Chapter Sixteen
“What do you mean he’s gone?” Lara’s voice shot up in concert with her sculpted eyebrows. She nudged Troy’s auntie with a tight smile and sidestepped the bed. There were far too many people crammed into Troy’s hotel room. All he’d wanted to do was sleep, but it was past noon and his time was up.
“Why aren’t you in a suite?” Joe demanded. “Patty, call the desk. We need a bigger room for Troy.”
Along with his family and Savannah, who was puffy-eyed and uncharacteristically quiet, the band’s “people” had arrived.
Joe was their middle-aged manager, and he’d given Troy a tearful bear hug, followed by Lara the PR director, Patty the assistant, and Steve and Carlos, whose jobs Troy didn’t even know.
Troy appreciated everyone’s concern and obviously sincere happiness in seeing him, but now he was backed up near the window, the blinds still tightly shut. He just wanted them to go away. “I don’t need a suite. I’m going home tonight.”
Lara turned to Joe. “I thought we’d agreed on tomorrow? Give us some time to strategize.”
Troy spoke up before Joe could answer. “I booked my own flight. Well, Savannah booked it for me and my mom.” The flight hadn’t had enough seats left for his whole family, but he’d made sure they could get back ASAP and that it would be charged to his credit card.
“I need to see my brother. A two-minute phone call isn’t enough.
Ty needs me, and he needs to stay in rehab, so I’m going to him. ”
Lara smiled tightly. “Of course. We all want the very best for him. For both of you.” Her power suit looked impeccable, a blue scarf knotted perfectly at her neck and complementing her golden hair. “Now what’s this about Brian Sinclair leaving?”
“He left,” Troy replied flatly.
“Is he coming back?”
Mouth dry, Troy gulped from a bottle of water. “No.”
“But…he can’t just leave.” Lara smiled again. “We have a press conference to do. Can you call him?”
Troy realized with a horrible burst of nausea that he didn’t even have Brian’s number. “He left.”
“But there are so many questions the world wants answered, and it’s really best if we control the message and you two are a united front.”
Troy’s mother squeezed in beside Lara. “The world will have to go jump in the river. Troy’s coming home.”
“I’m not doing a press conference. Sorry.” He shrugged.
Lara glanced down at her tightly gripped phone as if there would be some answer there.
Then she met his gaze with calm, practiced understanding.
“I know you’ve been through an ordeal we can’t imagine.
But we want you to help us understand. There is so much love for you out there, you have no idea.
This is a miracle! Let us celebrate you. ”
In the past, he never would have argued. He’d have gone along with whatever they wanted, carried away in their current. If he flat out refused, he wouldn’t have any peace. “I’ll give a statement outside the hotel. But no press conference.”
“All right,” Lara smoothly agreed after a glance with Joe. “Patty?” With a nod to her minion, she turned back to Troy. “We’ll craft something for you and have it ready by—”
“I don’t need that. I’ll figure out what to say.”
“Speaking off the cuff is never a good idea, especially when you’ve been under strain,” Lara insisted. “You need—”
“I need everyone to leave me the fuck alone!”
In the sudden hush, Troy’s heart thumped hollowly. His mother stared at him with wide eyes, and he waited for her admonishment to apologize and not be rude. But instead, she clapped her hands together sharply.
“You heard him. Leave.” As the band’s people filed out first, she spoke to the family in rapid-fire Tagalog.
Troy only knew as much as a child—questions about being hungry, thirsty, tired, happy—and usually answered in English.
She turned back to him, giving his arms a squeeze. “We’ll let you rest, Bongbong.”
“No, you don’t have to go. I’m sorry. I was dying to see you all for so long. I’m just…” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry.”
Savannah spoke from the door. “I’ll handle Lara and Joe. Don’t worry.” She disappeared before he could thank her.
His aunties and uncles followed. “We’ll go to the pool,” Uncle Jojo joked, patting his broad belly. “Work on our tans.” They all smiled and waved and acted like Troy wasn’t an enormous asshole.
“You need more rest,” his mother said, going for the room phone. “I’ll order you food, and then you sleep.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine, Mom.”
She clucked her tongue. “Fine? You were dead, Bongbong.” Shaking her head, she muttered to herself, “Okay, let’s see if they have anything halfway decent.”
Troy didn’t argue as she called for room service, ordering far too much. Her voice was even, but when she turned, he could see the tears she refused to let fall. Reaching out, he hugged her. She clung to him, and neither of them said anything for a minute.
When she stepped back, she sniffled loudly. “All right, I’ll leave you alone now.”
“No. Stay, Mom. Please? We can watch TV. I haven’t seen TV in months.” He managed a smile. “And you can help me eat all that food.”
“All right, if you want.”
They settled side-by-side on the bed, leaning against the pillows.
It was strange to handle a remote control again, and Troy cycled through the channels almost as if he was seeing television for the first time.
It seemed too bright and loud. Then he spotted his own face, and his thumb froze over the button.
“Who cares what they’re saying?” His mom reached for the remote. “Let’s find a nice movie.”
Troy held the remote away, his eyes glued to the screen. “Wait.”
There was Brian’s picture now, smiling and handsome in his pilot’s uniform. No dimples in his cheeks, which meant it wasn’t a real smile. Then there he was in the grainy footage of his first crash, diving out the cockpit window as fire tore through the plane.
His mother tsked. “I’m so glad he was with you, Bongbong. Superman, eh? So brave! We’re so grateful. And of course that poor woman. How awful for you.”
Troy watched the news anchors talking, not hearing the words.
There was a new picture now, and his heart skipped.
It was from last night, he and Brian downstairs in the glass vestibule, shaking hands, a smile painted on Troy’s face.
Brian held his shaving kit in his other hand, and Troy thought of the scrape of the blade and the concentration on Brian’s face, his breath puffing over Troy’s skin.
Brian kissing him, rutting against him, touching him, fucking him. Making him feel more precious and wanted than a million fans ever could. Leaving him without a last kiss.
“He’s a very good man, hmm?”
Troy didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded, flipping the channel with pushes of his thumb until he found a Full House rerun. The food arrived soon after, and he picked at a too-rich and greasy burger and fries, barely tasting it even when he threw it up later that afternoon.
The sound on the TV in the private lounge was tinny, but Brian would have known Troy’s voice anywhere. He sat on the edge of the plush couch with Joan, the airline rep, watching Troy stand outside the hotel in Honolulu where they’d said goodbye—when? A day ago? Two? He wasn’t even sure.
“I wanted to thank you all for your love and support. My family, friends, and fans—I don’t know what I’d do without you.
I had faith that I’d see you again, and I’m so grateful to be here.
And I’m incredibly grateful to Brian Sinclair for saving my life more than once.
I know I wouldn’t have survived without his bravery and generosity. ”
Brian couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. From the corner of his eye, he was aware of Joan’s presence, and he struggled for composure.
Troy looked down for a moment. “And most of all, I need to thank Paula Mercado, who landed our plane against all odds and lost her life. My heart goes out to her family and friends, and I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for Paula’s courage and skill. Thank you.”
Then he was gone, whisked into a waiting car so quickly Brian had barely blinked. He sat back on the cushions, exhaling. The reporters were all shouting, and Joan muted the TV.
“Seems like a nice young man.”
“What? Yes. Yes, very nice.” Smart, sweet, kind, funny, passionate.
Joan crossed her legs, the fabric of her pantsuit swishing together. She was an older woman, no-nonsense and efficient, her graying hair in a bun. He’d never dealt with her before and couldn’t remember her title at the company although she’d surely told him.
He was extremely glad she was there. She’d arrived with the jet in Honolulu and debriefed him on the way to Auckland. Paula’s parents had met them in a private hangar in the airport, and it had been…
Well, it had been torture. Maia had wept, George’s stoic facade cracking several times. Brian had assured them Paula hadn’t felt any pain, which was the truth at least. There one moment and gone the next. Visibility on the beach had been so poor she probably hadn’t even seen the cliff coming.
He didn’t tell them about her arm.
Now he was back in Sydney, waiting for entry.
His passport and wallet had been in his coat pocket on the plane, but Joan assured him it was being handled.
She’d also given him a replacement cell phone, telling him it was all set up with his account.
Brian knew he should turn it on and check his messages, but it sat beside him untouched.
Soon, customs officials bustled in, and after perfunctory questions, Brian was cleared and in the back of a Town Car with Joan. She apparently didn’t feel the need to fill silence with chitchat, for which he was profoundly grateful.