Chapter 32
32
REMI
“Sinner.”
I narrow my gaze at the meddling director glaring back at me through my laptop screen. “Heath.”
The stare down continues until I consider the possibility of the call having frozen. But before I break first to check, Heath releases a pent-up sigh and relaxes into his office chair, finger to temple.
“So, you’re still upset.”
Still refers to the three-paragraph text I sent after talking to Xander about what went down with Heath and the label. I told him he was wildly off base, and if he’d bothered talking to me first, he could have saved himself the trouble of caring. He replied with: I’ll call Sunday. Be over it by then.
“Yeah, I am.” I sit back on my bed, pulling the computer onto my lap and leaning against the headboard. “You took into consideration everyone’s input on me, my safety, and my working conditions except for mine.”
He looks like he has plenty to say, so it surprises me when he says, “You’re right.”
I blink at him. “Wh-what? Is this a trap?”
“For fuck’s sake.” He rubs his temple like I’m giving him a headache. “No, it’s called introspection, Sinner. After twenty years in an industry full of abusive man-babies who think breathing is consent, you morally bottom out and act oblivious, or you assume everyone is a duck all the time. I made a call based on experiences with too many terrible fucking people. But you’re right. I should have talked to you before anyone.”
Twice he said I’m right, and twice I’ve feared someone might have a gun to his head. “Um … thank you?”
His gaze darts to the side and appears further annoyed once it returns. “Text me another essay, and I guarantee you’ll never have another director credit in your life.”
“He’s lying,” Jasmine calls from off screen.
I press my lips together to school my expression as his face tips to the ceiling.
“And that’s why,” he mumbles.
His gorgeous wife pops her blonde head in from beside him long enough to wink at me and kiss his cheek. Turns out, the director did have a metaphorical gun to his head this entire time.
Once she and her baby belly have gone, the unholy glare Heath unleashes on me is a warning, a threat, and possibly a curse on my soul if I say a word about it. But I wouldn’t dare. The man slipped, showing he cares for me by overstepping with the label. He was dangerously close to humanity with an almost-apology. Buried deep in there might have even been a near admission of respect.
The tiniest push and he may implode.
“I’ll be sure to make my point succinctly in the future.”
“Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Now, do I need to hold your hand to get the Adams interview or can you do us both a favor and fucking nail it down?”
“There will be three Adams interviews by the end of the tour. The only hand you need to hold is Jasmine’s in the delivery room. Who else will scowl and terrorize the birthing center staff if not you?”
I tack on a grin he ignores completely.
“The first two better not take until then,” he says. “After you get those and the last of your main shots once the break is over, you don’t need to stay on the road. With Xander there, your crew can finish up and send you the footage.”
The comment catches me off guard, the plan being I remain on tour until the very end. “I can’t leave before New York. I need to conduct the third solo interviews after their last concert.”
“So, you meet the band in New York for the wrap interviews or fly out to LA.” Heath grabs his phone, his interest waning.
I shake my head. “I’ll probably stay. Who knows what shot we might miss.”
“I don’t care what you do, Sinner. Just don’t fuck it up.” Without looking, he reaches forward to end the call, but he stops and glances up. My mentor’s jaw appears ready to crack until he forces out, “I’m glad I was wrong. Tell me if it changes.”
The video blacks out before I manage words. Probably a good thing because I can deal with heartless prick with a god complex Heath Erickson all day long. But I am ill-equipped for whoever I talked to just now.
I return to reviewing footage, nearly caught up. Heath was technically right. Other than three key shots and a handful of self-indulgent ones—I still haven’t used the projector—Glory, Nate, and Xander could complete shooting for the last month of the tour. It would clear me up to start assembling raw footage and structure the story.
But I have two reasons to stay. Foster is obvious. The other is a vibes thing I can’t explain. When I worked on the documentary for Sound Clash, I went in with a solid plan. I left with a completely different one because of moments I couldn’t have anticipated.
The all-girl punk band I ended up centering the experience around, I bumped into while the first band played. They were neon colors and feathers and giggles. I fell in love with them.
I only asked the guitarist to wear the spy glasses during their set, but they continued swapping them off all weekend. What they captured changed the story I wanted to tell. All the way down to the final minutes.
You never know when a tiny detail can shift a perspective. Leaving the tour early, I might miss one.
Needing more than the same two rooms and a balcony, I pack up and move down to the hotel’s lobby.
The band flew in this morning, and the private floor is a prime spot for them to hang and write. If they want to avoid me, I won’t force myself on them.
I have no idea if anything changes now. Things with Foster still feel fragile, but more in a what comes next sort of way. We haven’t talked about what anything from the other night means. He left before I woke up the other day, and outside of a few texts, I haven’t heard from him. Understandable with their stop in California, followed up with the benefit concert.
His last text said he had a few things he needed to do today, but tonight, I was all his. I’m trying to not fall too hard over it, even if it feels like I’ll succumb to the Foster-induced fever faster the second time around.
I set up with my laptop, sinking into a cozy armchair in a tiny nook near the elevators.
After an hour, a shadow falls over me. Then a disappointed sigh.
“Have you left the fucking hotel since we got here?” Colton asks.
“I don’t stop, remember?”
When I look up, he half-smiles. “Adams told us you weren’t behind the shit the label pulled.”
I shake my head. “It was a misunderstanding that got out of control. No one’s come close to crossing my boundaries. If they did, I’d have said something, and I know it wouldn’t have happened again. You guys are all your own levels of douches, not creeps.”
Colton nods, then squints. “On the douche hierarchy, where am I? Specifically in regard to Adams. More douchey or less?” He breaks into a full grin when I glare and dips his chin toward my laptop. “You’re done working. It’s time for some mandated chill time.”
“What are we doing?” I ask, realizing how much I missed him. The easiness.
He shrugs and walks to the elevator. “Put your shit away and find out.”
* * *
For the first time since leaving LA, I ride in the front seat of a car rather than the back of a van or Uber.
Colton drives us to a different part of Austin in the flashy little coupe he rented. Much more residential with the cozy neighborhood vibe. Kids even dart out of the street to let us through, kicking a soccer ball to the middle again once we pass.
When he pulls into a cul-de-sac, he parks in front of the gorgeous Mediterranean house nestled at the end. Shrubs line the walk, a balcony on each side, and it even has a turret. I climb out, already seeking out the details before shutting the door.
“And this is why you left the camera.” Colton steps on the curb and turns back, hands on his hips. “Can you drool over the arches on the inside at least? Maybe if you’re really good, I’ll let you foam at the mouth over the rooftop patio later.”
I toss him a look on our way up the drive. “I have a feeling I’ll like your brother more than you.”
He snorts. “Insulting, honestly. I’ll remember you said that.”
A metal gate leads to an outdoor entry. On one side sits a smaller structure, but I follow him through the double doors into the main house on the other side. We step into an airy kitchen, opening to the living room. A brunette glances over her shoulder from the couch and grins.
“My favorite of the brothers,” she says.
The elbow to my arm is not subtle, Colton nearly knocking me down.
She rounds the end of the couch with a smile, sneaking a side hug that ends with a hard smack to his stomach that makes him grunt. “I saw your gift, asshole.” She nails him with a look and then swings to me. “It’s a lamp shaped like a woman’s ass that you turn on and off by slapping it.”
“Oh, come on, Val. You can’t be jealous of a lamp.” He grins, very proud, and then he tips his head my way. “This is Remi. Remi, Valeria. My brother’s hostage.”
She rolls her eyes before melting into a smile. “Hi, Remi. Feel free to escape back in here when you need wine.” She darts her gaze to the double doors. “The birthday boy is out there .” Her nose scrunches in mock disgust, and I like her. “The cake will be here in twenty, along with your parents.”
Colton nudges me the way we came, and we cross to the other set of doors. They bring us into another kitchen space, smaller with an adjacent sitting area, but he keeps going through the large archway.
We walk down a short ramp into a den-like room. The mounted TV takes up most of a wall, and a sectional lines the other two on that side of the room. It’s covered in throw pillows, all with cross-stitched phrases.
“ Boning up the wrong tree ,” I read off one.
Colton snorts. “I lean more toward, When it comes, it pours .”
“ Better late than pregnant ?” I ask.
“Careful. Too much bro-spiration at once is dangerous.”
I spin to a guy by the pool table on the other side of the room. He has short dark hair and a familiar look to him—a similar bone structure to Colton and something else.
“My brother,” he says, tossing his stick on the felt.
“Happy birthday, dickhead.” Colton meets him halfway and leans down to give him a hug in his wheelchair. The exchange includes very aggressive backslaps on both parts.
“Now move. She’s hotter than you.”
Colton shakes his head but steps aside, and his brother rolls over. He stops in front of me, brows dipping and eyes narrowing.
“This is Remi.” Colton stops beside him. “She’s directing the band’s documentary.”
His brother’s features smooth out and morph into a grin, almost conspiratorial and tug, tug, tugging. “She’s fucking Remi. And she’s shooting the documentary.”
He says my name like he knows it. I swear I know the way he says it too. Wait…
“Glad you can retain simple sentences,” Colton mutters, then he tells me, “Meet my older brother, Chase.”
Chase smirks as the realization plows into me. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so I close it. My lips turn up instead. “Chase.”
“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Remi,” he says. Then his eyebrow perks up as a door opens off to the side of us. “Look who Colt brought for cake, my brother.”
Foster stops mid-step, our eyes locking. My stomach swoops at seeing him and flips again when his gaze lowers over me.
“Shit.” Colton winces. “Sorry, Adams. I thought you weren’t sticking around long.”
Foster stays on me another second, then switches to the others and moves to grab a beer bottle off the pool table’s ledge. “I wanted to see your parents before I leave.”
Chase glances between us with a curious squint and nudges his brother. “Val hides Christmas gifts in the garage attic. My money’s on the ass lamp being there if you want to check.”
Foster shoulder-checks Colton on his way toward the ramp, knocking him in that direction. They both walk up it as Colton chuckles.
“I’ll be right back, lioness,” he calls on his way out.
The door barely closes before Foster reappears with a second beer. His sight is set on me, and my pulse spikes, his heated stare consuming me while he strides over.
He holds out the extra beer for me. I take it once he’s close enough. Then he’s grasping the side of my neck, pulling my lips to his. They part when his tongue demands it, diving in to stroke mine, and a satisfied sound vibrates in his throat.
Foster claims my mouth like he needed it. I needed it too, a promise everything from the other night is real.
His thumb brushes over my jaw, breath hot on my skin. “Hi.”
“Hey.” I smile, and he kisses me again.
“You never greet me like that,” Chase says.
Foster’s hand falls away, a sudden rigidness to him, and he turns to his friend. “Taste like her, and I’ll start.”
My cheeks heat at the grin spreading on Chase’s face, and I take a swig.
“So.” He crosses his arms but still points a finger between us. “You kiss her like that in front of me. Yet Colt called you Adams in front of her…” He lets out a surprised chuckle. “Little bro don’t know?”
“No.” Foster steps forward. “Keep it that way, asshole. It’s complicated.” He slaps Chase’s palm, telling him, “If I don’t catch your parents on the way out, tell them I’ll stop by the house this week.”
Chase nods. “See you in the morning for fishing.”
“Can’t wait to throw you off the boat.” Foster smacks him in the back of the head. He ducks in to kiss my cheek, a noticeable dip in his mood. His fingers skim over my hand, lips still on my skin. “I’ll see you later.”
A shiver flits down my spine, and I flash a small smile. My gaze trails after him as he walks away.
Chase sighs. “I’m suddenly remembering how disgusting you two were.”
I tilt my head at him and squint. “And I’m suddenly remembering you owe me a hundred bucks.”
He shrugs, pushing backward and spinning around to the pool table. “I’ll play you for it.”
While he racks the balls, Colton returns—blue ass lamp in hand. Fitting since Chase proceeds to hand me my ass in pool.
* * *
“You were right,” I tell Colton.
He spares a glance, pulling into the hotel’s parking garage. “I already know this is a setup, so go ahead.”
I shrug as he parks. “I didn’t like Chase more than you.” When he starts to smile, I open my door. “Valeria’s so superior, neither of you even rank anymore.”
The driver door shuts, and his eye roll is still going.
But I’m serious. Val rescued me from the bro-holes—her words, but they feel accurate. We went up to the rooftop patio, drank wine, and talked about all the things the guys never would. She’s already texted me a list of spas and demanded I pick one for us to visit before we go back on the road.
Spending time with her was easy, even when we dipped into heavier topics. Nothing too deep, which I appreciated, but enough to remind me how lonely it gets sometimes.
I’ve always avoided the deeper connections. The ones where you share the bad and dark places. My last close-close friend was Sage, and I still kept a lot from her.
Foster’s the only person who has it all.
Maybe telling him what happened back then is the next step forward I needed in reclaiming my life. Maybe it leads to pushing through the lingering fears. Maybe I’ll tell someone else. Right now the idea of either has my skin crawling, a ball of anxiety lodging in my chest.
But I’ve conquered a lot the last two years. So, I’ll take maybe one day as a win.
After wine, we caked. Several other people showed up to help Chase celebrate. I can’t help but wonder if Foster left earlier to avoid a group. If he thought he needed to because of who he is to most of them.
When I met Chase and Colton’s parents, they beamed over Adams. But the name didn’t sound nearly as familiar from them as it should, given the subject lived with them as a teenager, which makes sense. They probably see Foster in private far more often than in public and don’t use the stage name much.
Knowing him, he didn’t want them to stress over it with other people around. Or draw attention from Chase. I just wish I could shake the feeling of his unease before he left having to do with me.
As I lean back against the elevator wall, Colton scans his card and presses the button for the private lounge floor.
“You’re coming down, right?”
“I guess I am now.” I hesitate. “Are Dev and Felix still mad at me? You said Adams cleared it up.”
He rolls his head toward me. “We’re all on the same page. We were assholes, but I hope you can see it from the band’s point of view. Out of nowhere, they were told you felt sexually harassed. The label even made it sound like you were scared to be on the bus with us alone.”
“I hate they did that. And I do understand. I wish you guys would have trusted me more, but I understand why you wouldn’t. You thought I was a threat, so you circled the wagons to protect what the band has built.”
Colton sighs and faces forward. “We circled the wagons, and I’m sorry it meant locking you on the outside. The entire thing hit a tender spot—especially for Felix.”
Our gazes connect, the conversation we had about the drummer lingering between us. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be better when the outside world lays off for a minute. It’s been almost two years of a nonstop push, and now he’s having to fight his demons while under a spotlight.”
“Demons made worse by the sexual harassment accusation?” I ask.
I’m fishing from a human place. Not a storytelling one.
“Them implying we would assault you,” Colton says, looking over at me.
I nod and let it drop as the elevator doors slide open. The man in question’s head tips back so he can see us coming from over the couch before dropping it down again. Dev’s sprawled on a giant ottoman. His shirt’s riding up, and he has a can of beer balanced on his exposed lower torso.
“You can only be here if you brought snacks,” Dev calls.
He raises his brows, still reclined, and I round the end of the massive sectional. “I brought Colton. Does that count? He’s delusional enough to think he’s a snack.”
Dev grins. Felix chuckles. And Colton barrels into me on his way by, swearing at us under his breath about being a whole damn meal.
Dev eyes me, and I can see the words working through him. But Felix is the one who stands, his jaw locked. He leaves his drink on the cushion, stopping in front of me.
“Adams said we’re good, but I need to hear it from you.” He has a softness in his voice he hasn’t had before. At least not that I’ve heard. It extends to his expression, forehead tense and eyes searching mine for reassurance.
“We can be better than good if you want, Felix.”
I half-smile, but he’s still stoic.
“You swear to put us in our fucking places if you do ever feel like we’re disrespecting you? Because we never want you to feel unsafe. Around us or in general.”
“I swear.” I hear the relief in his exhale as he nods. “And I want you to feel safe being your authentic self around me. So can you please go back to being a crass and obnoxious man-child?”
He smirks, his chin tipped up while he stares down at me, cocky and the Felix I know. “Who said I haven’t been holding back this entire time, Cam Girl?”
I laugh, and he swipes up his drink before crashing onto the couch with it.
“What about me?” Grabbing his beer, Dev sits up and pushes his unstyled hair off his forehead.
“No,” I say fast. “I can’t stand the real you.”
He squints, feigning offense with a huff. “Fine. I never liked you anyway.”
His lips turn up on one side, and he winks.
Just like that, I’m accepted back into the pack and feel settled again. The only thing that could make it better is the wolf who’s missing.