Incite

by Heather Leigh

  GQ: Would you tell us who she is? I’m sure our readers want to know who is the woman that inspired that song, what she’s like.

  AR: No. I’m not going to do that to her. You know full well what would happen if I gave you her name. She knows who she is. Well, I think she knows. I haven’t spoken to her in years, so I haven’t a clue.

  GQ: Well, if she’s heard the song, I’m sure she knows what it’s about.

  AR: Yeah, probably.

  ‘The song is about what happened instead of what should have been’. I read that line over and over, trying to make sense of how we went so wrong when it seemed like we were so right for each other.

  I have no idea how long I sit on the ground, but it’s long enough for my arse to go numb by the time someone shows up to open the club.

  “Excuse me? Can I help you?”

  I jerk up and slowly stand on my shaky legs. “Yes, please. Oh!” I stop short when I see who I’m speaking to, “you’re Dax’s brother.”

  The large man’s eyes narrow and his lips mash together in a tight line. “I don’t talk about Dax to fans,” he snaps. He turns his wide back to me and goes about unlocking the front door of the building.

  “No.” I grab his massive bicep to keep him from leaving. The dark look he shoots me would make most people whimper and run away, but I have the power of desperation to make me brave. This is my absolute last chance at finding happiness.

  “Don’t you remember me? I’m one of Dax’s friends from sixth form. You and I used to hang out at the DK together sometimes while the guys played their set. Shaun, right?” I pray that Dax’s brother hasn’t taken so many hits to the head in the ring that he can’t remember me and the time we spent together.

  He pauses, his hand on the key in the lock. His intelligent eyes scan me one more time, searching his memory for those nights so long ago. “Ellie?” he asks, his forehead scrunched down in bewilderment.

  I let out the huge breath I had been holding and smile. “Yes, I’m Ellie Palmer. You remember.”

  Shaun grins and pulls me into his strong embrace, hugging me to his chest. “Of course I remember you, but I’m Liam. Shaun is off tonight.” His deep laugh rumbles against my cheek as he presses me harder into his body before releasing me.

  My cheeks heat up at the mistake. “Well, you are identical so you’ll have to forgive me the mix-up. It must happen all the time.” I attempt a joke to hide my humiliation.

  “No one really does it anymore.” I can tell I must be giving him a strange look because he explains with a chuckle, “Shaun shaves his head now, has for years.”

  Oh, that would be the reason. The man in front of me has a full head of sandy brown hair. “Gotcha,” I say with a pitiful pout.

  “You’re just as cute as I remember,” Liam states as he finishes unlocking the doors and flips on the fluorescent lights. “C’mon, I need to get everything started up before the fighters get here.” He flashes me a brilliant smile and welcomes me inside.

  I follow him into the large warehouse-like space, the musty smell of sweat socks and concrete dust stings my nostrils. The room is cavernous, nothing occupying the huge area except for a raised boxing ring in the center and foldout bleachers that have been pushed off to either side.

  Adam brought me here, but only once and only because Dax needed to stop by after band practice. They didn’t think that I should be exposed to the dirty underground world that Dax’s family exists in.

  I’m grateful that I paid attention that night as we walked through the dingy streets to what appeared to be an abandoned building. I can see that I was right, the windows are all painted black, probably so no one can see the lights on at night. To anyone passing, the old factory would be a place to avoid, especially after dark.

  “Does your dad still own this property?” I ask Liam.

  “Yeah, he does. Has to pay the taxes on it, but it’s better than having a developer buy it and tear it down. Then we’d have nowhere to fight.” He crosses the space to a small office along the far wall. “Have to pay off a few coppers to keep it open as well, but that’s just business.” Liam shrugs as if bribing the police is something you do everyday like walking the dog or buying milk. “Dax tried to talk us into giving it up, taking his money and doing something else, but it didn’t feel right. Plus, we enjoy it, it’s all we know,” he explains.

  “Oh.” I start biting my thumbnail again, my stomach churning with acid.

  “El? You alright?”

  I look up and see Liam frowning, the stack of papers in his large hands forgotten as he fixes his molten brown eyes on mine.

  I yank my thumb out of my mouth and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I-I’m fine,” I can hardly speak from the nerves. “I just really need to reach Dax so I can talk to Adam and…” Crap. I use the sleeve of my T-shirt to wipe the tears from my eyes and sniff. “Sorry.”

  Liam clenches his square jaw and nods stiffly. “Let me get that number for you.” He unlocks a drawer in an old battered file cabinet and pulls out a deteriorating spiral notebook. I can’t help the nervous giggle that bursts from my throat at the sight of it.

  “What?” he asks innocently, clearly amused by my reaction. “I don’t want to keep his number in my phone in case it’s stolen. I mean, it’s in my phone somewhere in a protected file, but I can’t ever remember the bloody code to get into it. Shaun put it there and…”

  I can’t stop laughing, having to cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the sound. “Sorry, Liam. Really, I am. It’s just… you… and the notebook… and the password… and you’re so huge and scary…” the giggles take over again and I drop into a rickety chair and sigh when they finally subside.

  “Better?” He’s standing in front of me and leaning back on his desk, clearly amused by my laughter.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m just so tired and sad all the time.” What is it about Liam Davies that makes me want to spill my guts?

  “Well, here’s his number. No selling it on the internet,” he jokes. I take the scrap of paper that he offers and immediately put the number into my cellphone and tuck the slip into my pocket.

  “In case I lose the paper. Wouldn’t want to bother you again.” The prickly heat of a blush fills my cheeks. I really do lose all control over my verbal filter around Dax’s kind brother.

  “Ellie, it’s no bother when it’s for you.” He pushes off of the desk and holds out a hand. “I’ll call you a cab and walk you out, okay?”

  Smiling, I accept his offer and thread my fingers through his, taking comfort in the warmth of his large hand. “Thanks Liam. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

  We wait just outside for the cab and when it shows up, Liam pulls me in for another hug lowering his head so I can hear him. “El, I’ve heard the songs. I’ve talked to my brother. Hell, I’ve even been to L.A. to visit the band. Call Adam, he needs you. He’s just as miserable as you if not more.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and squeeze Liam one last time before releasing him and stepping back. He lifts his hand to my face and swipes a stray tear away with his thumb.

  “Go… be happy.” A grin takes over his normally serious face and his eyes light up with satisfaction. “Just remember me when you’re making the guest list for your wedding,” he calls out as I open the door to the cab.

  Grinning, I call back. “I won’t forget, Liam. That’s one thing I can’t ever seem to do.” I slide across the tattered back seat and pull the door closed. As the cab pulls away and I watch the derelict old buildings pass by, I think that maybe Hackney isn’t such a bad area after all.

  chapter 39

  Adam

  This is the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some insane shit. The tabloids managed to catch me doing most of it so they could print it up for the entire world to see. Every fuck up documented. Not this time, though. Dax’s assistant, Zane, managed to set this up without a single reporter catching on.

  “This way
, Adam.” He gestures toward an alcove. “We don’t want the airport paparazzi to see you.” Zane takes my elbow as we leave our plane and walk across the terminal until we’re standing in front of an unmarked door in the tiny alcove that wasn’t visible from the main area. “3-3-4-2,” he mutters as he punches in a code that unlocks the door.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “Staff rooms,” he answers curtly. “We’re getting a backstage tour to baggage claim so we don’t have to pass through the rabid pack of photographers.”

  Heathrow is widely known to have a permanent, and quite aggressive, contingent of paparazzi. They lie in wait at the end of the secure area and pounce on any face they recognize as they emerge, exhausted, jet-lagged, and looking like crap. I’ve been the victim of their attentions before, and it’s not fun. Plus, I still have a massive bruise on my face from where that fucker Forrester decked me for kissing Sydney. I deserved it, so I didn’t hit back, but God it was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. I wanted to unleash on that bastard.

  “Great, how come we’ve never done this before?” I ask grumpily.

  Zane rolls his eyes as if the answer is obvious. “Because you’ve always been coming here for a tour or a promotion. You want to get snapped by the paparazzi when you’re on a working trip. It’s all part of the game to sell albums.”

  Of course. How stupid of me to not realize that I should be pimping myself out at all times. Certainly those are Ross’ words. He loves it when we show up in the red tops, embarrassing or not, it makes no difference to him.

  The door opens behind us and an airport employee enters with a baggage cart. “Here are your bags, Mr. Reynolds, Mr. Bailey.” He holds out his hand to introduce himself. “I’m Stu Bennett, if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you out of here and in your car in a jiffy.”

  Stu starts off down a long hallway, pulling our luggage along. Zane and I obediently follow through several turns until we reach another door.

  “This leads to the main terminal for international arrivals. You’ll be meeting your party here.” He turns to Zane, “Have you contacted your driver?”

  Zane looks up from his phone where he’s been rapidly texting since we landed. “Yes, our driver is here waiting.”

  “Okay, do you want to go out first so Mr. Reynolds doesn’t have to spend time in the terminal looking for your friend?” Stu asks.

  Zane shifts his eyes to me, silently asking me what I want to do.

  “No, let’s just go. I’m sure no one will see me,” I say with little confidence. “I’ve got my hat and my sunglasses on, so it’s as good as it gets.”

  “If it helps, the paparazzi don’t hang out here,” Stu says. “They usually wait at the end of the secure area on the other side of the terminal. If anyone sees you, it’ll just be a regular fan and you’ll be out of here before the professionals can get to you.”

  “Good enough.” I turn to Zane. “Let’s go. I guess I’ll follow you since you know where we’re going.”

  “Okay, we need to go to…” he checks his phone again, “the exit where the hire car desks are.”

  Stu smiles, “Perfect, that’s right outside this door. Follow me.”

  Stu shoves open the door and heads out into the loud baggage area. Zane follows behind, presumably scanning the space for our driver. I keep my head down as much as possible, focusing on Zane’s legs so I don’t trip on anything or bump into anyone.

  “We’re going to meet up with our contact and go straight out to the car,” Zane says as we walk quickly across the space. His phone buzzes. “She’s seen us and is going to lead us outside to where the car is parked. Stu’s spotted her so we don’t have to stop.”

  We move so fast it’s practically a sprint through baggage claim and outside to the curb. Before I know what’s happening, Zane has shoved me into the backseat of a sedan and Stu is loading our luggage in the boot. Doors slam shut all around me and I finally meet the organizer of this little excursion who has settled comfortably behind the wheel and is pulling out into the heavy airport traffic.

  “Hello Adam, nice to finally meet you in person,” she says from the front seat.

  “Right, you must be Gemma. That was without a doubt the smoothest, fastest airport pick up I’ve ever experienced.” I laugh in a weak attempt to calm my frayed nerves.

  She turns slightly so I can see her smile. “I’m just that good at making things happen.”

  “That you are,” I mutter under my breath as I settle back on the seat and try to get comfortable. “So,” I say self-consciously, “how did you manage to get my personal mobile number?”

  “I have my ways. I would tell you, but then the American government would have to kill you.” I can see the side of her face and know that she’s grinning. “I’m still shocked that you didn’t hang up on me.”

  “I thought about it,” I chuckle. “Then you kept talking and you were so believable I figured I give you a listen and hang up on you after.” I pause, my demeanor becoming more serious. “When you texted me a picture of Ellie, I knew you weren’t just a crazy fan.”

  Gemma had rung me last week claiming to be a good friend of Ellie’s. I wanted to hang up on her right away, the shock of hearing Ellie’s name after so long was too painful. But I let her talk, thinking that at the worst, she was just an over-enthusiastic reporter trying to get me to spill my guts.

  She told me that she was Ellie’s best friend and that Ellie had been trying to get a message to me for months through my record label with no success. Gemma knew enough about Ellie to have me convinced she was telling the truth about two minutes into the conversation. She asked if I would be willing to fly over to the U.K. and I agreed without giving it a second thought.

  “We’re going to get you checked into your hotel, then we’ll go over to the park,” Gemma says.

  “Are we far from the hotel?” Zane asks, still typing away on his mobile non-stop. “I need to get some work done.”

  “No, only a few more minutes,” she answers and her eyes flick to the review mirror and find mine. “Do you need to shower or change?”

  “I should, but I really just want to see El.” Waiting a few more minutes after it’s been so long shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is. It’s torturous to know she’s nearby. I don’t know if I can wait any longer.

  Gemma turns back to face me while we’re at a stop, her bright eyes looking over my disheveled appearance and my swollen shiner. “You can’t go like that, it’s gross. What happened to your face?” She scrunches her nose up at my battered jawline.

  “I’m gross?” I ask, stunned yet slightly amused. No woman has called me gross in a very long time.

  “Yes, gross. You can take a quick shower and put on something more… appropriate for the occasion.”

  “Fine,” I growl angrily. I start to get mad, but then I realize how much she’s done for me, for Ellie, and I calm down. She only wants what’s best for her friend, I can manage a shower if she thinks I need one.

  “I’m curious,” Gemma says.

  “About what?”

  “About that so-called confrontation you had with Andrew Forrester at the Warren nightclub earlier this year. You weren’t really fighting over a girl were you?”

  I roll my eyes even though Gemma can’t see them from the front seat. “No, we weren’t. I went with a friend of mine to the launch party. She designed the club and I wanted to help her out by using my name to give her and the launch as much exposure as I could. That really backfired on me,” I admit, rubbing my aching jaw.

  “You could say that,” Gemma giggles.

  “Well how was I to know she hated being in the press? Most people love that crap! Sydney never told me who she was!” I hate having to explain myself, somewhat put out by Gemma making fun of me for my good intentions. “I also had no idea she was dating that bastard Forrester.”

  “Hmmmm, I guess the media got one thing right.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “That you
and Andrew Forrester really do hate each other.”

  “Yeah, we do, he’s the one who gave me this,” I say pointing at my face. Her eyes practically bulge out of her head but she thankfully doesn’t say anything. Zane glances up from his mobile at me for a quick second, then turns back to his typing.

  We’re back on the road within thirty minutes of arriving at the hotel. I manage a quick shower to wash off the airplane stench and change into a nice suit, no tie. I’ve been assured that the event isn’t very formal. Zane decided to stay behind at the hotel while Gemma drives us the short distance to our destination.

  Gemma is making me laugh by telling me a story about Ellie. We weave through the city streets towards Kew Gardens, which coincidentally, is right across the Thames from the Warren Hotel where Ellie and I met up last and where I’m staying again on this trip. I even booked the same room. Apparently I’m a sentimental bastard, I just never knew it until now.

  I was at this Warren hotel in July for another nightclub launch since I was already in London to work on an album for a movie soundtrack. That time, I was too depressed to stay at the hotel, since I thought Ellie still hated me. I did anything I could to keep the memories from eating away at me, and staying at the Warren would have brought up a bunch of them.

  “Here we are,” Gemma says as she pulls the car into the main entrance to the gardens and parks in front of a gorgeous old brick residence.

  Panic floods my body and I have to keep reminding myself that this is Ellie, and Gemma has assured me that she wants me as much as I want her. Otherwise, my racing heart might actually detonate in my chest. I swallow and wipe my sweaty hands on the seat as I reach for the door handle.

  “Christ!” I shout, jerking in my seat.

  “What?” Gemma shrieks in surprise next to me. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, my phone, it just buzzed in my pants. Scared the crap out of me.” I sheepishly show her my phone.