36. Callie
36
CALLIE
“You are radiant.”
I smile at the compliment and do a little twirl for him, enjoying every second of having Torren’s eyes on me.
“Did you pick this one out, too?” I ask, smoothing my palms down the cream-colored designer dress.
“I picked them all out.”
“You have good taste.”
He smirks, then closes the distance between us slowly. When he’s close enough, he grabs my waist and pulls me against him. He runs his hands up and down my back, mesmerizing me with his emerald eyes before lowering his face to mine.
“I know.”
Then he captures my lips in a sensual kiss, one that turns my legs to rubber and threatens to make us late for our reservation. Maybe we can sneak back into the bedroom for just a while longer...
“Fucking get out .”
Jonah’s gruff voice makes me jump backward, breaking the kiss with Torren. When I whip around to face him, he’s scowling from the bathroom doorway, chest still wet from a shower and his bottom half wrapped in a low-slung towel.
“I have company coming. You two can’t be dry-humping in the suite unless you’re gonna make it a group project. ”
I narrow my eyes at him, but Torren chuckles. “Don’t worry. We’re leaving now.”
He takes my hand in his and leads me toward the door.
“Fucking finally,” Jonah shouts, then a door slams, and when I look over my shoulder, he’s gone.
“What company does he have coming at nine in the morning?” I ask as Torren ushers me out the door and toward the elevator. Since I’ve started staying with Torren, Jonah has never been up before noon. “I’ve never seen him up this early.”
Torren presses the elevator button. “Honestly, it’s probably a video chat with his therapist.”
“It’s not Thursday.”
“Sometimes we schedule more if we need them.”
His brows slant slightly as we step into the elevator, and I watch him through the mirrored walls. When his lips purse, concern tightens my chest.
“Is he not doing well?”
Jonah’s back to being distant and standoffish, and I’ll admit that it bothered me at first. I thought we’d somehow be closer after that night in Miami, but the next morning, and every morning since, Jonah’s proved me wrong. He doesn’t talk to me on the bus. He doesn’t spend time around Torren when I’m with him. He’s back to rarely looking at me. Forget any chance of a smirk or a smile. He’s ArtFusion Jonah again, and before this moment, I thought it was just...normal. Torren’s silence tells me it’s not.
“Tor, I can move back to Sav and Mabel’s bus. I don’t mind Levi. He’s nice.”
“No. That’s not necessary.”
“Obviously something is wrong with Jonah. All signs point to me.”
He sighs and turns to face me, cupping my face and running his thumb over my jaw. “It’s not you, Cal. Trust me. He’s just...he’s moody. He gets like this. He’ll be fine. He just needs space.”
I bounce my eyes between his, and the concern I see there makes my heart ache. I’m not always sure what to think of The Hometown Heartless, but one thing I’m learning is that they care about each other fiercely. They’ve been through a lot together, and when one hurts, they all hurt .
“Maybe we should start getting our own room in the hotels, then? To at least give him the space he needs.”
Torren’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head. “That won’t work. I need to...”
I nod and force a smile. He doesn’t have to say it. He needs to watch him. The realization fills me with dread instead of hope.
“Anyway, let’s stop talking about this.” The elevator door opens, and Torren leads me into the lobby. “I’ve planned a really fun day for us. I want your first experience of New York to be great.”
Excitement starts to consume my worry, and I flash him a grin.
“Are you going to give me any hints?”
“Nope.”
When he winks at me, my stomach does another backflip, and I have to bite my lip to keep from giggling. They’ve been consistently growing, but since Miami, it’s like my feelings for him have multiplied substantially overnight. It’s... overwhelming. ..to say the least.
He keeps surprising me with these thoughtful gestures, small and large alike. Grabbing me coffee in the morning without my asking. Making sure the scones I’ve started to love are always on the breakfast menu. And now this day-jaunt through New York City all because I mentioned on the drive here that I’d never been. Tonight is the last show at Madison Square Garden before we have to catch a flight to Los Angeles, but Torren insisted on blocking out the entire day for us. It’s been a long time since someone has taken care of me, since someone has worried about my happiness, and I’m starting to really enjoy it.
I recognize how reckless that is, but I keep circling back to Levi’s confession in Miami.
I trust Torren.
If he can trust him, I think I can too.
In the lobby, we meet up with Craig and Damon and we follow them to the SUV. Aside from a few interested glances, no one pays us any mind, and it makes me that much more excited for the day. Maybe we’ll be able to enjoy it without cameras flashing.
The drive to our first destination takes longer than I expected, considering the location of the apartment-style hotel where we’re staying. Twenty minutes to drive less than two miles thanks to traffic and pedestrians. Not even LA is this bad, and I hate driving in LA .
“I’ll drop you at the back with Craig,” Damon says from the driver’s seat. “I’ll park.”
Then he grumbles something to himself about parking the SUV in the city, and I catch Craig smirking. I don’t envy that task, either.
An adorable diner comes into view, a line of people already waiting to get in, and I shoot up in my seat and turn a manic smile on Torren.
“I know this place. I’ve heard about it.”
Torren grins. “Next time I’ll show you more local favorites, but we’re going full tourist mode today.”
I unbuckle my seat belt as Damon pulls into an alley beside the diner and as soon as he puts the car in park, I hop out. I don’t even wait for Craig to get the door for me. Torren climbs out behind me and I can’t tame my smile. It’s only 9:30 and this is already one of the best days I can remember in a long time. Not as good as Constance Chen, but fucking close.
I open my mouth to tell Torren, but my words are swallowed by shouting. When I turn around, my excitement plummets to my feet and is replaced by panic.
The sound of cameras clicking blends with the invasive questions hurled in our direction as we’re swarmed by people. By paparazzi . I don’t have time to blink. I don’t even have time to shut my gaping mouth; I’m frozen like an animal in a trap, and each question is worse than the last.
Callie, how do you feel about Torren and Sav in the bathroom?
What do you have to say about the PR relationship claims?
What was the five grand for? How much is he paying you?
Is this another of Wade Hammond’s schemes?
Is this a sham to distract the public?
Is Sav using again?
Is the band on the verge of break up?
My head spins. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat, and then Torren wraps his arms around me and all but throws me into the back seat of the car, slamming the door closed behind us.
“Drive, Damon,” Torren barks.
“I’m fucking trying.” Damon honks the horn and inches the car forward as paparazzi press close to the hood, angling their cameras to try and get a photo through the non-tinted windshield .
“Jesus Christ. They’re fucking crazy.” Craig cracks the window. “Get out of the way! You’re gonna get yourselves killed.”
Damon honks again, this time laying on the horn in one continuous blare until we’re finally able to turn onto the street. But even then, fucking traffic hinders a swift getaway. By the time the cameras are behind us, I’ve got my head dropped between my knees, trying to calm my panic, and Torren is yelling into his cellphone.
“We were just fucking swarmed, Ham. Swarmed! You said it would be discreet.”
He pauses, and then groans.
“Fucking hell. Why didn’t you warn us?”
Another pause.
“Fuck!”
He groans again, and when I sit up, he has his hand fisted in his hair and he’s glaring at the ceiling, fuming over whatever Hammond is telling him. He grits his teeth, sharp jaw popping and nostrils flaring as he shakes his head.
“No...I get it. Just...how bad is it? Yeah. Send it. We’ll be back in twenty.”
Torren hangs up, then opens a text message. I watch his eyes as they scan whatever he’s reading, and I can tell from the growing fury that it’s bad. Really bad.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice cracking. When he doesn’t acknowledge me, I speak again, urgency rising in my tone. “What is it, Torren? Tell me.”
He looks at me, ire changing to remorse, and then he hands me the phone.
I hold my breath as I read the article, paragraph after paragraph until my chest burns. When a hot tear trickles down my cheek and my vision starts to fizzle at the corners, my body takes over, and I suck in a lungful of air with a strangled gasp. The first words that I can manage surprise even me.
“Fucking Quinton.” I clamp my eyes shut and swallow back a scream. “Mother fucking Quinton!”
Someone took pictures of Savannah and Torren entering and then leaving a bathroom after the show two nights ago. Her eyeliner is smeared, but they’re both smiling slightly .
This isn’t the worst part, though. Levi’s voice echoes in my head, lessening the blow of the photos and outlandish claims printed in the article.
I trust Savannah. I trust Torren.
It stings, but I push through it. I’ll deal with it later. The worst part is the second half of the article. The one that has an “exclusive tell-all” interview with Quinton. The visit from Torren at the store. The offer of five grand just to meet with him and “hear him out.” My absolute disinterest in him followed by me quitting my job the next day. Quinton’s even provided a sketchy video that he obviously took on his phone.
“It sounded more like a business proposition than a date,” Quinton Teller told The Star . “Like five grand just for a meeting? No way Callie would date Torren King. She hates The Hometown Heartless. She calls their music uninspired, watered-down, poor excuse for rock and roll. She, like, really hates them, but she’s pretty hard up for cash.”
“Jesus.”
I clamp my eyes shut and drop my head to the seat, pinching the bridge of my nose. I don’t finish the sentence that outs my relationship with Torren as a sham. I can’t bring myself to continue, certain there are accusations of another Sav Loveless and Torren King affair, among other heinous things.
“What are we going to do?”
Torren’s hand lands on my thigh and squeezes. “Ham says we keep doing what we’re doing. We act like it’s not true. If it continues after the LA shows, he’ll release a statement.”
“But what about the stalker?”
Torren doesn’t respond, so I open my eyes and turn my head to look at him. He’s frowning, and then he shrugs.
“We just wait and see.”
I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I feel so fucking guilty, despite knowing it’s not my fault. I’m not even surprised. I should have seen it coming. Quin’s always bent over backward for any sort of attention. He was an idiot in high school, and he’s an idiot now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the air.
Torren squeezes my thigh again. “This isn’t on you, Cal. I shouldn’t have talked to you in front of him. And when I did, I should have made him sign an NDA. This is on me.”
This is on me.
The photos of Torren and Sav leaving the bathroom creep back into the forefront of my mind. I try to push them back, try to repeat Levi’s statement over and over, but my insecurities swirl with my memories from ArtFusion. Torren with Sav against the bus. His eyes on me as he came inside her.
I force myself to keep my eyes on his face even though all I want to do is close them and swallow myself in darkness. I watch him, hold eye contact, and ask what I want to know.
“What were you and Sav doing in that bathroom?”
“It’s not at all what they said it was. I swear, Callie. I said something shitty to her before the show, and I just needed to apologize. There’s nothing between us like that at all. Nothing romantic. Nothing sexual. No feelings like that at all. I swear it.”
He swears it.
I trust Torren.
Nothing between them.
Nothing.
“Okay,” I say with a nod.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
Torren reaches up and twirls a strand of my hair through his fingertips, then rests his forehead on mine. My eyes flutter shut as his breath fans over my lips.
“You’re all I want, Firebird. Only you. I swear it.”
I nod again, just a little so as not to make him move, and then I whisper the truth against his lips.
“Okay.”