Chapter 26
26
REMI
Now…
After Foster disappears onto the bus, I spin on Xander, grabbing his hand and hauling him with me. I march all the way to the front of Glory and Nate’s bus for some semblance of privacy. We’ve been around them since he arrived, but I’m not waiting any longer to find out what he knows.
I release him and cross my arms. The sun has set, the temp dropping. Most of the light bouncing off of us belongs to the light poles scattered through the parking lot.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Damn, Rem,” he says, a touch of rejection in his eyes. “You really know how to make a guy feel welcome. Have you held that in this whole time?”
I soften my expression as much as I can, my face grateful for somewhat of a reprieve from the tensed state since talking with Christian. “I’m sorry. I meant why did the label and Heath send you? You must know something. Tell me what the hell is going on, Xan. Christian was terrified to be alone with me. He apologized for inappropriate conduct and offered for me to talk to legal.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, hanging onto the back of his neck after. “Heath and I were worried.”
“I’m sorry, what?” My eyes bounce between his. “You had something to do with all this? Why? What the fuck, Xander?”
He nails me with an incredulous look. “Yeah, I had something to do with this. And what the fuck is, I haven’t seen you cagey once in the two years we’ve known each other, then the second Adams walked onto the bus the other day, you shut down.”
Unbelievable.
“So, you what?” I quiet my voice, but I want to yell at him. “Decided the band— Adams— was sexually harassing me and ran to Heath? I told you nothing was happening.” I shake my head, not hiding my annoyance in the least. “What am I supposed to do now, Xander? The band thinks I made accusations against them. They aren’t going to trust me anymore, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
The band thinks I betrayed them, and it feels like Xander betrayed me. Given the reactions from Christian and Foster, I’m unsure they’ll even believe me if I try to explain. And then I’m only passing blame to Xander, who’s expected to finish the tour with my crew. A clusterfuck of its own with how Foster acted minutes ago. Everything’s always so delicate between us, and someone just took a hammer to it all.
“Rem,” Xander starts, tone lowering to pacify me, mouth turning down at the corners.
But I’m too upset.
“I can’t talk to you right now.” I back away, arms dropping to my sides. “I’ll see where Glory and Nate want to go for dinner. We’ll fill you in on our process for concerts. We can redistribute the work for tomorrow’s and cover the shot list for the meet and greet in the afternoon.”
His head falls back between his shoulder blades, but I leave him there. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself as I walk away, not even hoping for the best. Only bracing for the worst.
And I’m right to.
After dinner, I board the bus as Felix and Dev are coming through the curtain into the lounge, both carrying their duffel bags. Dev’s jaw sets, Felix immediately lowering his gaze to the floor as soon as they see me.
“I swear I didn’t say anything to the label,” I tell them again. I tried before leaving, but I cut Xander off without the entire story, so I’m missing details. “There was nothing to say. Something got twisted along the way, and I think?—”
“Can we get by?” Dev asks, closing in on me.
Part of me wants to refuse. Block them in and make them listen. But with the callousness aimed at me, they won’t hear me. The trust is gone, shattered, like I feared. As much as I hate it, force won’t repair the damage. Not without breaking something elsewhere.
I swallow the sting and move aside. Dev turns his body, inching past like I’m poisonous spikes to avoid. The next blow hits even harder.
Felix follows suit, side-stepping to maintain as much distance as possible between his front and mine. “Excuse me, Remi,” he mumbles.
I’m Remi now. Not Cam Girl.
They stomp down the stairs, and my eyes crush closed.
In a handful of hours, I went from part of the pack to a pariah.
None of the guys will talk to me.
None of them sleep on the bus.
The band, Christian, even Colton—they want nothing to do with me.
* * *
All the stress carries over, ready and waiting for the awkwardness of filming together the next afternoon. We need shots of the meet and greet and fan interactions, and regardless of if they hate me, the documentary needs to stay the priority.
I arrive at the music store with the crew instead of the band. A drastic change from the rest of the tour. Yesterday morning, I watched Felix and Colton bicker over nonsense, ending with Felix leaning over and licking Colton’s pancakes. Now when they walk through the alley entrance and see me in the storeroom, they fall silent. All five faces stoic and eyes avoidant.
Within three minutes, I wish for outright animosity rather than the indifference and professionalism surrounding me. I’m a suit. Even Foster plucks the spy glasses from my hand with utter disinterest.
I exit the storeroom ahead of the others, following the corridor to where it opens up to the front. Despite the shop windows and the music playing from speakers in one corner, the hum of voices reaches me. A sea of people wait on the sidewalk, and then a contained line snakes down the closed street, kept orderly with crowd barricades.
Hands wave and fans shout as I walk each side of the locked, guarded door, filming over the displays of guitars and amps. I swing through the shop for B-roll of keyboards, drums, and the little section of woodwinds. The place holds a vintage vibe behind the modern equipment. Records on the walls, autographed pictures framed. A nook intended for testing instruments even has an orange shag carpet on the walls for dampening sound.
I understand the draw for Of Men and Wolves in wanting the event held here.
At the rear of the store, they set up a charcoal backdrop for pictures. I land off to the side, near the alcove and close to where Nate set up his audio equipment. The angle allows a focus on the band but guarantees to capture every interaction. Glory and Xander will float to get the shots we discussed while Nate monitors mics.
They appear a handful of minutes ahead of the start time. Xander catches my eye and offers a small smile. My return one fails to stick. Along with everything else I haven’t figured out, our dynamic on tour earns a spot on the list. I need to de-ice enough to talk to him first.
Colton walks out with Christian. The latter folds his arms over his chest and leans by the doorway. But it’s Colton who surprises me. He heads toward me, scanning the place. Then he stands next to me.
I want to say something, but he stares at the hallway where the band will emerge any second and crosses his arms. We’re not keeping each other company. We both need the same proximity to the action.
Screams and shouting breach the walls and windows when the band appears. I immediately home in on Foster. He’s not wearing the frames I gave him. Felix is. It feels personal.
The noise grows louder once they open the doors to let the first wave inside. Felix and Dev kick up the charm as the line begins cycling through. Like they needed any more between the effortless swagger and smooth grins.
But nothing compares to the magnetism of Adams North. The hunter green tee stretches over his chest and around his biceps, and he’s wearing black ripped jeans. Every inch of him pulls you in, his charisma a force of its own. He flashes irresistible smiles to balance the seductive angst always skimming his surface. All confidence and sex and a magic I can’t describe.
I’ve witnessed him hypnotize a packed stadium over and over, but the man is dangerous in an intimate setting. The entirety of his attention is not for the weak of heart. I would know. Mine’s felt pretty beaten into submission by Foster plenty of times.
All three seem at ease as the people and groups rush for their pictures and hugs, where the guys never actually touch the fans. I’m unsure the fans notice, but the band’s hands and arms always hover, not quite making contact with anyone outside of handshakes.
The screams resume after the last group finishes and the guys wave on their way to the back through the doorway. Felix shouts a, “We love you,” and I flinch at the decibel level spike.
“Fuck,” Nate hisses behind me, and when I glance over my shoulder, he’s shaking his head.
If the other moments of cries and screeching didn’t peak the audio, that one certainly did.
I expect the band to be gone already by the time I help Nate break down audio, but they’re still in the storeroom. Foster, Felix, and Dev are signing autographs for two store employees by the exit and posing for more pictures. Christian’s scowling, not at me, but it matches the glower on Colton.
“We need to go before it gets worse,” the security guard says. He swings his gaze to me and gestures toward the door with his chin. “One of the event security fucked up, and people flooded the alley. We’ve cleared space to our van, but the one you brought is in front. Safest bet is to drive out together.”
I nod. “Yeah. No problem.”
“Anton will take you back.” He glances at my crew. “Unless whoever drove here wants to avoid all the moving bodies?”
Nate shakes his head violently. “Fuck, no.”
His eyes dart to me, checking he answered correctly, and I subtly nod. The relief that flashes in his eyes—Glory pats him on the shoulder.
“We’ll load your crew, then the band,” Colton says, all business but not in the cold way from earlier. He’s just serious. “Your van has less room around it, but they shouldn’t cause an issue once they see who we’re bringing out.”
I nod again, and Colton asks Nate for keys to hand off to Anton, who must already be outside. The band’s posted against the wall by the door, dutifully waiting, no concern showing when we move to leave. Xander respects my space and hangs back behind the other two while I end up in front of the door with Colton. It puts me between him and Foster, leaning beside me. My eyes flit to him as always, and he has his head rolled in our direction.
The animosity I wished for earlier swims in his eyes now. Disdain paints his expression, similar to the look he gave me on the bus when he claimed what we had before wasn’t real. I blink, redirecting to the gray metal door in front of me, the push bar across it. But I still feel him. Forever tugging.
“You’re with me, Remi.” Colton grasps the strap to my camera bag, and I let him take it off my shoulder, smiling at him in thanks.
Foster lets out a derisive breath. “They brought the wannabe in to protect you, yet it’s my security doing the job, first out there and now here.”
I take in a steeling breath to counter his. “Interesting you would say that, considering I handed you the spy glasses for shots of the event, but Felix wore them.”
He refuses to hear me out. It doesn’t mean he can treat me like shit without pushback.
I look over. Our eyes meet, his cold, cold, cold. The tension’s different again, and not back to the way we were before the bus. It’s a new one, missing the heated base notes present since Prague. No glances at my mouth or lower. No warmth at all. Foster might actually hate me.
Colton’s doing a final check when Foster smirks, not in challenge, but in warning. I fight off a shiver.
“I’ll tell you what, director.” He tips his head back on the wall, closes his eyes. “I’ll do my job once he does his.”
* * *
The drivers moved the buses to the venue while we were gone, so the vans take us there.
Colton called it. The fans showed no interest in the crew. Of Men and Wolves walked out, and they lost their shit. I watched out the back window while security moved the barriers to let us leave, and people surrounded the other van. It took the event detail walking in front so Colton could safely get them out of there.
Christian’s already on the phone when we cross paths in the parking lot, upping security for future appearances and shows. They need to adjust for the band’s ever-climbing popularity and reactions to them. Mac Records might have all but taken over the tour from him, but Christian remains the one looking out for the guys in the end.
Keeping up with the cold shoulder, the band and associates go straight inside to their dressing room. I need to time it right if I want to try to explain I had nothing to do with the label and Heath. With Xander. Hours ahead of a concert is far from right.
Plus, I still have nothing to explain until I talk to my assistant .
And when I walk into the lounge after showering and getting ready, that time has come, apparently.
Xander shoots up from being sprawled on the couch where he slept on last night. “You can’t avoid me forever, Rem.”
I shrug. “That has yet to be determined.” But then I sigh and gesture to the front of the bus. “Ready to carry stuff inside?”
His lips quirk up, and he nods. “Absolutely, boss.”
I roll my eyes and nudge him out of the way. I climb to the loft and snag my camera bag.
We work as light as possible during concerts, just our bags and anything specific shots might require. Both Glory and Xander will need extra equipment tonight, so we gather his from the other bus’s storage.
I also keep a duffel of backups with me—along with a couple of my favorite lenses. A filter or two. Maybe a recorder for ambient noise. And the projector for a shot I’m dying to get of old band footage playing on a wall or curtain as the guys walk in front to the stage.
All vital shit, really.
Xander snatches the duffel from me, slinging the strap over his shoulder on our way inside. He tosses me a grin. I narrow my eyes in return, and he groans, exasperated as security opens the door for us.
I check the handy venue map on my phone for the band’s dressing room. Christian sent them for every show so I could plan logistics and scenes. They save me more often than I care to admit.
Xander catches my arm as we cross the backstage area. “Can we please talk this out? I hate you being mad at me. And I really hate you acting like I’m a bad guy in your movie.”
“The misdirection would work so well, though. The pretty face, close proximity as my roommate, the friends-to-hookup-to-friends threaded into the storyline. You’re perfect for the villain.”
I flash a wry smile but then take pity on him. I drag him with me, backing out of the way from the stage. We stop beside an empty dolly and spare amps, and I face him, chin tipped to glare at him properly.
“Go ahead. Tell me why you’re accusing people of sexual misconduct. Or, with how Christian was acting, was it assault?”
Xander jerks back and then ducks closer, his voice hushed. “Jesus fuck, Remi. I didn’t do either. You think I’d baselessly cry assault on someone? The thought might have crossed my mind, but I never voiced it.”
I believe him, the shock from him seeming genuine, the hurt too. “Well, you clearly voiced something.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Concern. I told Heath you were acting off. Which he agreed. The subject shifts to Adams, and the vibe changes with you. In all the time we’ve worked together, not once have you missed a deadline. Hell, Heath wanted to come himself to scorch earth based on those things alone. The interviews with Adams are essential, whether you’re giving the middle finger to Mac Records or not. It’s a scene you, of all people, should be salivating over. But you’re putting it off and giving flimsy excuses.”
The fight leaves me because he’s right. Even though I’ve refused to focus solely on Adams from the beginning, before Prague, a day-one nonnegotiable shot was his interview.
I look away, suddenly feeling responsible for the mess. Maybe not directly, but I fed them every reason to go down the path. “So, Heath went to the label?”
“After checking with Glory and Nate if they noticed anything, yeah. Well, I checked with them. Can you imagine if Heath called those two, demanding answers? Can you imagine Heath not losing it on everyone when it comes to you? His heart might not beat, but whatever powers him is protective as fuck of you.”
“The lifeblood of innocents, mostly.”
He huffs a laugh, and I return my gaze to him, his still serious. “I have no idea what was said to their manager. They wanted someone on tour, and I offered. Heath threatened every facet of my life and bought me a ticket here.”
“Sounds like him,” I whisper.
Xander studies me before a half-shrug. “Tell me what you would have done, Rem. With everything you’ve experienced around this industry, I know the answer isn’t pretend to not notice.”
I can’t disagree from his perspective, but I own the full story as to why I acted differently about Adams. Because Adams is Foster. And Foster is a direct link to what I’ve spent so long avoiding at all costs. Even now, the tightness creeps into my chest, my muscles bunching, mind bucking against the possibility of going there.
But Foster’s also where I want to be. He makes me wonder if I can say the bad aloud and tell him why I left the way I did. All the regrets and stupid decisions and the weight of them.
I almost attempted to on the bus when I couldn’t stand the idea of him not being on the other side of the curtain. Then I choked on the words, and he kissed me.
“Adams has his reasons for avoiding the interview, and I’m being respectful. If I thought it was truly detrimental to the documentary, I would go to Christian. Like you said, I’ve experienced a lot on sets. I know what makes me uncomfortable and when my lines have been crossed, Xander. I understand you and Heath were trying to protect me, but I didn’t need it. Now…” I lift a hand only for it to drop. “Now,” I say, letting it encompass the mess in its entirety.
Xander blows out air. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, but I won’t apologize for worrying about you. I won’t stop either. Not only because I care about you, but because I promised to watch out for you.”
I manage a small smile at the welcome reminder. “You also promised to keep your hands off me. We both know that didn’t happen.”
“Nope. Not before and not after.”
“But none of that matters. Sex was always whatever with us. You need to talk to me the next time you’re worried—and I mean really talk to me—because we’re friends above all else, Xan. First and always, right?”
The question pulls double duty. No one’s motives are pure. Humans are too inherently selfish for entirely selfless acts. Xander’s concern I believe, but I also think he inserted himself to guarantee nothing sexual happens in regard to me. Consensual included.
“Right. First and always,” he says, a little too enthusiastic, but I’m confident we’re on the same page. “I really am here to help, Remi, not just play bodyguard. Your mentor’s mine too. Heath just likes you more. Unless it comes to torture, then I’m his favorite.”
I nod, emphasizing my agreement. “I’m sure wiggling out of Heath duty was devastating for you. Please tell me you found a fill for his assistant. He will be insufferable if not.”
“I found one, but we both know he’ll be insufferable regardless.”
I almost laugh. I would if the world didn’t feel so heavy. Xander gives an aww when I frown, and he wraps an arm around me, hugging me to his side. It only lasts a second before I step back and his arm falls, but in that two-blink period, Foster emerges from the dark shadows near the stage, homed in on us.
My heart plummets, more damage occurring between us in real time.
He shakes his head as he walks away, a smile spreading, but it’s cruel and pointed. He disappears down the hallway for the dressing room, and I toss a fake smile at Xander.
“I’ll see you after the show.” I take my bag so he can go to the front of house. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Then I head for the same hallway. It’s empty when I round the corner, the angry rock star already inside where the cold professionalism will no doubt continue from everyone. Even knowing all the details, I’m unsure of my next step.
I pause at the door, looking up and preparing myself for whatever happens on the other side. But when I push down on the handle, it doesn’t budge. No give at all.
They locked me out. The band fucking locked me out.
Or at least the last person to walk in did.
* * *
I throw the door open to the band’s dressing room after the concert. The handle on the other side bangs into the wall behind it as I charge in.
I never come in post-show, always grabbing my bags before the tits and dicks are on display, but not tonight. Also, there aren’t any tits or dicks since Felix and Dev passed me like I didn’t exist on their way to the exit.
An asshole sits on the tan leather couch, though.
Foster’s eyes lift long enough to slash me with a glare, then lower again. “I thought you’d take the hint you’re not welcome in here, director,” he says, voice rough from performing. “Get out before I call security to take care of it.”
“Take care of it?” I spit back. “I’m filming a documentary about your band, and you locked me out. We had shots planned…”
My attention dives to the guitar case on the coffee table in front of him. The coke he’s cutting on top of the smooth surface.
“What the fuck, Foster?” I glance over my shoulder to the door, realizing anyone could walk by. He might not care, but I do. I close it and come back, his head shaking in annoyance I’m still here.
He can fucking deal.
“I get you’re mad at me, but messing with filming over it? None of this works if you cut off my access to you. To all of you.”
Foster tosses aside the keycard and looks up, giving a careless shrug. “I told you I’d do my job when your wannabe boyfriend does his.”
I swallow down the urge to scream at him for being such a dick. “Xander filmed the merch table and entrance line tonight. He did his job.”
“Nah, I mean his real one. Tell me which of us he’s protected you from. Or is him feeling you up backstage part of his plan? If he’s doing it, no one else can? Fucking genius, honestly.” A harsh smirk forms, and I drop my gaze because he’s getting to me. “Maybe he’ll earn a raise for fucking you.”
I whip my eyes back to him. “It was a hug.” I clip the words, fists at my sides. “Xander’s a friend. Yes, we’ve slept together, but nothing since before Prague and never again. I don’t want him, Foster. I didn’t go to the label or Heath or ask for any of this, so stop fucking punishing me for it.”
Foster dips down and snorts through a line like he has a point to prove, and I feel it like he intends.
He stays forward, forearms braced on his thighs, and he nods at the door behind me. “If you’re done…”
“You know what? Fine.” I hold his stare, my frustration meeting his anger head-on. “Hate me. Despise me. Loathe me. Act like an ass and try to hurt me. But you won’t ruin the documentary. I won’t let you, and not just because of what it means for me. Because of what it means for Felix and Dev, for how fucking proud Colton looks of you when we’re filming.” I blink back a rush of tears, but they reach my voice anyway. “And for you—not Adams—you, Foster. I won’t let you stand in your own way, no matter how you feel about me now.”
He surges to his feet, anger to fury. “Don’t act like you care about me. You never fucking cared,” he grinds out. “The only true thing between us was that you were a liar, so save the bullshit. I won’t fuck up the doc because people I love need this. They need me to show up, and I will. Over and over again. And I’ll do it for me. I’ll turn it on and be everything I need to be in spite of you, Remi. Because I already lost enough to you when you fucked off out of my life the first time. No way in hell you’re taking anything else from me before you’re out of it permanently.”
My heart pounds in my chest, his heaving while the words linger. They tug at strings attached to anchors of pain buried in the muddy deep. Except the water level seems to have dropped, and what I’ve always wanted to say to him is right there.
The door swings open, and Colton strides in.
“Oh,” Colton says. A divot forms between his brows at the sight of us, Foster seething and me struggling to stand, three lines of coke on the case in the middle. “You good, Adams?”
Foster gives me a harsh once-over, then looks to his security guard, tone dead when he tells him, “Take out the trash before I do it myself.” He walks away, slamming the door to the bathroom behind him.
I swipe the tears away as the truth sinks back into the depths.
I never thought I could be sad about that.