Chapter 10
My cab sits idle in the circle drive outside the Denver Botsford Plaza.
I sit in the back constantly scanning the street, my spine as straight as possible. Lots of cars. Lots of bikes, too. But no sign of the mysterious Prof B.
I glance at my phone. 12:15.
“Yo, buddy,” the driver says.
“Should be any minute now,” I say. “Sorry about this. Again.”
He shrugs. “Hey, man. You pay, I wait.”
“Thanks.”
“You look kinda familiar, though.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, are you…” He turns around in his seat to get a better look at me. “You in one of those boy bands?”
“Uh… no,” I say, ignoring the sudden stab to my ego. “No. I am a musician, though.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s your name?”
“Harvey Moon.”
“Never heard of ya.”
I chuckle and reach out. “Let me see your phone.”
With a shrug, he grabs it off the holder on the dashboard and hands it over.
I open his music app and search for me. “This is me,” I say as I tap on Sideways Serenade, my most recognizable song by far.
It plays through the speakers, and he nods. “Oh, yeah, yeah! I know this one. It’s on my wife’s workout playlist.”
I laugh. “Awesome.”
“Got a nice beat.”
“Thanks.”
“This really you?”
“Yeah, it…” I pause, spotting the motorcycle now idling outside the hotel in the same place as last night. “It’s really me.”
I swivel to look at the hotel and my stomach clenches.
Addison’s passing the front desk, heading right in our direction.
I shove my head between my knees as she walks through the glass doors. With the barest sliver of view, I watch as she passes the cab and heads directly for the bike. Blue jeans. Stylish jacket. Ponytail. Same as last night.
Where are you going, Addison?
“You good, dude?” the driver asks me. “You’re not sick, are you?”
“No,” I answer. I point toward the bike. “You see that bike there?”
“Yeah, I see ‘em.”
“Follow them. Wherever they go.”
I expect him to ask questions or refuse entirely, but the driver merely shrugs his thick shoulders and switches gears.
“Hey, man,” he says. “You pay, I follow.”
He hits the gas. The sudden movement sends me back against my seat. I secure my seat belt as we pull out of the hotel and merge with passing traffic. Ahead of us, I search for Addison, quickly spotting the red light on the back of the bike as it gets smaller and smaller.
Before I can release the heavy sigh in my throat, the driver chuckles, his eye on me in the rearview mirror. “Hold on, boy band,” he says. “We’ll catch up.”
I say nothing. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s knowing when to stand aside and let a professional do their job.
A few turns, a few lane changes, and the distance between us and the bike gets shorter and shorter. Not too short, of course, as this driver knows to keep a healthy distance. You know, so we don’t look too suspicious.
I lean forward to eye the driver and catch the smirk at the edge of his mouth.
Definitely a professional.
I sit back. Eventually, the lights of Denver grow dim, and we leave the busy city streets behind us. On the highway, the bike picks up speed, but so do we. I lock my focus on the red lights; the only thing we can still see in the darkness.
The driver whistles. “Heading into the mountains, eh?”
I don’t reply, my thoughts churning now.
Where the hell are we going, Addison?
After several miles, the bike exits the highway. We follow quickly, not wanting to lose them, but the signs here all point toward a single location.
Campsite. Three miles.
The driver slows down on the winding road, and the bike disappears into the night. Obviously, this biker knows his way around these woods. Must bring a lot of girls out here in the middle of the night. The rat bastard.
I crack the window next to me and listen, easily hearing the bike’s roar nearby.
We haven’t lost them yet!
The bike goes quiet. They must’ve stopped somewhere just ahead.
“Slow down,” I say, leaning forward. “Lights off.”
The driver glares at me. A clear no.
“Or… just slow down,” I add. “Please.”
To that, the driver obeys, and we approach the campsite at a steady crawl. When we finally arrive, the bike comes into view. It’s parked at the edge of the campsite at the end of a line of several cars. Groups of young people stand around talking, a few of them carrying large plastic boxes out of the bed of someone’s truck.
“End of the road, boy band,” the driver says. “You staying put?”
“I’m staying put,” I say, far too deep in to leave now. I unhook my seat belt and reach for my wallet in my pocket. Thankfully, I’m carrying just enough cash to cover his fare, and a little extra for being such a kickass dude. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Hey, man. Good luck,” he says, happily counting his money.
I get out of the cab and walk into the campsite. There’s a young crowd here, giving me flashbacks of Chicago North, but I quickly realize why when I see the girl in the University of Denver sweatshirt. As I continue forward, I see tables set up with a few snacks next to a cooler full of drinks. A small speaker plays music nearby — Boom Boom by Harmony, as a matter of fact. Good to know some people are still listening to it despite all the gossip and negative press.
Is this… a college party? No one seems to notice me or care that I’m crashing it, if so.
What the hell is Addison doing here?
I scan the crowd, searching for her.
“Hey, man, you want some punch?”
A guy standing next to the snack table offers me a red plastic cup. I step toward him with a nod, taking the beverage and giving it a cautionary sniff.
“So, what’s going on tonight?” I ask.
The guy scoffs. “Comet Night!”
“Comet Night?”
He raises his cup. “Comet Night!”
Several others around us raise their cups, too. “Comet Night!” they repeat.
I stiffen.
Damn. Is this what we sound like at Delta Xi parties?
Didn’t realize how creepy it is until now.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a chuckle. “Comet Night. Woo-hoo. So, I’m looking for a friend of mine.” I lay my hand flat, showing about where Addison’s head would be compared to mine. “Hot girl with dark hair. About this tall. Came here on a motorcycle.”
The guy shrugs and walks off.
“Yeah, thanks for the help, dude,” I say.
Once he’s gone, I give the drink another sniff before pouring it out onto the grass.
Not getting poisoned tonight. No way.
I continue forward, reaching the end of the tree line where several guys are setting up equipment. It only takes a second for me to realize what was in those large plastic boxes.
Telescopes.
There are four of them. Large cylinders on wide tripods pointed up into the sky.
I look up, mesmerized by the blanket of stars.
A familiar, pleasant laugh jolts me out of it.
Addison.
I bolt toward the plastic boxes stacked up nearby and hide. From behind them, I spot Addison walking toward the telescopes, giving her pretty eyes and happy smile to the tall man walking beside her.
The mysterious Prof B, no doubt.
He’s wearing a University of Denver sweater and jeans and has luxurious blond hair that extends past his shoulders.
Ugh. What a dick.
They head toward a telescope… toward the one nearest to my boxes.
I try to make myself smaller.
“Harvey?”
Damn these wide shoulders!
I peek over the boxes, making eye contact with Addison’s furious gaze, then shrink again.
“Harvey.”
“Oh!” I say as I ease up. “Hey, Addison. What’s up?”
She strides toward me. “What are you doing out here?”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Addison?” the guy asks behind her. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, Professor Birkin,” she says.
“Ah,” I say. “Prof B, huh?”
“What?”
“Same time tonight?” I say, looking him over. “Think you’re real smooth, don’t ya? With your fancy telescopes and Fabio hair?”
“Harvey.”
I shake my head. “Nice operation you got out here. Is this a cult? You got Addison all tangled up in your sex cult?”
Her jaw drops. “Oh, my god.”
“First, it’s comets. Next, it’s branding. Are you gonna brand these girls, Professor? Are they in danger?”
“Harvey, stop it!”
“What’s really in the punch?”
Addison grabs my arm and yanks me back toward the campsite. “I’m really sorry, Professor!” she says as she gives me a shove. “I’ll take care of this.”
I try to resist, but my shoes slide along the gravel. “Jeez,” I say, giving up and going with the flow. “You are surprisingly strong.”
We pass the others, most of whom are now making their way toward the telescopes, and reach the edge of the campsite near the cars.
“What — the fuck — are you doing out here?” she asks me again.
“I followed you,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because…” I jostle my arm free from her grasp. “That’s what you do when your friend leaves your hotel on the back of a motorcycle two nights in a row without telling anyone.”
Addison crosses her arms. “You saw me leave?”
“Yeah, I saw you leave. I was in the courtyard.”
“What were you doing in the courtyard after midnight?”
“I couldn’t sleep. So I went down to work on a… song or whatever, and then I saw you leave.”
“And the text?” she asks, her arms still tightly crossed. “Why were you going through my phone?”
“I didn’t. I saw the notification this morning at breakfast. You were in the bathroom.”
Addison shakes her head, sighing hard.
“What are you doing out here, Addison?” I ask.
She briefly closes her eyes, then looks up.
All the way up.
“It’s Comet Night,” she says.
“What the hell is Comet Night?” I ask.
To my surprise, Addison smiles and relaxes her arms. “Come with me,” she says.