Chapter 38
38
brONSON
O ur holding cell is cold and uninviting, though I guess that’s the point of the drunk tank. Can’t let our prisoners feel too comfortable. That might encourage criminal activity or... some bullshit like that.
Even if I were nestled on a cozy loveseat with a fleece blanket and a cup of hot cocoa, I’m sure I’d still feel like human garbage right about now.
Christian Myers. Turncoat .
This whole time.
Any word I could say to him has already been said by Knox or Jonah. While I sit on an ice cold bench, my back pressed hard against the wall, the two of them have been going at it near non-stop with our current cell mate for the last hour.
“How could you do this?” Knox growls. “Colluding with Monroe? Really, Chris?”
Christian stands at the opposite side of the cell with one arm hooked into the bars, no doubt ready to give the guard standing by a signal in case one of us wails on him again — which is quite tempting.
“We brought you onto our bus, man. Our tour!” Knox says. “I thought we were friends.”
“Friends?” Christian snickers. “You thought we were friends?”
Knox nods with genuine confusion. Jonah does, too.
“You don’t care about me,” Christian says, perfectly calm. “You never did.”
“That’s not true,” Jonah says.
“Did you even reach out after Cobraville broke up?”
We all flinch, our collective superstitions triggering the moment he said it. You don’t say those two words about a band and you certainly don’t do it within earshot of other musicians, but Christian clearly doesn’t give a shit about jinxing us.
“Did any of you?” he adds, giving the three of us a quick scan with his bruised and swollen eyes, the right lid only partially opened. “I’ll say that’s rhetorical since you don’t care either way.”
“No,” Jonah answers. “We didn’t reach out. We should have. For that, I’m sorry.”
Christian exhales hard. “Save it, Botsford. Criminal Records only cares about Criminal Records. You’re all selfish and ruthless animals, but hey, I should know. That’s what it takes to stay at the top, isn’t it? The Rebels of Rock,” he mocks. “At least own it. Don’t stand around pretending you’re some altruistic saint selflessly sharing your musical gifts with the world. It’s pathetic.”
Knox’s jaw shifts with anger, but he doesn’t reply. He merely glances at Jonah standing beside him.
“You were all thrilled to watch us fall — to watch me fall — because you were next in line to take our place.” Christian chuckles pointedly at Knox. “You know, as much as you hate the guy, you and Logan sure have a lot in common.”
“I am nothing like Logan Shock,” Knox says, the words laced with anger.
“You’re right. You’re not.” Christian tilts forward as if to bury a knife in Knox’s gut. “Because Logan has more talent in his left nut than you ever will.”
Knox stands straight up. “What did you just say?”
“I said you’re a washed up loser, Knox. And I can’t wait for the day The Electrics utterly destroy you.”
As Knox lunges toward him, Jonah grabs him by the arm to hold him back.
“Knox, don’t ? —”
The clash of grinding metal doors overwhelms the space, reminding Knox of exactly where we are. He backs off, letting Jonah pull him back as a guard approaches our cell. He’s tall and thick, with clearly no patience for us or our problems.
Jordan trails behind him, still in her date night clothes with a handbag hanging off one shoulder. I spot her and my shoulders instantly relax, so relieved to see her.
But she doesn’t look nearly as thrilled to see us.
“A bar fight?” she says, standing a foot away from the bars. “Really, Knox?”
“Hey, I didn’t start this one!” Knox says, raising his hands.
“No, you did.” Her glare shifts pointedly at me. “I saw the whole thing, as did Addison and Katrina, and about two dozen others with camera phones . It’s already all over Gossipa . By morning, everyone is going to have seen this.”
“So what?” Knox asks. “Who cares?”
“I care!” she shouts. “I care, Knox. Because someone fucking has to.”
Knox goes quiet.
“And you?” She looks at Jonah and shakes her head. “I expect more from you, Jo. So does Marla.”
Jonah takes that hit, his eyes closing at the mention of his fiancée, who surely isn’t thrilled right about now. She forgave him after that fight against Logan in Seattle. Who knows how she’ll react to this one?
“Luckily, Ira’s already called Vincent to smooth things over with the bar. He’s not happy, but at least we aren’t banned for life anymore.”
Knox gasps. “We were banned?”
“Yes.”
He pouts. “No more cherry-cherry cupcakes?”
Jordan glares at him.
He eases back a step. “Sorry.”
“No.” Jordan shakes her head. “No, you’re not sorry, Knox. You’re never sorry.” She scoffs. “You know, just when I think that maybe, just maybe, you’ve finally grown up, you do something like this. Again and again and I’m always the one who has to come in and clean up your mess. I’m sick of it!”
“Jordan,” Jonah says, now channeling a little of that genetic executive vibe. “Maybe we should wait and talk about this elsewhere.”
“Yeah,” Knox says. “Get us out of here.”
“I’m not here to get you out.” Jordan looks at Christian. “I’m here for him.”
Him?
Christian smiles as the guard steps forward and unlocks the doors.
“Whoa, whoa,” Knox says, standing back as the guard silently orders him to. “He’s working with Monroe, Jordan! He’s sabotaging us!”
Jordan doesn’t blink. “I know,” she says.
Knox and Jonah go quiet.
I stand up. “Jordan, what are you doing?” I ask her.
“What I should have done weeks ago,” she answers as Christian steps out of the cell and stands beside her. “I’m taking Monroe’s offer and moving to New York City.”
Knox steps toward the cage. “What? Jordan, what are you talking about?”
“Yeah,” Jonah says, joining him. “Why?”
“Because he was right,” Jordan says, her eyes full of disappointment as she looks at each of us, one-by-one. “I do everything for you, but what do you ever do for me? Besides make my life harder. You’re nothing but a pain in my ass most days, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my professional life cleaning up after you.”
“Wait, Jordan,” Jonah says, still channeling his father. “Let’s talk about this. Please.”
“Yeah, what are we supposed to do?” Knox asks.
“That’s not my problem anymore,” she says, her face so worn. So tired. “August will fill in as your manager until you can find a replacement. Or don’t. I honestly don’t care.”
As she steps back, Knox and Jonah push forward again, ready to fight for her. But I stay back, somehow still standing, my heart tearing in half as if her words were a sharp, serrated knife.
Jordan. My Jordan.
Fuck, I’m sorry.
It never should have come to this.
“Stella should be here soon,” she says, adjusting her handbag over her shoulder. “She’ll decide what to do with you.”
Jordan walks away from us.
She walks with a guard in front of her... and Christian Myers by her side.
“Wait, Jordan!” Knox shouts after her. “Jordan!”
A few feet away from our cell, something slips free from her bag and clatters to the concrete floor.
“Oh!” Jordan pauses. “Dropped my pen.”
Christian bends down to retrieve it. “Clumsy girl,” he teases as he offers it back to her with a smug smirk.
“Yeah.” Jordan glances at me, her eye contact sharp. “That’s me.”
My mouth sags.
Oh.
Ohhh.
While Knox and Jonah continue to shout after her, I return to my cold bench by the wall. I sit down, letting the last few minutes play rapid-fire in my head again. Memories blend with every other memory I have of me and Jordan. As friends. As bandmates. As lovers.
Laugher builds in my belly.
Knox glares at me over his shoulder. “What’s so funny, Bronson?” he asks.
I laugh a little more, then sigh. “It’s all going to be okay, guys.”
As the two of them stare questionably at me, the door to the cell block grinds open once again. The same guard returns, this time with Stella Walsh, the Botsford family lawyer. Her stiletto heels practically stab the floor as she bounds toward our cell, her graying blonde hair held back in a tight bun.
Uh-oh.
When she stops beyond the bars, Knox and Jonah take an instinctive step back. Her eyes narrow and her jaw fixes into a hard line as she looks at each of us, her ire digging into the little crow’s feet around her eyes.
“Again?!” she says, her voice booming through the cell block.
We all recoil and mutter together, “Sorry, Stella.”
My laughter is gone, but my smile remains.
Go get him, Jordan.