Dirty Jock

by Sienna Valentine

  With nothing left to keep him here, Ash flipped me the bird and got up out of his chair. He yelled at Gavin that his lawyer would be in touch and stomped out of the room. A few moments later, Jeff got up with far less drama, a pathetic stoop to his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, Noah. I should have stood by you,” said Jeff as he patted the top of the chair at the head of the table. I couldn’t look at him, but he didn’t wait for it, or for a reply. He gave an awkward wave to Quinn and Gavin and left the room.

  I was surprised Duke was the last to go, allowing himself to be outnumbered in the room. He typically stuck to situations where he had the advantage. But the video seemed to have thrown him off his game just a bit.

  None of us had anything to say to him. Quinn just stared, arms crossed, glaring. Convinced the air in the room wasn’t one of violence, Gavin turned back and watched the loop again and again, shaking his head in amazement every time the shot of the knife appeared.

  Finally Duke pushed his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. He watched the video loop one more time and started for the door.

  “Cat got your tongue, dickwad?” said Quinn to his back.

  Duke stopped. He turned his head just a little bit. “I’m glad you’re not going to prison, Hardy.” Nothing in his voice was malicious or sarcastic. It was just that dark, southern drawl that belonged to him on the nights in the bus, in the middle of nowhere, when he finally had his guard down and was just a dude that loved playing guitar.

  I let him sweat for a moment before I said, “Thanks.”

  Duke left the room. It was the last time we would ever speak to each other.

  “Seriously though, Noah,” said Gavin as he switched off the TV, finally satisfied. “What is your plan, here? I’m having trouble wrapping my head around why we don’t email this video to every major media outlet right fucking now.”

  “Because I’ve already got plans for getting it to the press; I just need you guys to chill and let me get it finished.”

  “Noah,” said Gavin, worried. “What is this plan? You should really let me take a look, I don’t want anything to happen that might—”

  “That might what, Gavin? Fuck up the band’s future?” I laughed. It actually felt like a real laugh, for the first time in a while. The bitterness in my heart could never outweigh the feeling of freedom from knowing the truth was out. “Cut Up Angels had a great run, but we’re done. You don’t need to protect us anymore.”

  “You’re all still my clients, and you two are my friends. I’ve protected you since you were kids. I’m not about to stop now,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “The other guys can do their own interviews and fight me if they really want to, once it’s all out. I don’t care. They can’t stop me now. And you can protect whatever it is Quinn and I decide to do next… after a serious fucking vacation.”

  “Oh, good God,” said Quinn with an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t even think of that… Fuck, I’m taking the old lady to Maui.”

  That made me smile. I leaned over and patted Quinn on the shoulder and gave him a big smile. For the first time in weeks, his eyes were clear and bright. “Thanks for sticking by me, bro.”

  “Don’t get all fucking mushy with me,” said Quinn with a laugh. “We established this a long time ago, man: where you battle, I battle.”

  “Just tell me I have the trust of both of you about this,” I said, glancing at each of them in turn. “Trust me you’ll let me get this out my way and be okay with it.”

  Quinn and Gavin looked at each other, and then back at me, each of them nodding. “We trust you,” said Quinn.

  “And you know we have your back if you wind up needing it,” added Gavin. “I’ll get this to the DA within the hour and tell them to keep quiet about it.”

  Another wave of relief washed over me and I smiled at them. “Thanks, guys. I need that strength today.”

  “Why, what is it you’re going to do?” Quinn asked as I got up from my chair.

  With a sigh, I said, “Maybe the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.”

  Chapter 20

  Laurel

  Another episode in the day-long marathon of Seinfeld came on and made me realize I was running late. After I got off the phone with Domino, I told Steve we were ready to get home, and he could not get on the airport’s website fast enough. Every day we had been in Seattle, his bitching about missing New York had grown exponentially. And now, every ten minutes he was texting me, asking me if I was getting packed, and every time I answered “yes, God!”

  As I looked over the clothes still strewn on the bed, I realized maybe I should have been a little less snarky with Steve this time. And maybe a few other times. And maybe that Steve was right about me being horrible to fly with.

  Hell, that was nothing a few mimosas couldn’t fix. I saw my phone on the nightstand light up with a message and ignored it, instead pulling up my suitcase onto the bed to begin packing in earnest.

  The trip had been so chaotic that I hadn’t even kept track of what needed to be washed, so everything got stuffed with equal disregard into the square black bag as efficiently as possible. As I threw in garment after garment, my hand grabbed one that still felt unfamiliar. It was Noah’s heavy, soft sweatshirt—the one he’d gotten on The Rising End’s first tour ever, and kept safe and close since. The one he’d gifted me that day on the beach.

  It was all I had left of him. It was strange to acknowledge how quickly everything had happened, despite how deeply I could still feel him in my bones. I wished I had left something of mine with him, something he could see now and remember me by. But something like that might just cause him pain, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  Seeing his sweatshirt caused me pain. But it was nothing like the bolt of agony that overcame me when I put the soft thing up to my face and inhaled Noah’s scent mixed with wetness and earth. I hadn’t been around him in days, and yet the scent was so strong, so recognizable, that I collapsed into sobs on the edge of the hotel bed, because it felt like he was in the room with me. I wept into Noah’s sweatshirt until I didn’t have any tears left, and my eyes were swollen and tender.

  Slowly, I tried to compose myself. I stuffed the borrowed top into the suitcase with a bit of anger and got up. But I only made it a few steps before my hands were back, pulling the sweatshirt out again and yanking it over my head. Warmth rushed over my body, and Noah’s scent was all around me now. I didn’t care if it hurt.

  Out of the corner of my eye, the screen of my phone lit up again. It was a call this time. I slid over and, expecting Steve, was surprised instead to see Domino’s face looking back at me.

  “What’s up?” I answered with only the slightest sniffles.

  “Was I right to assume you are running late for your flight?” she said with a smile in her voice.

  “I, uh…” My brain was too fogged from crying to even come up with a quick white lie.

  Domino just laughed. “I’ve told you before, fate puts together pieces in ways you wouldn’t expect. Today, my girl, your seemingly rebellious aversion to being on time has worked in your favor, so find some god to thank.”

  “Who is this?” I asked, only half-kidding. “You congratulating me for being irresponsible has made me feel like I missed a cut scene, here. What’s going on?”

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “Ready for what?”

  I could practically see Domino squirming in her seat like she always did when she got excited. She could never hide her passion. “I just got off the phone with Gavin Jones.”

  “Gavin Jo…” My memory kicked in before I could finish my question. My heart stopped beating for a moment.

  “Gavin Jones, manager of Cut Up Angels. He asked to speak to me personally.”

  Legs heavy and shaking, I sat down on the bed. All I could think was Noah had told Gavin what I was, and Gavin, ever the guard dog he was for Noah and the boys, was c
alling Domino to chew me to bits and blacklist me from ever working in the industry again. But I couldn’t reconcile that theory with how happy and excited Domino sounded. Would she really be so thrilled to have me gone?

  “W-What did he want?” I asked.

  “Noah Hardy has requested us to conduct his first interview to the press about the festival. He says he has developments that the public hasn’t heard, and he wants us to be the ones to present it to them—exclusively. Every single fucking news outlet that wants to talk about Noah Hardy is going to be running your byline.”

  Time stopped. The breath in my chest was all I could hear. “He… he what?”

  “Specifically, Laurel, Noah Hardy has asked to speak to you. And only you. Those were the conditions of his interview.”

  Heart racing, Domino’s words were difficult to wrap my head around. “This is a joke, right? Noah wants to talk to me—wants to give me an interview?”

  “If you’re still in town to take it. He wants to give it today.”

  “Yes, I’m still in town,” I said. “I… I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it.”

  “Of course you’ll do it,” she repeated, “I don’t remember offering you a choice. You ready to write down these instructions?”

  Chapter 21

  Noah

  I was already waiting on the beach by the time Laurel arrived. Actually, I had been on the beach for hours, ever since I left the label’s office in Seattle. Gavin took my instructions to call the Slipstream Magazine offices in New York and speak with Laurel’s editor. The tactic felt a little dramatic, but part of me knew that Laurel was swimming in an ocean of guilt right now, and just like I needed Quinn and Gavin, she was going to need her best allies to convince her to get back up and fight.

  Still, there was no guarantee she would take the invitation. She had no idea what state I was in. And I wouldn’t have blamed her if she passed it off to some other writer after everything that had happened. But I knew I had to try—both for her, and myself. Laurel always seemed to reward my effort.

  She came down the hill toward me, sitting on the driftwood log by the river. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her face looked like she hadn’t had a very good few nights. It had the unmistakable puffiness of someone who had been crying, and my heart ached at the thought. It ached even more when I saw she was again wearing my sweatshirt, too big for her frame, wrapping her halfway down her thighs and almost over her hands.

  I stood up as she approached, hands in my pockets. She looked almost afraid as she approached, like she thought I was going to announce this was all a fucked-up prank to hurt her. I didn’t move; I let her come to me. Laurel was a shark, like me, and I knew what people had to do to get me to listen; so that was what I did for her. I let her get her bearings and approach on her terms. The rush of the river overlaid our silence.

  “Hey,” she said, stepping to the driftwood.

  “Hi,” I replied. We stared at each other with wet, unsure eyes.

  Laurel swallowed and looked around. “Domino asked me to meet you here…”

  I nodded. “It’s for real. I asked for you.”

  “Okay,” she said. “So, what do you want to…”

  “Why don’t you sit down, and we can just start the interview?” I said, waving a hand over half of the driftwood log. “Did you bring your recorder?”

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and followed me. I straddled the giant log to face her, while she hiked one thigh up side-saddle and turned toward me. Wispy strands of pale blonde hair drifted around her face in the light wind.

  Laurel activated the recording app and held the phone out in her hand between us. She stared at me and took a few breaths before she began.

  “Noah… tell me what happened that day at the festival.”

  Even though I was ready for it—I had asked for it—a stone still sat in my gut at the thought of talking about that day. But I looked in Laurel’s face and it became easier. “Our set started late afternoon. I’d had a few beers with some of the other bands backstage, but I wasn’t plastered like some of the reports are saying. People don’t understand how much booze it takes for a guy my size to get drunk. Anyway…” I cleared my throat. “The set started out fine, everything was normal. We had a few lady fans brought up on stage during ‘Locusta,’ like we always did—they were local contest winners, if I remember right. Security got them on and off without a problem. But it was a few songs later when I saw somebody in the pit.”

  Laurel’s face crinkled with worry. She hadn’t heard the story this complete. No one had.

  “The photographers had already cleared out, and nobody had started crowd-surfing yet, so I thought it was off to have someone that close to the stage. Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that. Suddenly he wasn’t near the stage, he was crawling up and onto it. He didn’t look happy, or excited, or drunk. He was just staring at Quinn.”

  I had to take a pause and a breath. The sound of the river rushing helped to soothe my anxiety.

  “I was already moving to confront the guy when I saw the knife in his hand, and that just made me move faster. Quinn wasn’t even paying attention. I just hit the guy with all the strength I had to knock him off his feet and make him lose his weapon. Security could deal with him after that. But when I hit him, he just kept falling. The sound of his head hitting that beam, even through the sound of the music… I still hear it in my sleep.”

  Tears dripped down Laurel’s face. Her chest rose and fell with her ragged breathing.

  “Then it was just chaos. They rushed us offstage, cancelled the rest of the main stage sets. We were stuck on our bus with no information until the head of security and a police detective came to tell us the man had died. And… that was the moment everything just started to fall apart.”

  Laurel asked in a shaking voice, “Did you tell the police about what you saw?”

  “I told the police. I told security. I told my manager and my band,” I said. “But no one else had seen the knife, and the police couldn’t find any evidence that it existed. Only my manager and Quinn believed me, in the end.” After a pause, I said. “And you, Laurel. You believed me.”

  Her face got sad, and she held back tears. She looked down a minute to gain her composure and continued. “Why did your bandmates abandon you?”

  Hearing it said so starkly made my heart hurt. “I don’t know,” I said. “Tensions were high after the festival, obviously. I’m not an idiot. I know what my reputation is, and those boys had dealt with missing shows because I couldn’t get out of a jail cell fast enough, or being too hungover, or whatever. Me fucking things up isn’t that rare a happening, if you catch my drift.”

  “But this time, you hadn’t.”

  “This time, I hadn’t. This time, I was in the right. And I thought they would be able to see the truth of that. But Jeff, Ash… they didn’t.”

  “What about Duke Rogers?”

  I couldn’t wait until I never had to hear his name again. “Duke, well… Duke has goals. And he’s not going to let anyone stand in the way of those goals. In this case, it fit his goals to believe I was an animal capable of murdering an innocent man for no reason.”

  “So you’re not upset with Duke for what he did?”

  “I was,” I admitted. “Very upset. But the last few days have been very… eye-opening for me.”

  Laurel flushed.

  “I feel like I’m seeing things more clearly now. And as strange as it sounds, I don’t think what Duke did was personal. I don’t think he ever cared about me enough to make this personal. I think he only ever saw me as a ladder to a better place—a ladder he’s all too happy to kick out when he’s done using it. I’m not mad at Duke, but I pity him. I look at the relationships I’ve found because of my love of music, relationships that exist because of vulnerability… of willingness to be human. Duke may love music as much as me, but he will never have that. I feel sorry for him.”

  Laurel wiped the tears on her
face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. The gesture made me smile.

  “What happens to you now, Noah? What happens to the band?” she asked.

  “Cut Up Angels is done,” I said. “This was a hit we can’t survive. I’m putting it out of its misery. The legal shit will get worked out, and Quinn and I will find another project to work on.”

  Laurel paused and swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be,” I said. “Bands break up all the time, and new ones get formed. I’ll find something different to do. Maybe it’s time I head back to my hardcore roots.”

  She smiled, still teary. After a second she got her bearing and cleared her throat. “I, uh… is there anything else you want to include or say? Anything you want the public to know?”