by Sadie Grubor
Tossing the phone onto the bed, I grab a pillow, bring it to my face, and scream.
When I can't scream anymore, I drop the pillow and start to get dressed for the day.
"You're really going to sell it?" Liza asks. Again.
"I don't have a choice," I say into my Bluetooth earpiece. Again.
"I hate him," she growls.
"Me, too," I sigh, focusing on the customer service report pulled up on my supersized computer monitor.
"Finally," she drawls. "I hate how far it went, but I can't tell you how happy I am that you're getting him out of your life."
"Was that a politically correct I told you so?" I tease.
"Maybe a little," she laughs. "So, what's your plan? 'Cause I know you have one."
"I know it's a good thing I got out of that new apartment a few months ago, but I kind of wish I had a change of scenery, ya know?"
"You could come back to L.A.," she suggests, quietly.
"It's definitely more of an option now that my business won't be a concern," I grumble.
"Sid, I'm so sorry," she starts.
"It's not your fault. I should've listened to everyone sooner. Hell, I should've never made him a business partner."
Frustrated, I shove away from my desk and push out of my chair with a groan.
"You all ready for next weekend?" Liza shifts the conversation.
"Almost." I shrug, though she can't see it. "I still have some things to discuss with Red, but the rest should be all good to go."
"Speak of the devil," Liza mumbles.
"Is that your cousin?" Red's question booms through the phone.
"Yeah, but we're—"
The sound of rustling fills my ear as I open the fridge and grab a beer.
"Sid?" Red asks.
"Red," I say.
"Hey, we were in the middle of a conversation," Liza scolds in the background.
"Did you just take her phone away from her?" Red's girlfriend, Bethany, shouts in the background.
"Hush, women, I'm talking business. You can get back to vagina talk as soon as I'm finished," he says, shushing them.
"Neanderthal," Bethany yells.
Not missing a beat, he responds, "I'll get caveman on you later, baby. Right now, I've gotta talk concert details."
"Nice," I praise. "What exactly does getting caveman involve?" I ask, slipping onto a stool near my breakfast bar. "And be specific."
"You really are a goddamn perv, aren't you?"
"You say it like it's a bad thing," I respond.
He laughs and I take a pull from my beer.
"Did you get in touch with the videographer and press assistant I hired?"
"Yes, but tell me again why I'm their contact person?"
Red's response is quick and to the point. "You, I trust. Them, I don't know about yet. So, live tweeting and picture posting during the sets and some backstage sneak peeks, right?"
"Yep. I've got Kel and a couple of his friends ready to help with the live social media posts. One of them is even going to help out with the online donation site," I inform.
When Red first talked to me about the concert and helping, I was sure he meant photos. Turns out, he's not one who trusts so easily. Having worked together for a few months in regards to his club and Liza's newly found stardom, he apparently got attached to me. He jumped right on board with my idea to have a donation website running during each concert. There will be a live feed of videos and pictures of the musicians and celebrities personally thanking the charitable people who donate.
Still, my role is new to me. Instead of taking photos, I'll be the main coordinator for three photographers, a videography team, social media and website team, and the PR people hired for the event. Sure, I'd still have my camera to get the more personal backstage experience the others don't have access to, but instead of being down in the trenches, I am supervising.
Me, a supervisor? It fucking scares me too.
"Great," Red cheers through the phone. "And you wonder why you're my go-to girl."
"You mean lackey," I correct.
He laughs.
"I have some more information about the show schedule I'll send over tonight, and I'll see you in a week."
He doesn't say goodbye. Instead, Liza comes on the phone.
"You might be his favorite woman, aside from Bethany."
"He definitely likes her more than me," Bethany calls out in the background.
"Nah," Red's voice surprises me, figuring he'd already walked away, "you let me in your bed and between—"
"Used to, big guy," Bethany taunts. "Used to," she repeats.
"Uh oh," Liza half laughs.
"Put me down," Bethany squeals.
"I will," Red growls, "on my face."
"Holy shit," I breathe out. "I swear to God."
"What?" Liza asks.
"Muffy just clenched," I confess.
"Muffy?" Liza giggles.
"My vagina," I explain.
"You named your vagina?" Disbelief fills her question.
Honestly, I don't know why she's still surprised by anything.
"Guys do it all the time," I defend.
"Name your vagina?"
"Ha," I snort. "Touché, cousin, but sadly no. They name their dicks."
I lean my hip against the counter and take another drink from my beer.
Yech, it's getting warm.
"And Muffy's what you came up with?"
"I'm testing it out. What about Wanda?"
I step over to the sink, dump out the room temperature beer, and set the bottle by the sink.
"Goodbye, Sid," Liza laughs.
"No good?"
The phone goes silent.
I set my cell on the kitchen island, reach down, and pat between my legs.
"Don't worry, Xena, we'll figure it out."
Hmm…Xena, I think, going back to my desk.
"Xena, Warrior Princess," I try it out loud. "Xena, Warrior Vagina—no, wait, Xena, Warrior Vaginator, Crusher of Peni!" I may growl the title. I may even flex, but no one's here to see me.
After a week of phone calls, emails, meeting with my lawyer, successfully not thinking about Xavier—mostly—and squeezing in time for the parental units, I'm waiting for my luggage to come around the turnstile. When the belt starts, I look up, catching a woman in a business suit giving me a one over. She's appraising my Justice League leggings with a look of distaste on her perfectly polished face. The look remains as her eyes move up over my long-sleeved black tunic until she reaches my face.
I cock my brow at her and she gives me an I-feel-sorry-for-you smile before looking away.
Gripping the bottom of my shirt, I pull down.
Stupid judgey women. It's late at night, I'm tired, and I don't want to deal with their bullshit.
What ever happened to sticking together? Vagina power and all that shit. Nope, we are our own worst enemies. Forget raising each other up. Instead, we judge and put down. Like we don't have enough to deal with as women, as humans in an overpopulated world.
"Sid!" The shout pulls me from my thoughts and draws my attention behind me.
Lucas barrels into me and I step back, bracing the impact.
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he says, "I told Mom it was you."
My arms instinctively embrace the beautiful sunshine boy I've known and loved his entire life.
"Hey, my man." I squeeze him. "Your mom letting you run around the airport alone now?"
He pulls back and looks up at me, though I don't miss just how tall he's gotten.
"Sean's with me," he explains, jerking his head to my left.
Sean raises a hand in greeting.
Lifting my left arm, I reach out for him.
"Come on, bring it in here," I say, motioning with my hand for him to join our little party.
He hesitates for a second before Lucas grabs his arms and draws him in.
I encase them both in a tight hug.
"Sid," Liza's voice
pulls the three of us apart, allowing her to move right in.
Her thin arms hold me so tight, a warmth crawls through my body. Then, two big long arms come around us both and lift.
"I can't breathe," I choke out, my toes barely touching the dirty airport floor.
"Jack, baby," Liza puffs the words.
My feet hit the floor and I gasp for air.
"Christ, Jolly Inked Giant," I pant, "you trying to kill me."
"I do owe you for that glitter stunt," he drawls.
Remembering my parting gift for Jackson when I last left L.A., I grin and look up at his oversized ass.
"You're welcome." My grin grows into a large smile.
"I still have glitter in my ass crack," he growls.
The boys chuckle. He shoots them a playful scowl and they hide behind me.
"Don't you two start," Liza warns, putting one small arm around Jack's waist.
"Consider it an education," I offer.
"An education in what?" He raises a brow.
"In not fucking with me," I deadpan.
"Language," Liza warns.
"And you didn't screw over my getaway either, did you?" I accuse.
A genuine look of confusion wrinkles Jackson's face.
"Jack?" Liza whispers. Brows furrowed, she pulls back and looks up at him.
He drops his head to her.
"I didn't…" he starts before turning his eyes back to me. "I would never have fucked with you getting away," he says vehemently, before adding, "and I wouldn't fuck up that week for Xavier. I thought his assistant had it all worked out."
"That week?" I ask.
"Yeah, that week's the anniversary of Ethan's death," he answers quietly.
"Oh," I say, my annoyance melting away.
Moving away from Liza, his large hands grip my shoulders, making sure he has my attention. "Sid, I'm serious about that asshole, though. You say the word and that fucker is a dead man. Liza already knows where my bail money is. I would never fuck around with what happened."
His words are too sincere, too nice.
Brushing off his hands, I fight back tears and force a half smile.
"Stop or I'll think you actually like me," I joke.
There's a flash of something in his eyes before he forces his own smile.
"Wouldn't want that, would we?" He crosses his arms over his chest.
"I've got it," Lucas shouts.
Turning, we find him and Sean pulling my supersized black with neon green polka dots rolling suitcase from the turnstile.
Jackson brushes by me and takes the suitcase from the boys just as an overly muscled man in black takes the bag. Mr. Muscles places the bag on a cart full of garment bags, boxes, and luggage.
It's then I notice the four security guards, two airport security personnel, and Jackson's personal assistant, Julia, creating a perimeter around us.
"Jesus." I twist my head, taking it all in.
"Get used to it," Liza breathes out from beside me. "Jackson already had two women try to grab his crotch."
I purse my lips and nod.
"Respect to those chicks," I say, though I don't mean to say it out loud.
"Really?" Liza turns her head toward me.
I meet her eyes and grin.
"Come on," I wave to all the security, "they braved all this and his girlfriend to get a piece of his—"
"Huge dick," Jackson finishes, placing an arm around both of us.
Liza slaps his flat stomach.
"Hey," he exclaims, "it belongs to you, so I don't know what you're complaining about."
"Has he been hanging around Elliott?" I ask.
Liza laughs. "They've all been together for the past week rehearsing."
I nod. "Now it makes sense."
"I don't sound like Elliott," Jack says.
Before I can respond, Julia gets our secured group moving toward the cars waiting to take us to The Towers Hotel.
Xavier
In the glass shower of the luxury hotel room, I wash away the five and a half hour flight from L.A. Sure, the first class helps, but there's still something about flying that makes me feel like I've grown a thin film of dirt all over my body.
Once I feel clean again, I step out and wrap a towel around my waist. I dry the rest of my body and hair with a second towel before going through the grooming process.
Yeah, it's a process. Anyone with long hair and a full beard who says it's not is a damn liar. Granted, I don't take hours to get ready like some women and my teenage daughters, but there's brushing, combing, sometimes trimming, beard oil and waxes. I'm not trying to be high maintenance, but I refuse to look like Grizzly Adams.
Just thinking about the mountain man makes my mind wander to Sid. She'll be here for the concert. Fuck, Red has her practically running things with his ass. If he weren't hung up on Bethany, I swear to God I'd have to fight him for Sid. He's lucky, 'cause I wouldn't want to kill one of my best friends over a girl.
I secure my hair at the crown of my head and move on to trimming the beard.
Sid's not a fucking girl, though. She's all woman. With curves as dangerous as her mouth, there's really no fucking doubt about it. Sidra Campbell needs a real man, unlike the douchebag who hurt her, and I plan to be that man.
It's been a long ass month, getting Maria back home with a twenty-four-hour nurse at her side, dealing with my new personal assistant, Mel, getting the girls set up with a tutor and homeschooling for the rest of this year, not to mention getting their living arrangements settled during this tour, and fighting every instinct to contact Sid.
Mom was right, though. I had shit to handle and come to terms with, and so did Sid. I've handled most of the pressing shit in my life. Though, Maria, not by her choice, is a constant state of unknown. So far, since leaving the hospital, she's been doing much better and her heart is doing what it's supposed to. Then, there's fucking Randy, who, by his own fault, is a total mess. Red really doesn't want him on the tour, but he also wants to give the fans what they paid for: the remaining members of Corrosive Velocity on stage together.
As I massage the oil into my face and beard, my cell rings.
After wiping my hands on a small towel, I grab my phone from the dresser.
"Hello," I answer, tugging the towel away from my hips.
Letting it fall to the floor, I sit naked on the edge of the bed.
It's good to air certain areas out.
"Mr. Stone," Mel starts.
I sigh and cut him off, "I've told you to call me Xavier."
When Ember insisted on a permanent replacement for her, she found Melvin. He had a strong event management and personal assisting background, though I would be his first "celebrity". Call it sexist, but I wasn't so sure about a guy doing all the shit Em handles. However, I've gotta say, regardless of his newness and insecurity, it's been pretty awesome. He totally gets the "guy requests" Em used to give me shit about. Like, does a place or event have the beer I like or serve something other than culinary works of art.
"Sorry, I'm not used to—"
"Get used to it, and tell me why you're calling," I interrupt again.
"Yeah, sorry. You wanted to know when she checked in," he pauses.
"And?" I press.
"She checked in twenty minutes ago and is in her room," Mel finishes.
"Good job," I say.
"Do you need anything else, si—Xavier?" He's learning.
"Not tonight. Thanks, Mel."
I hang up, drag myself up the bed, and lounge on the oversized pillows.
"See you in the morning, Sid," I whisper to the room and close my eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
Xavier
Seeing Corbin Crowne after more than three years of almost nothing sends a shot of pain through my chest. He's older, but still the same. Tan skin, silver spattered dark hair—shorter than it used to be—roughly the same height as me, lean build, and tattooed forearms. Fuck me, it's a reminder of what Ethan would look like if he wer
e still alive.
"Don't," he says, standing from his chair at the table.
Red arranged for all of us to meet this morning in a private room for breakfast.
"I didn't say a thing." I shake my head.
"You don't have to," he responds, holding a hand out to me.
I grip his hand and pull him into my chest.
"Fuck, man, it's been too long."
Our hands still clasped between us, we give each other the one-armed guy hug.
After pulling apart, we both take a seat at the table.
"I don't know how Red got you to agree, but I'm thrilled, brother," I confess, shaking out my napkin as a hotel staff member offers me coffee.
"I threatened him," Red states, entering the room and sitting at the table across from me.
Corbin shakes his head, and says, "Bastard said he'd move into my house until I said yes."
I laugh, too.
"Damn straight," Red concurs, stabbing a piece of sausage. "You would've woke up each morning to this handsome face." Grinning, he shoves the meat into his mouth.
"I'd do whatever it took to avoid that, too," I say.
"Fuck you both," Red says with his mouth full.
I reach toward the food in the middle of the table and fill my plate.
"Randy get his shit together yet?" I ask.
"My shit is fine," Randy states, pulling the last chair at the table back roughly.
I snort.
"You better be fucking clean," Red growls.
"Don't worry about me, Dad. I'm good."
The shake of his hands warns differently.
For the next two hours, we talk about some of the good ole days before Corbin can't take anymore and changes the subject to the concert.
"How many press conferences?" He sits back, arms over his chest, and eyes on Red.
"One…" Red takes a drink of orange juice, "at each event."
"Christ," Corbin grounds out.
"I've made it very clear with Chantel which topics are off the table," he assures.
"Chantel?" Randy inquires.
"She's from the public relations company I hired. She'll head up the press situations and keep it on track. Besides, we're here to raise money for different charities, not deal with the gossip," Red explains.
"But they are going to bring up Ethan," I say, playing devil's advocate.