something specific. Finally, she stops, holding the screen out to me. It's a comment string, beginning with someone hypothesizing on who the redhead in the video is. I keep reading until I get to a comment posted by MoreZMan.
"If it was serious, we would have seen her again. Since we haven't, it's pretty much proof that she's nobody special."
"This is what I was upset about on Thursday. My friend, Alice, emailed me the link because she knows I went to that show. She asked if I knew who it was. I said I had no idea, then I checked the YouTube user info for MoreZMan. It's registered to a gmail account, but the account was set up to forward emails to an address at Zach's PR firm." Lucy isn't quite the security analyst that I am, but she's picked up a few tricks from me. She would know.
"It's him, babe," she says, her face sad.
I cringe. Was he calling me a nobody? Figures. I've been out of his life so long, he really did move on. And I am nobody special- if I were, he would have asked for a number or something. He basically told me he doesn't exist anymore, so what else am I supposed to do?
I was the one to walk away from him at The Tap, true. But what was the alternative? I'm a part of a past he no longer has.
In a huff, I stomp the rest of the way back to the apartment - too many blocks. When the front door won't open easily, I resolve to begin looking for a new place for us. With a steady paycheck and a current lease that goes month-to-month, getting my ass to another part of town is beginning to look like the best plan.
I need to be farther from Zach so that it isn't possible to run into him ever again.
Also, I'm not thrilled with the idea of getting an update on my tetanus shot.
Zach
Unless there is a crisis in progress, the days go by too slowly and I start to wonder if I'm losing my mind. Sunday, a text goes out letting us know that Justin is busy helping Andy move. I spend the time sucking down my favorite vintage root beer and kicking Cy's ass in every video game we own.
Monday, we get a call to show at Justin's on a 911 text. Someone got a pic of Andy and Justin coming out of a baby store. Worried about the fallout, we meet to discuss how to spin the baby angle.
Juliana opens the door for me dressed in a black suit with a skirt, her hair up in some kind of twist, and some really kickass shoes in weird pink color. When she opens the door to Justin's apartment, I notice she has her fingers in front of her mouth, telling me silently to keep my mouth shut for whatever reason. It isn't until I come into the living room and see Andy curled up and crashed out on Justin's lap that I understood why. Once everyone is there, a quiet conversation begins.
"I don't like what they're probably already saying about Andy," Justin sighs. "I don't like that they have that kind of access, those types of incriminating pictures... Hell, I can't even discretely scratch my ass in this town without someone putting it on some tabloid cover. Rockstar Fondles himself! Honest to god, it's exhausting."
Juliana tilts her hip. "You knew the media would be frustrating and tiresome. It's part of the rockstar package and our office never would have lied to you if you expressed concerns like needing privacy when you signed your contract. It's my job to separate the media from their story when we don't like the story."
"Justin, you just have to give them something they want. If you don't tell them the details, they'll make them up." Cy sips from a bottle of water and lets his legs swing around as he sits in a chair I've never seen before in Justin's apartment. Since Andy just moved in, it's likely that it's hers. Whatever. Cy is enjoying the three hundred and sixty degrees of flailing he's doing... All while drinking his bottled water.
He goes on to say, "Give her a story and she can spin this to our advantage, Justin. You just have to let her do her job."
"Not if it's going to hurt Andy," Justin bites back, his voice breathy and low so that we can hear him getting angry even though he never raises his voice.
Juliana tries to explain. "I understand you want to protect your girlfriend-"
But Justin cuts her off, dropping a huge bomb on us all when he simply inserts "Fiancée."
I'm not sure what to say at first, and no one else seems to know either, so we all just wait for the shock to wear off. Incidentally, Griffin is the first one to open his mouth, which is probably better than me talking first. God only knows how my insights will do anything to help.
"You sure about this, Jus? She seems alright... A little territorial about her food, but nice enough. But hell man, you barely know her."
There really isn't any reason to dislike Andy, but seriously? The dude barely knows her. Griffin is right about that.
"Doesn't really matter how long I've known her," Justin explains. "I fell for her after about ten seconds. Beyond that? It's all been a bonus."
After everything I've been through with Sarah, knowing that Justin has this thing, this perfect thing with Andy, makes me a little jealous. I open my mouth and speak, which turns out to be a terrible idea. "Love at first sight, man? That's almost too cheesy for lyrics."
There's quiet, and then, "I don't want to hear shit from you about love, Moore. You've been lying about that girl back home for years. You want me to start taking you seriously? Go find your Night of Dreams girl and make it right. Until then, you don't get to talk to me about being in love."
He could have hit me. It might have hurt less. And true, I let my jealousy get the better of me and I never should have opened my mouth... But before I have a chance to say anything, Andy rolls a little until she can look into Justin's eyes to ask him, "You love me?"
I can barely hear Justin say more than "God yes, pussycat..." Everything else is muffled noise against her temple, but I still feel like a deviant just overheard that much between them. Like I'd been walking past someone's window and see them kick off their pants.
Their little quiet conversation goes on for another minute before Justin clears his throat and, in a much louder voice, looks over his shoulder at Juliana to say, "I need to get before a JP as soon as possible. Andy said she'd marry me and I'm not about to let the love of my life get away. I love her. Spin that, Miss Rhodes."
"You love him?" Juliana asks, her fingers playing with the charm on her necklace.
"Yes. Oh! But only for his money," Andy adds. I hold my breath, praying that this isn't about to spiral into a disaster seconds after he's said 'I love you'.
"If he ends up one of those class-reunion-memorial-band jackasses, I'm outta here. I'm only in this for the fancy dishware," Andy says, nodding sagely.
Is this the end? If Andy has him wound too far around his finger, this could break him, especially after the loss of Tyler.
Then Justin lets out a hysterical crow of laughter and they both proceed to chortle and hoot so hard so hard, I worry they'll fall off the couch. They're in tears when they realize we're all staring at them in open-mouthed astonishment.
"I'm fucking with you all," Andy murmurs, smushing her face into Justin's chest.
There's quiet again and then Cy finally says, "Well shit, Justin. She has your sense of humor. I guess you better keep her. No one else understands your fucked-up brand of comedy. Put a ring on it, stat."
We watch Cy introduce Juliana to Andy, at which point Juliana explains that she's there in William Martin's stead because Mr. Martin's wife is in the hospital. After pleasantries, Juliana gets right back to her job, pushing Justin for somet
hing to give to the press. We sit through Justin's story, some of us getting info we haven't gotten yet about their meet-cute and Juliana begs him to let her spin the story like Justin stepped in to save Andy from her monster of a father. Justin isn't interested; he just wants everyone to know that Andy is the love of his life.
In the end, Justin goes with both options. Juliana leaves with two press releases to write and, after checking her schedule, asks the rest of the band to come in Thursday to input personal notes for the releases. We all agree. I don't have any reason not to help. The guy is one of my best friends, after all.
And it's only getting more and more obvious that he and Andy are soul mates.
Cy waves me off and I take a cab home, pulling my hat down low so that I won't be recognized. I order take-out and have it delivered to the security desk (one of the benefits of our apartment). I eat my hoagie, drink my rootbeer, and sit down at with Cy's laptop because I have nothing else to do and wiping the floor with teenagers with a digital AK47 holds no appeal.
I toss myself onto my bed, leaning against the bed frame and open the laptop on the comforter in front of me. Cy lets me use his computer a lot, but he's got all the administrator settings, so when I log in as myself, there's an email in my inbox notifying me that someone remotely tried to access my email account. I delete the account and send an email from my personal account to Will Martin's office telling them about it. Half an hour later, the office sends back a response that I did the right thing by notifying them. Fans can make a shit ton of trouble if they get into my stuff and started posting as me.
Another twenty minutes later, an email comes through asking me if I personally made a comment on YouTube, or if it might have been whoever got into my account. I respond that it was me, but something makes me click the link they sent, sending me back to the two-minute video where I watched myself make out with Sarah at The Tap. Will Martin's office found it initially, sending it to me so I was aware it existed. I only posted because I needed to reaffirm for myself that Sarah is no longer a part of my life.