Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Seth
THE DAY AFTER MY meeting with Emmett, I sit in my apartment going through applications once again. I should pick a few and move on, but every time I attempt to, I find some flaw that makes me hesitate. I’ve sorted and resorted the applications over and over, but no organizational system has ever offered me the answers I need.
No one seems good enough. It’s as simple as that. Every time I think I have a few candidates I could interview, I linger over their flaws, too scared of them failing before they’ve even had a chance.
It’s ridiculous, I know, but I have five guys’ safety in my hands, and I refuse to fuck it up.
My phone buzzes while I’m going over the applications for the millionth time. I welcome the distraction, at least until I see the message waiting for me.
Our boy is getting himself in trouble again.
It’s from Keannen. My heart drops, and I text back in a rush.
What do you mean?
Jacob went for a little jog without telling any of us, Keannen writes. The vultures spotted him the second he left his place.
A photo accompanies this last text, an image of a hilariously poorly disguised Jacob leaving his apartment. At least, it would be hilarious if the implications weren’t slamming into my brain. He put on a hat and sunglasses, as though that’s enough to hide him from anyone. Does this man not understand what people see when they look at him? He’s the type of person others are drawn to, the type of person no one can look away from. They’re going to notice him in a damn hat.
Where? I text, even as I leap to my feet.
The applications lay forgotten on the kitchen table in my shared house as I snatch my keys. I’m out the door and storming toward my car when Keannen responds.
Olympic Sculpture Park, according to social media. He’s probably made it pretty far down the trail by now.
Fantastic. There aren’t a lot of places I can park super close to that trail, which means I’ll be hauling him out of there bodily if I manage to find him.
I don’t respond, just start driving, speeding out of my north Seattle neighborhood. It’s still a Seattle zip code, but I can’t afford to live downtown like my rockstar clients, which means this drive is going to take some time. I can speed as much as I like, but the best path from here to the trail is through neighborhoods and busy side streets. Even the four-lane roads in this part of town have a lot of stoplights. There’s simply no quick way to do this.
My knuckles drain to white as I speed as much as I dare, plunging toward Jacob. If he was heading from his apartment toward the trail, he should be at the northernmost point of it, or somewhere in that vicinity. That’s good news for my attempt to get him out of there, if my guess is correct — and if the press didn’t get to him before he could make any real distance.
I have no choice but to drive and hope. After I cross the bridge separating the northern neighborhoods of Seattle from the downtown area, I speed along yet another busy, stoplight-studded road. The closest I can get to the trail from here is probably the grain terminal, so I turn onto a smaller road and park in the first place I can. Then I leap out of my car and start running.
People stare as I barrel over the grass, but I ignore them. I sweep the waterfront, searching for some sign of Jacob. When I don’t find him, I head north, the direction I assume Jacob would have been running.
There he is.
My heart lurches. I stuff that reaction away and run faster. Jacob is backing away from a cluster of paparazzi that close in on him like a hands closing around a bug. Pretty soon, they’ll have him trapped.
His eyes flicker toward me, panic in his gaze even through the sunglasses. I charge, lowering my shoulder. Some of the reporters notice where Jacob is looking. The second they see a big guy in all black sprinting at them, self-preservation kicks in. They part before I reach them, and I snatch Jacob by the wrist without a word.
“Hey, wait!”
“We just have a couple questions.”
“What have you been working on?”
“Are you still collaborating with The Ten Hours?”
They shout questions at us, but I don’t pause, don’t hesitate for a second. I haul Jacob behind me, forcing him to keep up with my long strides. He has to jog a little to keep pace as I cut through the park and up the hill toward my car. A couple of the most daring vultures trail us, but my presence gives them enough pause that they leave some distance this time, allowing me to throw Jacob into my car and slam the door shut.
I don’t stop moving until I’m in the driver’s seat and have locked all the doors.
I let out a breath. The paparazzi come right up to my car, cameras flashing, but we’re safe in here. They can’t get inside. All they can do is take crappy shots through the windows.
I start the car and rev the engine. It’s all the warning I give them before I start driving, and they scatter like a pack of crows startled away from carrion in the street.
Only when I get back onto a main road do I speak.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I…”
Jacob falters, and I regret the harshness of my tone. At a stoplight, I dare a glance over at him. His normally warm brown skin has paled and cooled. He stares down at his hands, hardly blinking, shell shocked. He clasps them in his lap, and I tell myself it’s probably not because they’re trembling.
I soften my voice with an effort.
“That was not the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”
Jacob sags, shoulders slumping, head drooping forward. I focus on the road and tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
“I know,” he says miserably. “I know. I thought I could go for a run. Just a simple little jog. This kind of stuff used to be no big deal not that long ago.”
“It’s a big deal now.”
“I’m learning that. It’s just hard to learn it in the span of a few months. My life was pretty normal before the tour. We had fans and everything, but we all had to work side jobs to keep afloat. It wasn’t like this.”
I hold silent. I don’t know what to say about a life so foreign from my own. My SUV is beat up and nearing the end of its usefulness. I have a roommate back at my very ordinary rented house. I will never become famous or have to worry about the things Jacob worries about.
I sigh into the silence. “This is how things are now,” I say. “You have to deal with it.”
He can’t keep denying reality. It will only lead to more situations like this, and one of these times, I won’t be around to fly to his rescue. The very thought of that twists my stomach into knots, but I try to set that aside.
“I jog there all the time,” Jacob says. “It shouldn’t have been such a big deal.”
“Well, it was,” I snap, a little harsher than I intend. Worry and fear sharpen my tone all over again. “It was a big deal, and it will be every time you do that.”
“It’s just a jog.”
“It’s not just a jog. Not anymore. Not for you.” I barrel on before I can stop myself. “You aren’t doing shit like this anymore, not without someone with you. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”
I grind my teeth when I finish, but nothing I can do will reel those words back in. They’re out there now, and I can’t take them back. Jacob is silent beside me. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look away from the road. What I just said could be strictly professional. No, it is strictly professional. Security is my job, and Emmett said I need to be looking after Baptism Emperor until I can build up a bigger team. Jacob is the problem child of the band in this regard, so it only makes sense that I’d focus on him in particular.
There’s nothing unprofessional about that at all.
In fact, I double down just to prove that to myself.
“Jacob, your security is my personal priority,” I say. “Emmett and I had a meeting yesterday, and he said this can’t continue. I’m trying to hire a bigger team, but in the meantime, I’m supposed to keep stuff like this from happening. Do you understand?”
We’re deep into downtown now, getting close to Jacob’s apartment building. As we putter at a light, his eyes prickle over me, but I steadfastly refuse to look.
“I understand,” he says in a small voice.
The light releases us, and I reach Jacob’s building and pull up to the curb, just like when I dragged him away from that practice space the other day. I don’t immediately hop out of my car to send him on his way, however. This time, I put the car in park and, with a deep breath, finally look at him.
He’s taken off his sunglasses, and his hazel eyes waver. His face is uncharacteristically somber and still, his dimples hidden under a moue of petulance. We can’t afford for him to be stubborn about this, though.
“Hand me your phone,” I order.
Surprise softens Jacob’s expression, but he obeys. I tap in my number and show him the screen.
“This is me. Don’t pull this shit anymore without contacting me first.” I already have his number but until now I haven’t given him mine.
“But…”
“No buts. You’re going for a jog, then I’m going for a jog. You need groceries, then I need groceries. This isn’t a game, Jacob. You can’t do whatever you want anymore. If I didn’t happen to be nearby today…”
I let the thought trail off, stopping myself as my heart leaps into my throat. Stick to the mission , I remind myself. He’s a client. He’s a job. That’s all.
But when Jacob looks at me, he doesn’t look at me like I’m simply hired muscle. His eyes linger on mine, nearly prying my mouth open and pulling out the words and thoughts I need to keep to myself.
“I understand,” he says, small, shaken, contrite.
Something in my chest tightens painfully to see him this way, but it’s for the best, I tell myself. He can’t keep thinking there are no consequences when he does stuff like this.
“Promise me you’ll call,” I say. “Anytime. Anywhere. It’s not an imposition. It’s my job.”
“I promise,” he says.
Still so small, curling in on himself, a shadow of the loud, bright, brilliant man he is when he’s onstage with a mic in his hand.
I dispel the image by getting out of the car and going around to open his door for him. Jacob blinks at my hand when I offer it, but takes it and lets me help him out of the car. He holds on a beat longer than he has to.
“Thank you,” he says softly, gazing up into my eyes.
I don’t dare respond around the lump in my throat, simply see him to the door of the apartment building, watching until he disappears into an elevator.