Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Kelsey
“Great show tonight,” Nash says to me as he hands in his earpiece before clocking out.
“Can you actually hear the lyrics from the dressing room?” I ask. “Or is it just crowd noise like in Vancouver?”
“Could hear every lyric. Mikayla bet me twenty bucks that I couldn’t pick someone up tonight using just Jaxon Steele lyrics. They’re going to be like putty in my hands.”
“How did the ladies of Toronto get so lucky?” I joke.
He leans in close, his boyish enthusiasm lifting my spirits for the first time since the comms incident two days ago. “She doesn’t know it yet, but by the end of this tour, she’s going to be the one I have convinced to date me.”
I cross my arms, giving him a stern look. “No fraternizing, Nash. You know Mitchell Security’s contract is stricter than the tour’s.”
“I said by the end of the tour. I know the rules.”
I laugh, considering how much trouble they could get in if they were caught hooking up while on the job.
Though, maybe if I don’t tell Carter, it’ll look bad for Mitchell Secur— I shake my head, knowing that’s not how I want to win this contract, even if it’s possible the issue in Vancouver was caused by someone from Mitchell Security.
Instead, I make a mental note to have Carter separate the two of them during their shifts.
Does it make me a jerk? Maybe. Am I willing to risk it after everything that has already happened?
No. I’ll just have to figure out a way to suggest it to Carter without getting Nash or Mikayla in trouble.
Maybe I can suggest Mikayla for the security room detail when we reach London.
It’s well after midnight when all the earpieces have been returned.
The venue is finally empty of all the concert attendees.
Jaxon left an hour ago for his hotel and was reported as safely tucked in bed about forty-five minutes after that.
Apparently, the line of fans outside the hotel was huge but well behaved.
“Do you need some help?”
I turn, trying not to let the increased pace of my heart show. I’m not sure how Carter always manages to sneak up on me, but it’s a bit worrisome for my ability to do my job…and my safety, I suppose.
The sight of him makes my breath catch, and I’m forced to question how I’ve known this man my entire life and yet, somehow, my traitorous hormones waited until the most inappropriate moment to decide he requires a response.
Ugh. I’m even starting to think those damn Mitchell Security button-ups are attractive.
“I’ve got it,” I say, carefully packing the earpiece back in the storage box.
Lincoln, the tech expert on my team, determined the earpieces had been exposed to some kind of liquid, causing them to short-circuit.
Not everyone’s went down that night, but Carter’s and mine both did, as well as the ones worn by the entirety of the team guarding Jaxon.
It hypothetically makes sense—we store them based on teams, since they are preset to specific channels depending on which team or teams you may need to communicate with.
It just doesn’t feel right to me. I can’t imagine someone spilling something in the cases and not mentioning it.
And I know there wasn’t any liquid in them when I handed them out the night of the concert.
It’s a loose thread that has kept me awake far longer than it should have both nights since.
“Right,” Carter says as I continue to inspect each earpiece. I hope my dismissal will be the end of it, and he’ll leave me alone to finish my work.
I should’ve known better than to think things between us were anything other than a workplace rivalry.
Those are the exact words JT used when I told him about what happened yesterday morning.
He called me, asking how things were going, and in a minor lapse of judgment, I told him about Carter not backing me in the meeting.
JT had the gall to sound happy about it as he whispered, “Workplace rivalry. One of my favorites.”
He’s an idiot, but he’s not wrong. Carter and I are rivals, and I’d be stupid to ignore the possibility that someone from Mitchell Security is behind the earpieces going out. I can’t believe they’d stoop that low, but it is a competition, so I can’t rule them out.
The door shuts behind me, and I sigh, thankful Carter decided to leave. I don’t know when I started expecting more from him than the usual backstabbing bullshit I experienced with my ex, but for some reason his silence during the meeting felt louder than any criticism he could’ve thrown my way.
At the sound of footsteps behind me, I force myself to close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“I said I don’t need help.”
“I know you don’t.” His deep voice comes from a few feet behind me. “I’m not here to help. I’m just keeping you company.”
“I don’t need your company, Carter,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
The man is frustrating. If he knows these things, then why is he here?
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m sorry.”
I snort. Classic patronizing. He likely doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. Lukas had that move on repeat when we were together.
“I am,” he says, stopping next to me and looking over the equipment I have out on the table in front of us.
“No apology necessary,” I say, shrugging. “I’m not even sure what you’re apologizing for.”
I can tell he’s staring at me, but I keep my attention focused on my fingers as I quickly clean, test, and store another backup earpiece.
“It’s considered common courtesy to look someone in the eye when they’re apologizing to you.”
“Society has a lot of norms I don’t tend to agree with,” I say. “And I don’t need an apology.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you in Vancouver. The earpieces weren’t your fault.”
“They were. They were my responsibility, and they failed. That’s on me.”
“Sometimes, things are out of your control.”
“Is that how you would’ve felt if you’d been in my position?” I ask.
He lets the silence in the room go on long enough that I don’t think he’s going to respond.
Tracing his finger along the side of the case in front of him, he says quietly, “When my mom first got diagnosed, I blamed myself.”
Despite how dangerous I know it is, particularly to the structure of the wall I’m intentionally building between us, I turn to face him. His eyes are focused on the case, his mouth a grim line.
“You blamed yourself for her Alzheimer’s?”
“Did you know less than ten percent of Alzheimer’s cases occur before the age of sixty-five?”
I shake my head, leaning my hip against the table as I give him my full attention.
I’m not sure why Carter is opening up to me about this right now, but there is a voice in the back of my mind telling me that whatever he says next is going to be a crucially important part of him that he doesn’t share with many other people.
“My mom is fifty-two. Thirteen years younger than that.” It’s his turn to shake his head. “Anyway, they’re not really sure what causes the disease, or to be more accurate, it’s a number of factors.”
His eyes are jumping, trying to find a safe space to land. He’s clearly uncomfortable with the confession.
I turn back to my work, trying to give him the space to work through what he’s saying.
“My brain focused on lifestyle factors that can contribute to it, like not sleeping well, social isolation, and lack of mental stimulation. Because do you know what having a kid when you’re eighteen does?
Especially when you’re the second girl to get knocked up by the same asshole?
You get all of those things in spades. My mom is the smartest person I know, but she didn’t go to college.
She became a social pariah in Wild Bluffs for a lot of years and never had any actual friends her age.
She still doesn’t. And having kids? It’s basically a recipe to never sleep well. ”
He can’t actually think his mom’s dementia is his fault, can he?
“That’s not—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I understand now it’s not my fault. Even if all those things are true, those are just a few of the many factors that cause early-onset Alzheimer’s.
And even if they were the only causes, they weren’t decisions I made or had control over.
So, yes, I understand wanting to blame yourself when something goes wrong.
And when you’re intelligent, it’s even easier to make connections between your actions and the outcomes.
But unless you spilled something on the earpieces and didn’t tell anyone or do anything about it, it’s not on you. You did everything you could.”
“Not everything,” I say reflexively, turning back toward him.
He lifts his eyebrow as he crosses his arms. My eyes track the curve of his left bicep as it presses against his body.
The black polo he’s worn the last two concerts is pulled tight across his arms and chest, directing my eyes to every bold inch of him.
His time in the gym is clearly time well spent.
“Stop checking me out, Harper,” he says, his voice gruff.
My cheeks warm at the callout, but I force my eyes to meet his. “Are we going by last names now, Mitchell?”
“God, no. I take it back.”
I chuckle, turning back to finish the final earpiece, shutting the box with a resounding ‘click.’
“I am sorry,” he says after a few seconds in comfortable silence. “It wasn’t your fault, and as much as I want to be the one to win this contract, that’s not the way I want to win it.” I can feel the guilt he’s carrying with him, so I decide to let him off the hook.
“Thank you for the apology. It would’ve been nice, but it’s not your job to stand up for me. I can stand up for myself.”
“I know, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone standing next to you.”
His words hit a nerve somewhere near the bridge of my nose, and I turn away from him, making sure he doesn’t see the tears that want to flood my eyes.
I’ve never wanted someone to fight my battles for me, but the idea of having someone to fight by my side?
To watch my back while I annihilate the enemies in front of me? That doesn’t sound so bad.
“Come on,” I say, keeping my back to him as I make my way to the door, the case with the earpieces for Mitchell Security’s agents in my hand. “You can buy me a beer at the hotel bar to make up for it.”