Chapter 69
69
GAVIN
B eing in Los Angeles proved to be an inspired idea as Gavin was able to elude intense media attention for the most part while they went house hunting. He immediately fell in love with the Venice Beach area, especially after they took a stroll along the beach and he saw the street performers there. He was captivated, both with the diversity and the complete lack of recognition he got. Being able to engage in conversations with the guy who juggled knives, or the local graffiti artist, without having to talk about Rogue or his current debacle was utterly refreshing.
Though they were shown half a dozen houses by a local real estate agent, they agreed that the one Gavin first approved of back in Dublin was the one for them. Terracotta and stone on the outside, it had been gutted inside and remodeled with smooth lines and everything white except for dark wood floors and tasteful wrought iron work throughout the house. A top-of-the line kitchen with glass-front white cabinetry, white Caesarstone counters, and steel appliances opened to a formal dining room. The large step-down living room’s French doors led to a patio overlooking the canal. It was elegant and clean and immediately felt like the fresh start they instinctively sought. They giddily put in an offer for the house and were assured it would be accepted and escrow would be short.
Their reprieve from media scrutiny ended when they returned to Shutters on the Beach hotel in nearby Santa Monica. There was a line of cars backed up to get into the short hotel driveway, and the valet had just relieved them of their keys with reverential apologies that they would have to walk the distance to the front entrance when they were confronted by a well-known paparazzo.
“Hey, Gavin,” the heavyset man said, his camera flashing relentlessly. “Did you hear? They found your mother!”
Gavin did his best to keep his face a blank mask. He knew there was no truth to the jerk’s taunt. His mother, wherever she was, had done an excellent job of staying hidden. If she had been located, he was sure he would hear about it from James before anyone else. James, who usually had such a tight grip on the band’s media concerns, was working double-time to stay on top of this after failing to stop the Vanity Fair article. He had expressed profound regret over it, taking on all the blame, though Gavin didn’t hold anything against him. The whole situation had been of his own making, just as Ian said.
Gavin put his arm around Sophie’s shoulders to steer her around the man’s stubborn presence. Technically, they were still on Pico Boulevard, and that meant it was public property. The photographer, though obnoxious, was entitled to be there.
“Come on,” the paparazzo groaned, “give me something. I’m doing a public service here. Think about all the other kids whose mothers abandoned them. Don’t you have something to say for their sake?”
It wasn’t the absurdity or the cruelty of this argument that bothered Gavin, it was the self-satisfied laugh added at the end that enraged him. And that rage immediately took form as he released Sophie from his protective half-embrace and lunged at the photographer. With one firm shove he sent the guy to his ass and earned a quick threat of a lawsuit in retaliation.
Gavin wanted to pounce on him, to unleash his fury on him, but Sophie pulled him forcefully toward the sanctuary of the hotel.
Once in their room, Sophie turned to him. “Gavin, what’s going on? Where is this violence coming from? You’re scaring me,” she told him.
In reply, he took her into his arms and held her tightly, kissing her cheek gently.
“Baby,” she murmured into his shoulder, “I’m so worried and I don’t know how to help.”
The way her whole body trembled against his added to the feeling that he was not only flailing but bringing her down with him. And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew he couldn’t survive without her. Having her with him was beginning to feel like the best and worst thing, and even acknowledging that racked him with unbearable guilt.
“Shh, darlin’,” he whispered to her as he stroked her hair. “Don’t worry a bit. I’ll sort it out and it’ll be okay.”
She pulled away to meet his eyes. “Will it? Will you?”
As he opened his mouth to reply, his cell rang. He chose to release her and answer it with a distracted hello.
“Mate! So, the rumors are true!” Jackson said with a grin in his voice.
“Aye, Jackie,” Gavin replied, forcing himself to sound upbeat.
“Though I’m glad you’re in town, I must say I’m a little dismayed to have learned so through TMZ, of all things.”
“Sorry, didn’t have a chance to call.”
“No, not that, mate,” Jackson said with a laugh. “I’m sorry to see that TMZ drivel actually gets it right sometimes!”
There was a silence as Gavin fought to get himself into a more jovial mood. He looked at Sophie. Her back was to him as she gazed out through the window at their picturesque view of the Santa Monica pier. It was starting to get dark and the lights of the Ferris wheel were growing brighter.
“Listen, Gavin,” Jackson continued, “I should have called you before. I’m sorry to hear about your family troubles. It’s a real kick in the balls, that.”
“Thanks, man.”
“So, here’s the other reason I called. I’m having a fucking outrageous party tonight and you and your lady are coming. I’m up in the Hollywood Hills—just bought an insane nine-million-dollar house and I need to break it in! You’ll come, right? You have to come. It’ll take your mind off all this other crap.”
Gavin relaxed. “Yeah, we’ll be there, mate. Give me directions.”