by Ren Benton
Tearing himself away was the challenge.
Realizing kindness would get nowhere with him, Maisie smoothly switched to berating him for his selfishness and questioning his commitment because a man who really wanted to finish the job would finish the damn job.
The kick in the ass was just what he needed. When Gin came out of the operating room, he sat with her until her grogginess wore off and she insisted she felt pretty good, considering.
Her new bodyguard arrived. Lex interrogated his credentials and sent his picture to Jestus to verify he was who he said he was before allowing him in the room to meet his client.
Once he was convinced Gin would be well taken care of in his absence, he borrowed the keys to Maisie’s rental car and left a vital piece of himself behind.
Neither he nor Maisie had accounted for the effect of a crime scene on his ability to work. Chief Raymond had to vouch for his identity to get him past the cop stationed at the end of the driveway. The house swarmed with official-looking professionals collecting photographs, diagrams, fingerprints, the gun used to shoot Gin, blood samples.
Gin’s blood.
Raymond had him sign some documents and confiscated his phone. When the evidence collection was complete, he gave Lex permission to have the mess cleaned up.
He’d call a cleaning service to deal with the rest of it, but he couldn’t stay in the house for another minute with Gin’s blood on the floor.
The light was slanting through the windows from the west before he considered the possibility several pots of water and every towel in the house had erased the actual stain and what he’d been scrubbing for hours was a phantom projected by his memory.
He hadn’t set foot in the studio.
He was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands when the doorbell chimed. He didn’t imagine Raymond had left one of his few deputies guarding the driveway, so it might be a reporter. It might also be the cops needing more info to put Houle away or Maisie looking for a place to sleep, so he couldn’t afford to ignore the summons.
The door was only half open when a whirlwind of blonde hair and clutching hands burst through the gap and flung herself at him. “We came as soon as we heard!”
Matt followed Piper across the threshold at a more sedate pace. “We’ve been trying to call you for hours.”
No, no, no. He had twelve, fourteen hours before they showed up to drag him back east.
Piper dodged a sluggish attempt to push her out the door. “Why didn’t you answer? We’ve been worried sick.”
“The police took my phone.” Answering the office lines seemed like a bad idea, so he’d muted the ringers to silence their unrelenting demands for attention.
He’d kept Gin’s phone so she could reach him at any time.
Or Maisie, if Gin took a turn for the worse.
“How’s Gin?”
Lex gave up on the idea of making them go away and closed the door. “She seemed fine after surgery. They’re going to hold her for a few days due to her history of postop complications.”
Matt shook his head. “How the hell does Jim expect me to make you leave now?”
“I promised Gin I’d get to rehearsal on time.” He’d also promised her he would finish her music. To do one, he’d have to get the other done by tomorrow morning.
Unless he did a whole lot of things he never wanted to do.
A man who really wanted to finish the job would finish the damn job — no matter how much control he had to sacrifice.
Lex surrendered with a heavy breath. “I need help.”
15
Two days after Gin’s surgery, Simone showed up at the hospital.
Gin assumed the overdue visit meant her mother had lost the interest of the reporters she’d been talking to nonstop since the shooting and needed new material to regain their attention.
Being shot had made her cynical.
Clayton, Gin’s new bodyguard, arched an inquiring brow. He’d talk if she wanted to, but he was training her in nonverbal signals in the event it wasn’t prudent to speak or she lost her voice. Accordingly, he didn’t say much when others were present.
She answered the unspoken question about her assessment of safety with a lift of her chin, and he left the room without a word.
Simone held Gin at arm’s length and kissed the air. “I have just the thing for those bags under your eyes.”
Of course. One must keep up appearances even when hospitalized and whacked up on antibiotics and pain pills. One never knew when a visitor might snap a picture on the sly to forward to her new favorite press contact now that her former go-to was in police custody. “Good to see you, too, Simone.”
Simone cast a disparaging look around the room. “What a terrible situation.”
She was probably critiquing the décor, but Gin had some things to say to her about the actual terrible situation. “Terrible because Garth Houle tried to kill me and Lex, because he set up Ryan’s murder, or because you have to find someone new to sell me out to now that he’s been caught?”
Simone’s hand waved dismissively. “Have you seen the media coverage? You’re all they can talk about.”
Gin had a permanent divot in her thigh from a gunshot wound, and all her mother cared about was the spotlight. “Think of the publicity if we’d died.”
“Oh, you’re going to be fine. Lex wasn’t even hurt.”
His stress level was tightly bound to his health. Even if Houle hadn’t inflicted direct physical injury, he’d played a part in every twitch and pain Lex would suffer in the coming weeks and months, as well as the associated worry he’d be stricken on stage — yet another source of stress feeding the vicious cycle.
But Gin couldn’t expect Simone to exhibit sympathy for the far-reaching effects of trauma. The woman was incapable of any feeling that didn’t serve her vanity.
Simone proved it anew. “You have to talk to the police. These yokels don’t understand how closely we have to work with the press to stay relevant, and their questions make everything sound sordid.”
It wasn’t the questions. Gin had undergone several meetings with investigators during the past two days. Those she’d spoken to had been carefully neutral when repeating facts. When they asked the same questions over and over, she interpreted it not as doubt of her truthfulness but inability to process that any mother would volunteer to any predator the location of her young.
Of course, Gin had been shot by the man they were building a case against. They might have been less cordial toward his accomplice.
One bad outcome of an arrangement with Houle might be considered a tragic accident, but ten years ago, the same arrangement had led to Ryan’s murder. Even if Simone hadn’t known why Houle wanted their location on that night, what he’d done with the crime scene photos should have been enough to dissuade her from dealing with him in the future.
She just didn’t seem to care as long as the Greene name stayed relevant. “Doesn’t it bother you at all that your son is dead because you told Houle where to find him?”
Simone’s expression pinched. “I will not take responsibility for the actions of Jeremy Fogle.”
“Of course not. You won’t even take responsibility for your own.” She’d given Houle a key to the house and the code to the alarm system. The most benign thing he could have done with those tools was take pictures of them while they slept — and Simone deemed that acceptable. “Why should you, when I’ve always been quick to pay the consequences for you?”
Simone had no sympathy for the loss of Gin’s twin or her scars, and no interest in the damage a decade of guilt had done to her heart.
She wished Lex was with her to ease that pain.
Her phone pinged with an incoming text.
She stifled a smile. She wouldn’t look. Whatever it was, she needed to believe it was the freakishly uncanny timing of the man she loved sensing her distress across several hundred miles of separation.
The thought gave her the strength she needed. �
��I never want what you think is ‘help’ again.”
“Gin—”
“I mean it, Mother.” She chose the title deliberately. Complying with her wish to be called Simone had made it that much easier for her to not act like a parent. “The next time a photographer shows up where none should be or a tabloid breaks confidential information, I’ll get a restraining order to keep you at a safe distance.”
Simone’s complexion turned blotchy even through her foundation. “Ryan would never treat me this way!”
Ryan — whom Simone had insisted his whole life was confused — had been the one who wanted to run away from home, apply for emancipation, and book their mother a one-way trip to the space station. He let Gin keep the peace for her own sake, not out of tremendous love for their mother.
And ten years after his death, Simone still used him as a weapon.
“Ryan wouldn’t want you to starve.” Gin wasn’t sure that was true, especially in light of recent revelations, but he would support her decision. “I’ll transfer what’s left of his money to you. I won’t manage it for you. I won’t pay any more of your bills. I’m done parenting you.”
Panic made Simone’s voice shrill. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Get a good investment banker and an accountant. Take some adult ed classes in money management. Intern with a publicist who can teach you to use your powers for good and get a paying job like an adult.”
Gainful employment would be necessary when she saw more than the usual allowance in her account and blew it in the first month on summer sandals and pedicures.
Gin’s gut twisted at the potential for disaster, but she wouldn’t let it be her problem anymore. “I don’t know, Simone. You’ll figure it out.”
If she’d been forced to figure it out sooner, she might have been too busy to make deals with the devil.
No. It’s not my fault.
Those were magic words — not for denying responsibility that was rightfully hers, but to defend against bearing the whole burden of blame for events she’d done little or nothing to bring about. Gin was an enabler, but Simone had made every one of her own bad decisions.
As of now, she would have to make better ones or face the consequences.
Simone, understandably, resisted changes to the role she’d been playing since the twins were born. Gin took her example and displayed no sympathy. Attempts at manipulation that had worked for the past thirty-five years failed, one after another.
Finally, Simone gave up and flounced out. There would be other attempts, but first would come the silent treatment for at least a week to make her displeasure known.
Gin gripped the bed railing for support. She didn’t feel victorious. She worried she’d been cruel. She questioned whether she’d made a mistake due to heightened emotions. Mostly, she felt a new empty spot inside her, as if a vein of tolerance had been picked clean and left to collapse.
She needed Lex to fill it.
She grabbed her phone and checked her missed texts.
Send nudes.
Ah, poetry.
He’d been calling at night when he had privacy. He texted during the day when he had Matt and Piper for an audience. He always asked for medical updates. He always sent his love. But he’d also started an ongoing choose your own pornventure exchange that would scandalize the children if they knew.
Gin snapped a picture of her bare elbow and sent it along with a message: Simone came and went.
His reply came immediately. Are you and your sexy elbow okay?
Just the thought of typing the whole story with her thumbs exhausted her. Tell you about it later. Let’s discuss our next collaboration. I need someone to smother me with whatever love looks like on any given day for the rest of our lives.
What’s it pay?
Her eyes narrowed. Oh, sure. Now he got mercenary.
She typed, Same. Terms nonnegotiable.
His answer crashed into her notifications. I WILL SIGN THAT CONTRACT.
16
Three days after Gin’s surgery, Piper beat Lex through the door of her hospital room and won the honor of surprising the hell out of her.
Her fingers froze midstroke over the laptop on the overbed table. Her gaze bounced from Piper to Lex to Matt and back to Lex. She shook her head as if to dispel a hallucination. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Philadelphia tomorrow!”
Lex leaned against the wall near the bathroom. He’d rather lean on her, but since puking was a distinct possibility, his present location was optimal. “I’ll be there tonight.”
“You’re flying home?”
His stomach lurched at the F-word.
While he struggled not to vomit, Piper hugged Gin. “Lex wanted the extra time to work on your soundtrack.”
Gin returned the embrace like they were old friends. “Is it safe for Junior?”
“My OB says it’s fine, and it’s so cute that you and Uncle Lex asked.”
A nurse Lex hadn’t met stuck her head into the room. “No more than two visitors at a time.”
Matt looped his arms around his wife and pulled her away. “We’ll leave you two alone. I just wanted to say thanks before we go.”
Gin blinked with fresh bafflement. “Thanks for what?”
Lex cleared his throat.
Matt pursed his lips and hustled Piper toward the door. “I’ll defer that explanation to the big guy.”
Piper called over her shoulder. “Can I send you baby pictures?”
“I’ll be hurt if you don’t.”
When the distraction departed, green eyes settled on Lex. “You’re going to fly?”
He’d heard that question or one like it a couple dozen times during the past few days. No one was more surprised than he was. “My psychiatrist called in a prescription for one Ativan. If I take it before I leave here, I should be free of balls-shriveling panic by the time we get to the airport and good for the whole flight.”
That F-word wasn’t any kinder to his internal organs.
Gin pushed the table toward her feet and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I like the optimism.”
Keeping her from getting out of bed made crossing the room worthwhile. He stopped when her knees met his thighs. “Are you convinced? Because I’m not.”
He envied the secretive smile for its position on her lips. “Do you want platitudes?”
“Fuck no.”
She nodded as if she’d expected no less. “If the pill doesn’t work, maybe you’ll get lucky and TSA will tase you unconscious.”
A reluctant laugh escaped. “A solid Plan B.”
She gripped his shirt with both hands. Her knees parted, and she pulled him between them. “You’re a hero. You can do scary things.”
He felt more helpless than he had while being held at gunpoint, proof this fear was completely irrational — but he’d left himself no other option but to face it. “The audio, the paperwork, the sheet music, the contracts, everything is with Maisie. I finished your score and seven songs, including the theme.”
“Impressive for two weeks’ work.”
Especially considering how many days of that he hadn’t worked at all due to blizzards and PR clusterfucks and psychopaths. On the bright side, Melanie had taken the opportunity to blame Garth Houle for putting her up to the pregnancy stunt. Lex didn’t know how true her new story was, but it would explain how she got the phone number for the house in Colorado — from Houle, through Simone.
“I have a present for you.” He fished a thumb drive from his pocket.
“I can’t believe you didn’t ask me to retrieve that.”
“Control yourself. I don’t have time to satisfy your ravenous appetites.” He reconsidered that decision when she wrapped her arms around his waist. He continued to reconsider while inserting the thumb drive into one of her laptop’s USB slots and exporting the contents to her media player. “If I find this on a pirate site, I’ll know you did it.”
“I’ll guard it wit
h my life.”
“Do not go that far.” He navigated to the theme song, the only one she hadn’t heard in some form. “This is the important one.”
She tried to seize control of the trackpad and got her hand trapped in his for her efforts. “I want to listen!”
“Not yet. Just look.”
The song was called “Absinthe.” Named after a potent, intoxicating, addictive spirit with historic ties to New Orleans. Poetically referred to as the green fairy. Distilled in a similar fashion to... gin.
His confidence that she would correctly interpret the object of the soulful ode was exceeded only by his certainty the rest of the planet would issue a relapse alert for the drunken songwriter.
But for now, he directed Gin’s attention on the metadata — specifically, the Composer field, in which appeared three names: Lex Perry; Gin Greene; Matt Hanson.
“Aw, you let Matt help?”
“You wore me down.”
“Mm, sure.” She rested her head against his chest. “I’m proud of you for sharing, but why am I credited?”
“You had the right idea when you were fooling around with that song. You just needed an expert to finish what you started.”
“Holy shit. I wrote a song with Lex Perry.” She fought him for possession of her hands. “Oh my god, let me listen to it!”
“Nope.” He gently manacled her wrists behind her back. “Not until I leave. The prospect of your gushing praise is all I have to sustain me through the dark hours ahead.”
She leaned into his chest. “Call me the second you land.”
“First thing.” Right after he kissed solid ground. “I’m going to call you every night. Text you a thousand times a day. Write you epic emails oozing with angst.”
She purred deep in her throat. “My favorite kind.”
He studied the precious face he wouldn’t see after today, maybe for months. “I’m only leaving because you’d think less of me if I bail on my professional responsibilities. But if you need me or want me, my professional responsibilities can go fuck themselves because you’re all I care about.”