A Stone in the Sea

by A. L. Jackson

  He’d already gone over all of this with me on the phone yesterday afternoon. Apparently he felt the need to reiterate.

  I nodded understanding as he quickly and quietly gave more directions toward my ear, our dress shoes clacking on the marble floors as we rounded into the hall. Kenny pressed the button for the elevator. The doors immediately opened and we stepped into it.

  As we ascended, with each floor the dial flicked through, it was like my anxiety ramped up another rung, like I was climbing toward disaster. One step closer to bringing me face-to-face with a man whose life I’d nearly ended.

  “Do you have any last questions for me before we go inside?” Kenny asked.

  “No. I think I’ve got it.”

  Bottom line, I was going to pay.

  Just another bitter pill to swallow, more misery added to this insufferable pain.

  At the eighth floor, the doors slid open. Kenny walked out ahead of us into the lobby, and Anthony tossed me one last pleading look.

  Keep your cool.

  He straightened his coat jacket, I knew more out of nerves than anything else. “You can do this, Baz.”

  Not sure that I really could. I just gave him a succinct nod.

  Kenny spoke with the receptionist in the plush office, then led us down a hall to the left, pausing for one moment at the obtrusive double wooden doors. With a short knock, he let himself in. Anthony and I followed him into the large conference room.

  And it didn’t matter how hard I tried to keep my eyes trained low, to remain neutral and smooth and aloof, my attention jumped right to him. Because I could feel him. Swimming in all that arrogance, contempt dripping from his pretentious ego.

  Martin Jennings sat on the opposite side of the conference table, rocked back in the posh black leather chair, ankle crossed casually over his knee. Probably not any older than thirty, he had his sandy-blond hair slicked back like he was giving tribute to a 1930s mobster. Brown eyes were keen and impatient, but his expression was subtle and interested, like he’d perfected the act of schmoozing—flashing that bright white smile at just the right time to get his way, exploiting what he had to offer up against what he was getting ready to take. Though all I saw? The patronizing glare under all of it.

  Of course I couldn’t forget the three-inch scar splitting his chin, a little gift I’d left behind to mar that pretty boy face. I was betting he couldn’t forget it, either.

  Almost panicked, Anthony looked back at me from where he was making pleasantries with Jennings’s team and the assigned mediator, like he could feel the ripple of hostility curling like acid in the stagnant air.

  “This is Sebastian Stone.” Anthony stepped in to introduce me, summoning me forward. And I was doing my all to front all those same kind of pleasantries, giving my best not to glare over their shoulders at the asshole sitting smug in his chair, who seemed to be holding all the cards, when I’d been dealt a bad beat.

  “Let’s get started, shall we?” Kenny offered, waving his hand out in a gesture for me to take a seat.

  Warily, I did.

  Directly across from Martin Jennings.

  The mediator, Cruz Gonzalez, began. “I believe we all understand the serious nature of the charges brought against your client, Mr. Lane, and this mediation is in no way meant to downplay them, but rather to act as conciliation between the two parties.”

  Kenny sat forward, hands pressed to the table on either side of the documents spread out in front of him. “Yes, we understand and hope to find a reasonable solution for both parties.”

  Cruz Gonzalez read through some reports, an outline of what had happened the night I’d completely come unhinged, the injuries incurred, my arrest, and my bail.

  Jennings squirmed in indignation and hate as the night was relived. But there was no chance my hate wasn’t so much greater. My displeasure steadily grew, that aggressive coil tightening in my gut as Cruz Gonzalez took us on a play-by-play of that night, what had led up to the snap, the break in my mind that had thrown me over the edge.

  It made it sound as if I’d rung the doorbell to Martin Jennings’s house without an inciting factor.

  “There are no disputes on either party that your client, Sebastian Stone, was involved in the incident with Martin Jennings on the night of July 13?” Gonzalez asked.

  Kenny gave a slight shake of his head, not needing to look to me for confirmation. I was there. I hadn’t denied it then. Wouldn’t now.

  “And it’s agreed that monies are due to Mr. Jennings for his injuries?”

  Kenny cast me a furtive glance, and I gave him a tight nod to proceed, as much as it fucking killed me to do it. He looked back at the mediator. “Yes. We agree that Mr. Jennings should be compensated financially for his injuries.”

  “Currently, Mr. Jennings is seeking two million dollars…”

  My mind got lost in a haze as I listened to Jennings’s bogus claims, the entitlement behind it. Of course, he was offering zero accountability on his part, unwilling to claim any blame, just an innocent asshole who got in the way of my fit of rage.

  What bullshit.

  Kenny cleared his throat. “We believe two million dollars is an unreasonable number and would consider a settlement that better reflects actual injuries sustained. Mr. Jennings lost only three days’ work, which in no way affected him significantly financially, and he has no lasting injuries. My client is willing to offer one hundred thousand dollars, which more than covers physical and emotional trauma.”

  Jennings sneered in my direction, bypassing his attorney and the mediator, speaking directly to me. “You really think I’m going to let you get away with a hundred thousand dollars? After you had the nerve to show up at my house? Making demands of me?”

  Feathers ruffled in a rustle of pure dismay, all the suits up in arms the second Jennings gave into the outburst that had been building since the second I walked through the door.

  As if this could have possibly ended any other way.

  Bad blood always boiled.

  His attorney leaned in and whispered something severe in his ear.

  Jennings just shook him off.

  His attention was back on me, that same pompous expression lining every curve of his face. “Do you know who I am?”

  Did I know who he was?

  Money.

  Arrogance.

  Ego.

  Pride.

  I also knew he was one of the reasons Sunder was what it was today. He’s the one who’d spotted us in that small, dank, musty bar in Tennessee. The one who’d approached us. Fronted the money for our first real studio time. Gained us entrance through all the doors we needed to pass.

  Yeah. I knew him.

  But none of that counted anymore.

  My voice narrowed in challenge. “What I want to know is why you were coming off our bus that night.”

  “I wasn’t anywhere near your bus that night.”

  I slammed my hand down on the table. “I saw you!”

  Everyone had been backstage, hanging out after the show, letting loose the way we always did. I’d skated out back, crossed the darkened lot to the bus, needing to check on my little brother. After what happened to Mark, I’d finally dragged Austin to rehab, bribed my father to sign for him since he was still underage, forced my brother to stay there when all he wanted was to burn himself right into the ground. When he’d been discharged, I wanted to keep him near, but didn’t want him too close, because I couldn’t stand the thought of me being the reason he was exposed to the things that continued to tear up his life. If he was hanging out backstage, I knew he would.

  So I’d told him stay on the bus. That fucking bus where I’d walked in to find Mark months before.

  The same bus where I’d seen this asshole stealing out the door.

  The same bus where I’d walked inside and found my baby brother just like I’d found Mark, overcome by the same shit I’d been trying to save both of them from. The same shit I’d dragged my best friend into in the first
place, then my little brother had just followed suit.

  Only this time, I hadn’t been too late.

  Everyone’s eyes darted back and forth between us, trying to catch up.

  Only Kenny and Anthony knew what I was talking about. After Mark, we’d made the decision to keep Austin’s overdose quiet. I thought I was doing Austin a favor. Protecting him. Keeping the hounds like the ones who were hanging out downstairs from sniffing around in this kid’s life who’d suffered more grief than anyone should endure in a lifetime.

  Right then, I was pretty sure that had been the wrong decision.

  Hindsight’s a bitch.

  “Excuse me,” Jennings’s attorney cut in, “but I’m not sure what your client is insinuating here. Let’s keep this to the matter at hand.”

  Matter at hand?

  Well this fucking mattered.

  “Tell me, what did you say to my brother that night? What did you give him?”

  Scum like Jennings had their fingers in every pot, and he had his dipped deep, covered in the residue of all that dirty money feeding the addicts in this cursed town, even though he kept the front of a straight-edged businessman.

  I knew better.

  “You’d be wise to drop this issue, Mr. Stone.” Jennings spit my name with a lift of his scarred chin. “You’ll notice people who stand in my way don’t fair well.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means don’t fuck with me.”

  I lifted my chin in a mock gesture of his. “Looks to me like I already have.”

  “Sebastian,” Anthony warned, quick and sharp.

  A derisive snort puffed from Jennings’s nose, anger dying his ears a purpled red. “You’re just like Mark and your brother. Pathetic. Desperate.”

  His statement spun around me on a frantic loop—confusion and dread and alarm.

  “What did you just say?” I demanded low, my chest pressing firm, a crush at my ribs.

  “All of you. Pathetic.”

  In a blur of fury and rage, I flew out of my chair. It toppled back as I sprang over the table, because this gleaming wood wasn’t about to stand as an obstacle in my way.

  Those corrupted brown eyes rounded in shock. Flashed in fear. Then I was on him, dragging him from his chair and slamming him against the wall, my forearm the pin that fastened him to the wall by his throat. I pressed at his lifeline as he struggled at my arm.

  “What the fuck do you have to say about Mark?”

  I released him for the briefest second, and he wheezed in a sharp breath before I nailed him back to the wall. “Tell me…tell me!” And I realized in that second I was that desperate, pathetic person, because I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything but the mania pounding fire into my veins, that same rage that had originally brought me to his door holding me hostage. Demanding I get answers. Only now it was doubled. My teeth ground. “What did you say about Mark? About my brother?”

  Hands were all over me, yanking me back, tearing me away.

  Voices.

  Voices.

  Voices.

  “Stop…Sebastian. Stop.”

  Anthony and Kenny hauled me back, and Martin Jennings bent in half, gasping for the air I’d robbed him of.

  Hostility vibrated through me, my legs shaking, my heart thrashing in defiance.

  Jennings lifted his head, animosity smeared across his face. “You will regret this.”

  His attorneys and the mediator stood there stunned.

  “Come on, Baz…” Words subdued, Anthony pulled at my arm. “This meeting is over.”

  Silently, Anthony and Kenny led me back downstairs. Cameras set ablaze the second I stepped outside. I didn’t even acknowledge them. I went straight for the car sitting at the curb. Two seconds later, Anthony plopped down beside me.

  My breaths were ragged. Pained as they dragged in and out of my lungs. “Take me home,” I demanded to the driver who glanced at me from the rearview mirror.

  Anthony acquiesced with a subtle nod, and the car jerked into traffic, making a couple quick, successive turns to point us in the direction of The Hills.

  Rigid, I tried to cool the heat in my brain, to reconcile what Jennings had said with what I knew, to make sense of what had just gone down.

  We were heading up the hill before I finally muttered a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

  Because I was.

  Sorry that for once, I couldn’t just do what Anthony asked.

  But I wasn’t sorry enough to wish I could take it back.

  Lips spread in a thin line, and Anthony jerked his head once. “Don’t be. Wanted to be doing that myself, honestly.” He sighed. “I’m going to fix this, Baz. There’s no chance you’re going to prison and he’s not going to see a dime of your money. After that stunt back there? I will do everything and anything I have to do to get you out of this. I promise you. You and I both know what that scum is into, and I’m not about to stand back and allow him to get away with it.”

  I couldn’t answer, because at this point, I didn’t care about any of that.

  All I cared about was my brother.

  The car made a left into our drive, which was basically a short, narrow trail flanked by high shrubs and trees that nearly eclipsed the massive house. Impatiently, I hopped out.

  “I’ll see you in a couple hours before the show,” Anthony called after me as I flung the door shut and ran down the front walk and through the double doors.

  Loud music filled the entire house. The guys and some of our friends were standing around, hanging out in the large living area that overlooked the pool and sprawling city below, slamming back beers, prepping for the show, voices elevated and boisterous and carefree.

  They all froze with the storm that followed me in, my attention going directly to my guys who I knew were anxious for news.

  “How’d it go, man?” Ash asked, dropping the beer he had poised at his mouth to his side. Zee’s expression became concerned the second he saw mine. Lyrik chewed at the whole of his bottom lip, like he was biting back whatever he wanted to say, waiting on me to say it first.

  I just shook my head and shot for the stairs that led to the upper floor.

  I’d fill them in later. Right now, my only concern was my brother.

  Austin’s room was at the very end of the right hall, tucked away where I thought he’d be most isolated from the impact of this kind of life.

  I didn’t knock on his door, just threw it open.

  Startled, Austin flew up to sitting where he’d been lying on his bed, yanking the headphones from his ears. “What happened? Did you get it dropped?”

  Without answering him, I stalked across his floor and gripped him by the face, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me what Martin Jennings was doing on our bus that night. No more bullshit, Austin. I need to know.”

  Fear clamored through his flinch, and his gaze diverted to the side.

  All of this had been weighing heavily on him. Depression had been Austin’s life-partner. Somehow I knew his overdose, and me being hit up with assault charges, ushered in the first time my little brother truly understood the consequences of his depression, and that his actions reached out to touch more than just himself, affecting those around him.

  Affecting me.

  Because he was what I cared about.

  My hands moved to his shoulders, and I shook him. “Goddamn it, Austin, tell me and tell me now. Why the fuck is he spouting shit about both you and Mark? If I’m going to jail for this, at least make it worthwhile,” I begged him, even though it sounded harsh and angry. Really, it was my own fear coming through.

  Fear for this kid.

  This kid who meant the world to me.

  I couldn’t save Julian. Couldn’t save Mark. But if I had to, I’d die saving Austin.

  Austin blanched, warily meeting my eyes as he looked up at me where I was towering over him. “I don’t know, Baz. All I know was Mark was in deep. He was getting his supply from some of Jennings’s guys
. The night Mark died…” Austin shook as more grief took him over, “he was acting all sketchy…strung out…but different. Paranoid. He kept saying that he messed up. That’s all I know. I swear to you.”

  Dread curled through me.

  “And why was he on the bus with you?”

  Shame streaked across Austin’s face. “Because I was desperate.” The word broke, and his explanation fell from quivering lips. “When you forced me into rehab…I thought…I thought I hated you. Hated that you’d taken from me the one thing that made it feel like I could tolerate this world.”

  Sorrow belted me. This amazing kid, who had so much to offer…yet he believed he was nothing at all.

  “But after a while of being there? I thought maybe…” He shook his head as if he were shaking off the thought. “Thought maybe I could finally be okay. That maybe it wasn’t going to hurt forever.” A tear slid down his face, and his teeth ground in anger. “But when I got out…it was hard…so fucking hard, knowing all I had to do was make a call and I could get lost in it again. And it started to hurt. Started to hurt so bad I couldn’t take it anymore, and I knew that the pain was never gonna go away. I’m sorry, Baz. I’m so sorry.”

  I knew he wasn’t talking about the pain of withdrawal, but the pain that’d haunted him since the day he’d lost it all. The day we’d lost it all.

  He drew in a shaky breath. “So I dug out a number I knew Mark had stashed in a locked cubby in the bus…one of Jennings’s guys. I texted for some oxies. But it was Martin who showed up. Delivered them to me. I thought it was weird, but he seemed cool enough.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I swallowed three and that’s all I remember.”

  Anger blistered hot across my skin, but I reined it in, gripped the side of my brother’s neck. “It’s not gonna hurt forever, Austin. I promise you. I’ll find someone to help you…someone who’ll help you see you don’t have to carry around this guilt.” I squeezed tighter. “I promise you…if it’s the last thing I do.”