Chapter 21
PIA
“Iwant the old Pia back.” Geert throws his empty packet of Benson however, we have been told he has a lawyer present. His manager, Kevin Briggs, was also seen visiting Greene in custody on Wednesday, October 17th, although he made no comment to the press. At the time of printing, Evergreene is yet to release a statement about whether their tour would continue.”
“I didn’t know the fucker was clever enough,” Jakob says, almost sounding impressed. “I guess you can’t get bail that easily for something like that.”
“His middle name is Alphonso?!” Geert asks, incredulous.
“So, what happens now?” I wonder out loud. “Is he still performing with them?”
“Doesn’t say,” Jon finally looks up and peers down the bus towards the front, where Martin has a makeshift office on one of the tables. “But Martin might know.”
“Maybe they’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse?” Jakob leans over and pushes Geert.
“Fuck off,” he says and pushes Jakob back before committing another sexual offence against the air in front of him. “Unless it involves having Cassie Everard bounce on my big Dutch dick every night, there’s no offer they could make me—”
He doesn’t finish that sentence because I’ve slapped him silent. The sound of the flat of my palm hitting his face and spinning him to the side echoes in my mind as my fingers burn from the impact.
“Jesus, Pia!” He holds his face and stares at me, more shocked than anything.
“I’m so fucking sick of you animals talking about women like they’re … like we’re nothing but sex dolls!” I spit out.
There’s another moment of silence, and I look at each of my band members in turn. Geert is still wide-eyed and red-cheeked. Jakob looks like he can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Jon is looking at me like he knows exactly why I just did that.
“Seriously, fuck you, Geert.” I grab my guitar and head further up the bus.
It’s a relief when none of them follows me, especially Jon.
“Pia,” Martin drawls as I approach. He’s got glasses on and several sheets of paper spread out in front of him. He doesn’t look up, so I don’t know how he knows it’s me. Maybe because I’m the only one who doesn’t smell like a brewery.
“Martin. I need … a favour.” I slide into the chair opposite him and place my guitar next to me.
That gets his attention. His hazel eyes are inquisitive when they meet mine.
“I need to talk to Cassie,” I say in a rush.
He blinks once and then again. “Cassie?”
“Everard,” I hiss.
“Yes, I know who you mean, I’m just … Why do you want to speak with her?”
“I heard about Vik.”
Martin pulls his glasses off and sits back in his chair, assessing me. “I’m not going to facilitate you speaking with Cassie just for you to give her shit.”
My jaw drops. “What the fuck … No. That’s not why I want to talk to her. Why would you say that?”
Martin crosses his arms. “What exactly is going on with you and her?”
There are some moments in life where you know you’re at a crossroads.
You can see two paths ahead of you very clearly, and you know you have to choose one.
You know you have to commit to walking down only one, and you must leave the other behind in the process.
What makes these moments stand out–because, of course, we make decisions like this all day, every day–is that you have no clue which path to take.
You have no clue because even though you know where you want to end up, it’s impossible to know which path will get you there.
“We’re friends,” I settle on eventually.
His eyebrow arches. “Like you and Jon are friends? And you and Jakob? And you and—”
“Thank you.” I hold a hand up to stop him. “Point made.”
He shakes his head and pushes a long stream of air through his pouted lips. “This is the last thing Kev needs.”
I lean over the table. “I just want to know she’s okay.”
“And you won’t take my word for it?”
“Fuck, no.” I sit back. “You always hide things from me. In fact, I can see you’ve just halved my clothing budget for the North America leg of the tour without even consulting me.”
He looks down at one of the papers in front of him, opens his mouth and then closes it again.
“I’ll see if I can get you a phone call when we get to London.
” I try really hard not to smile, but it’s impossible.
It’s almost worth it when I see Martin fight his own grin.
“And I’ll see what I can do about the clothing—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the clothes, Martin,” I say, and I reach for his hand, which is something I have never, ever done before. He’s as shocked as he should be. “Just get me that phone call.”
His eyes narrow for a few seconds. “I like this version of you,” he says. “You’re … I don’t know, more you.”
I laugh with my whole body. “I would have thought that would be your worst nightmare.”
“You’d think,” he says, and reaches for his glasses. “But it’s not. It’s … refreshing. Now piss off and let me get back to work.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” I shuffle out of the booth, guitar in my hand. “I’ll be in my bunk writing next year’s number one album.”
“That’s the right fucking attitude!” he calls as I walk away.
I smile as I allow myself to actually imagine that.