Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
ARLO
I didn’t know what I’d been thinking when I’d asked Jack to come back to my place. I just knew I wasn’t ready to be away from him yet. Seeing him again, being in his arms, it had ripped open every old wound he’d left on my heart.
I knew I’d regret it tomorrow when I had to part from him again. When I realised that nothing had changed and I was going to have to break and heal my heart all over again.
Right now, I wasn’t thinking of that. Jack was in my house making countless cups of tea.
I sat silently at the kitchen table, aware of the heated conversation happening around me, but not hearing it.
We were far from alone. There were so many extra people that Dylan and Simon had had to bring in extra chairs from the formal dining room I rarely used.
All the band members were here, plus Ollie and Louis.
Betty sat tapping away at her phone, scowling furiously.
Our guards, plus the Phoenix ones, were sat on the fancy chairs pushed against the wall.
I didn’t mind that they were here. Like me, they wanted confirmation that Duncan had been charged. They’d all insisted on waiting, none of them wanting to leave me until they knew I’d be safe.
Later, I’d be so fucking touched by this. The show of love and support in this room was overwhelming. These people would put themselves between me and any incoming danger without a second thought. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to earn such unwavering loyalty, but I was damned grateful.
Well, I would be. At this moment, I couldn’t think past the fact that Jack was in my space.
Moving around my kitchen like he’d never left.
He didn’t need to open the cupboards to check where my mugs were kept, because he’d helped me load them in after I’d had the room remodelled eight years ago.
He didn’t need to ask how I took my tea, because for almost a decade, he’d got my cup ready before I’d even woken up.
Everything felt right. Him being here felt right. And I hated it. I fucking hated it.
Because I didn’t hate him. I couldn’t. I loved him as much now as the day we fell apart.
Maybe this was my destiny, to love someone I’d never have. Not everyone got their happy ever after. Given the rest of the band had struck gold, it made sense that one of us had to be unlucky in love.
Jack turned, my Garfield mug in his hands, and his eyes met mine.
His lips curved automatically, the careful mask he wore around me gone as though it had never existed.
His smile was unlike any I’d ever seen from him, even in private.
Like somehow I was his most familiar sight but also a complete stranger, one he couldn’t wait to get to know.
I rubbed at my brow. Fuck, I had to stop reading into things. It was a reaction to what’d happened this evening. My brain was latching onto Jack because he was familiar, someone I knew would keep my body safe.
Even if the same couldn’t be said about my heart.
“Here,” he said quietly, squeezing my shoulder as he set the cup in front of me. “Added an extra sugar.”
“Thought that was the road to diabetes.” God, my chest ached at the ease with which we slipped back into familiarity.
He gave me a crooked grin. “Once won’t kill you.”
No, but if he kept looking at me like he wanted to eat me, a heart attack might. I forced my gaze back to the table and cleared my throat. “Thanks, Jack.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw him stare at me for a beat longer before returning to the counter to give out the other cups.
After he passed out the final one, he took the empty seat at my side. We were both silent as quiet chit-chat broke out around the table, like neither of us was ready to break the tentative peace between us.
It was almost dawn when the police arrived. No one had left, although Silas had snoozed on Kai’s shoulder for a few hours.
He bolted awake as the doorbell rang. I stood automatically, only to be glared at by just about every single person in the room.
“Sorry,” I said, holding up my hands. “Habit.”
“Don’t worry,” Luca said as Corey went to the door. “Soon this will be over and you won’t have to stress about this bullshit any longer.”
Detectives Jewiss and Catchpole entered the kitchen, and as I got a glimpse of their faces, I stiffened. They didn’t look like people coming here to deliver good news.
Jack shifted in the seat beside me. He didn’t touch me, but just feeling the warmth of his body was enough to settle me.
“Ah, Mr Beckett,” Detective Catchpole began, beads of sweat appearing on his brow. “Quite the audience we have here. Do you think we could talk somewhere quieter?”
Several people in the room, including my bandmates, turned hostile glares on the officers.
“No,” I replied calmly. “Forgive me, but I haven’t had the best experiences with people insisting on talking to me in private.”
“Right you are,” he said briskly, clearing his throat. “I’ll get straight to it. Mr Smith has been released without charge.”
The room was so silent I could hear the tap dripping into the sink. Then, carnage erupted.
“What the fuck do you mean, without charge?”
“Released? When he—”
“Do we need to get lawyers involved?”
“How the fuck is this good police work?”
I didn’t speak. The walls were closing in around me. The darkness I fought to keep at bay every day was rolling in, the soft waves growing as my panic increased.
Holy shit. He was going to come for me. What was I going to do?
What am I going to do?
“Enough,” Jack’s barked command forced everyone into silence. I felt multiples gazes turn in my direction, but I ignored them in favour of getting my breathing under control.
Without the yelling, I could hear it rasping in and out far too quickly. I couldn’t get a handle on it, control slipping further from my reach with every inhale.
There was a low murmur and the sound of a chair being scraped back. Luca’s voice came from beside me, speaking quietly. “Deep breaths, man. In your nose, out your mouth.”
“Can’t,” I gasped, little spots filling my vision. “Can’t.”
A warm hand lightly grasped the back of my neck. “Yes, you can, baby. Listen to Luca. Breathe for us. Breathe for me.”
Jack’s words unlocked something in me. The oxygen whooshed in, the darkness pushing back.
It took a few minutes, but eventually I was breathing normally. Cheeks flaming, I glanced around at the concerned faces. “Sorry.”
Luca flicked my ear before returning to his seat. “No. We don’t say sorry for things out of our control.”
“Right,” I said wearily. “Why has he been released?”
Catchpole shifted uncertainly on his feet. “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough evidence to charge Smith. He’s insisting that you left with him consensually, and this is all a misunderstanding and an overreaction on the part of your security detail. It’s his word against yours.”
Noise erupted again, but this time it was the detective who stopped it by holding up his hand.
“Don’t shoot the messenger. Look, I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but the fact is that we don’t have any evidence proving your version of events.
Mr Smith was found without a weapon. He’s insisting that the bottle you perceived to be a gun was being carried as his last drink of the night. ”
“In that case, can’t you book him for drink driving?” Silas asked in frustration.
“As he didn’t make it as far as the car, no.”
“What about the surveillance footage?” Jack said.
The detective sighed. “All that shows is two men having a conversation and leaving the gallery. There’s nothing damning in it.”
“Arlo used his code word,” Simon interjected. “He told us he was in danger.”
The detective’s bushy brows drew together. “What code word?”
Even as Simon explained, I could tell it wasn’t going to be enough.
“Stroll is a word that could be used in this context,” Catchpole said with a frown. “Do you have the code words recorded somewhere?”
“Obviously not,” Simon said through gritted teeth. “Why would we write them down where the prick could find them?”
“My point is, it’s not evidence that would stand up in court. None of what happened tonight is. In fact, Smith has more chance of bringing a case against the guards for assault and excessive force.”
Will snorted at that. “If he knew what we were all capable of, he wouldn’t call a little restraint excessive.”
“Be that as it may, we currently have no evidence linking Mr Smith to Mr Beckett’s stalker. Without a weapon, there is also no evidence that Mr Beckett didn’t leave the gallery of his own accord.”
“Can you stop speaking about me like I’m not sat right here,” I said, finally finding my voice.
“I was there tonight. Not only did he tell me that he’s the one who’s been sending me all this shit, he also told me that he has nothing to lose.
That he’s got no money and is dying, so he’ll stop at nothing until he has me.
What the fuck am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait for him to kidnap me? ”
Jack squeezed my neck again. “That won’t happen.”
“We’re in the process of getting search warrants for Mr Smith’s properties,” Detective Jewiss said, speaking for the first time.
Sympathy shone in her eyes. “If we find evidence there connecting him to your stalker then we can take him to court so a restraining order can be issued. Until then, we’ve warned him that he’s not to contact you. ”
“That’s it?” Betty yanked off her glasses in disbelief. “That’s all you can do? Warn him?”
“At the moment, yes,” Jewiss said. “Only a court can issue a restraining order, and again, they’d need to see evidence of why it’s required.”
“Fucking bullshit,” Luca spat, Silas scowling in agreement.
“How long will it take you to search his properties?” Jack asked, his fingers tapping on the table. “I’m assuming from the way you’ve phrased it that there are many?”