Chapter 2 #2
So I waved and refused to let my exhaustion show.
Jack slipped from the driver’s seat while I waited where I was.
I knew better than to get out before he was at my door.
My fans were great but…exuberant. One time, a young girl fully wrapped herself around me like a koala.
It’d taken two security guards and the promise of a selfie for her to let go.
Personal space and boundaries were foreign concepts so far as my followers were concerned.
The door swung open and the noise was instantly deafening. You’d think I’d be used to it after over a decade in the spotlight, but it was always overwhelming. I got out of the car as gracefully as possible, grinning at the waiting fans.
Jack held out a hand to stop them from rushing me, his face set in a scowl. That was his usual face. Grumpy shit only had two expressions, this one and the one he saved especially for Arlo. That one was a mix of exasperation and confusion.
Couldn’t blame him. Arlo was a bundle of contradictions on the best day. You never knew what version of him you were going to get—the hyped-up party guy who wanted to be the centre of attention or the moody introvert who refused to talk to anyone for days at a time.
Something told me that wasn’t the basis for Jack’s confusion where Arlo was concerned though. Jack had been a core part of our team since the day our first single hit number one. He’d been assigned to protect Arlo for the first ten years. The two had been as thick as thieves.
Then, out of the blue, management called a meeting with us all.
As usual, I’d been the last to arrive, and everyone else was already there: our agents, our manager, our bodyguards, and all the band members.
Arlo had been slumped so far down in his seat that I couldn’t see his face.
His hood was pulled over his head, and he was so still I almost wanted to poke him to see if he was alive.
I couldn’t recall a time when he wasn’t tapping out some beat or another.
Any flat surface, no matter how small, was a good-enough substitute for a drum kit so far as Arlo was concerned.
I exchanged worried looks with Kai and Silas, our guitarist and bassist, respectively. Clearly, they didn’t have any more idea what was happening than I did.
Kevin kept it brief as he explained that Arlo and I would be switching security details. Effective immediately.
“Why?” I’d blurted out. Not that I minded the switch. Simon, my bodyguard, was good at his job, but the same could be said about anyone on our team. But there was no way Arlo would be okay with being parted from Jack. He trusted him like no one else.
Kevin glanced between Jack and Arlo so briefly that I almost missed it. He cleared his throat. “You’ve been in your current setup for a long time. It’s good to shake things up every now and then. Keep things fresh.”
Arlo gave a dry chuckle from under his hood. “That’s the excuse you came up with? Good thing you’re not paid for your creativity.”
Kevin spluttered, his skin darkening. “Now, Arlo. You know what we agreed—”
“I know,” Arlo said bitterly. “You don’t need to remind me. I’ll be a good boy.”
He stormed from the room, carefully keeping his face hidden. He couldn’t hide his shaking hands though.
We all looked at each other in confusion. Normally, Jack would be tearing out of the room after Arlo, but he remained motionless against the wall. He didn’t look at us, staring instead at the wall opposite.
If it wasn’t for the muscle jumping in his jaw and the fists clenched by his sides, I would’ve thought he was unaffected.
Simon was the one to go after Arlo, and every time after that, it was either him or a band member.
Jack never chased Arlo again.
In the years since, they’d barely been in the same room together. Jack had seamlessly slipped into his role as my bodyguard, but I hadn’t missed how he couldn’t help but watch Arlo whenever we were out.
I’d tried to get what happened out of Arlo. We all had. But for someone who overshared everything about his life, that was the one area where he was frustratingly tight-lipped.
And Jack? I hadn’t even dared to ask him. Talking to him about himself was like trying to untangle a ball of yarn. The more you pulled at it, the tighter it’d get.
Three years later, I knew little more about Jack now than I had then. He was good at his job, which was the most important thing. He demonstrated those skills now as he smoothly carved a path through the crowd. He paused occasionally, allowing me to sign the odd T-shirt or pose for a selfie.
At one point, he gestured for me to give him my coffee cup so I could have both hands free, but I hugged it to my chest. I didn’t care that he was being nice. He could pry my caffeine away from my cold dead fingers.
I breathed a sigh of relief as we squeezed in through the glass doors at the front of the building.
Then I realised the fans had followed.
“Wait, Luca!”
“Come back!”
“Luca, sign my shirt!”
“Where’s the rest of your security staff?” Jack barked at the lone guard standing at the desk.
“What staff?” he asked, staring bewildered at the horde of screaming teenagers flooding the lobby. “It’s just me. Stuff like this doesn’t normally happen.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “Where’s the nearest stairwell?”
“At the back of the building. But the lifts are closer, and there’s less opportunity for anyone to follow.”
Just then, the crowd caught up with us. Jack shot a protective arm around my shoulders, but it wasn’t enough.
I was being jostled from every direction, the noise threatening to deafen me.
The nice impromptu meet-and-greet had taken a sinister turn.
Hands grabbed my sleeves. Rubbed my hair. Pulled at my clothes.
Then someone shoved me hard in the back.
I cursed, my professional expression slipping as my hot coffee spilt over my hand.
Jack and the security guard yelled at people to step back.
Instead of giving me space, the crowds moved in closer.
I couldn’t differentiate between individual faces.
They were one baying mass, clawing in desperation as they tried to get to me.
My chest tightened as my breath sped up. My head was spinning. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“Get me out of here, Jack.”
It took everything in me to get those stuttered words out.
Jack glanced at me and cursed. Leaning close so I could hear him over the cacophony, he said, “Keep your head down and keep breathing. In and out.”
I ducked my head, trying to keep the panic from showing on my face. I didn’t have anxiety attacks often, but once they started, I could do little to stop them.
I’d yet to have one in public, but hey, there was a first time for everything.
Jack positioned himself behind me, both his massive arms bracketing me. The lone security guard walked in front of him, cutting a path through the masses.
It was a painstakingly slow path. I kept my eyes on the ground, counting each tile we crossed.
A few more feet. Just a few more.
Then you’ll be able to breathe.
Jack squeezed my shoulder, his mouth at my ear. “The lifts are straight ahead and on the left. When I say go, take two steps to the left and go around the guard. Do not stop until you’re in the lift and heading to the twelfth floor. We’ll hold back the crowd to give you time to escape.”
I nodded once to show I understood. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time we’d had to pull a stunt like this to escape fans. Individually, most fans were kind and respectful, but en masse like this? Mob mentality took over.
Tiny spots crowded the edges of my vision, and I shook my hands, trying to force the tingling sensation from them.
“Go now. Second lift. Not the first. Someone has just got in there.”
I didn’t respond, just followed his instructions. Stepping around the profusely sweating guard, I ran. Thanks to the exuberant performances we tended to put on, I was quick on my feet.
The noise increased behind me as the crowd realised they were being held back. Fuck. I had to get out of here before I went viral on TikTok for having an anxiety attack in the lobby of a building.
Think of the headlines that would bring. My anxiety disorder was something Kevin preferred to keep hidden. Given the years I’d spent doing CBT and the medication I used, it didn’t cause issues very often.
Today, though, no amount of grounding techniques would be able to pull me back from the edge.
Everything around me blurred as I struggled to drag in oxygen. The gleaming silver doors of the lift were like a beacon, offering me sanctuary from the chaos.
But they were closing.
Lunging forward, I slammed my hand in to prevent them from shutting.
When the gap widened enough, I threw myself in. As the doors closed behind me, I leaned against the wall, trying desperately not to slide to the floor. I buried my face in my hands and tried to get my breathing under control.
Someone cleared their throat, and my stomach dropped.
Fuck.
I’d got in the wrong lift.