Chapter Seventeen
The Lincoln was too quiet.
They’d dropped Ava off at her apartment twenty minutes ago. She’d kissed him goodbye, told him she loved him, and said she’d be thinking about him during the meeting. He’d smiled and told her not to worry.
Now it was him and David, the most talkative man Jay knew, driving in complete silence. No Steely Dan. No commentary about traffic. No asking if Jay needed anything. Nothing. Just the occasional click of the turn signal.
On the way to pick up Ava last night, Jay had told David to pull over.
David’s eyes had found his in the rearview mirror and stayed there for a beat too long before he’d done it—long enough that Jay had almost told him never mind.
But he hadn’t. David had waited in the lot without a word, pulled back onto the road when Jay climbed in, and hadn’t said anything since.
Jay pulled the flask from his jacket and took a slow drink.
He’d bought three airplane bottles of Smirnoff last night for emergencies.
After Ava had fallen asleep, he’d slipped out to the lake, refilled the flask, and sat on the shore at four in the morning, drinking until the panic quieted and the sky started to lighten.
He’d made it back to the RV before she woke up, brushed his teeth, and crawled in beside her, pretending he’d been there all along.
She’d rolled toward him in her sleep and tucked her head against his chest like she trusted him completely.
He’d stared at the ceiling until the alarm went off.
“You good?” David finally asked, his eyes finding Jay’s in the rearview mirror again.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“You sure about that?”
Jay put the flask back in his jacket, noting it was nearly empty again. “I said I’m fine.”
“Are you really?” David’s eyes were still on him in the mirror. “Because from where I’m sittin’, it looks like you’re about to walk into the most important meeting of your life after drinking all night.”
Jay didn’t answer.
David sighed and pulled up to the curb outside Caina Records’ office building. “Want me to wait?”
“No. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“Jay—”
“I’m fine, Dave. Really.”
Jay climbed out of the car before David could say anything else. He lingered on the sidewalk until the Lincoln faded down the street.
His phone buzzed, Ava’s name lighting up the screen.
Ava: Good luck. I love you. You’ve got this.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket without responding.
Inside, the elevator ride took too long. His reflection caught him in the polished doors, all bloodshot eyes and pale skin. He held his own gaze and felt nothing. That’d been the goal, after all—the nothing.
The doors opened, and he stepped out into the hallway with a low buzz in his head that was disorienting but manageable. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Where was the intern offering water when he actually needed it?
Lionel’s growl hit him the moment he opened the office door. “Are you kidding me? You do know that hair was insured for a million dollars, right?”
Jay closed the door, the thud making his head throb. He dropped into the leather chair in front of Lionel’s desk, slouching low and not bothering to fix the messy fall of his hair.
“Good morning to you too, Li.”
It was barely past ten in the morning, but there was already a glass of scotch beside a mound of papers on Lionel’s desk. Jay glanced at the top sheet and spotted Wicked Smile in bold at the header. More contracts to shove in his face.
Luke and Riley hadn’t arrived, which he considered to be a good sign. Maybe they wouldn’t come until after his part of the discussion. His decision was final, and their complaints would only make it harder to hold firm.
Lionel picked up a pen, tapping it rhythmically against the desk as he studied Jay, his gaze dissecting him. Jay forced himself to meet his eyes.
“I’m guessing there’s no convincing you to stay if you’ve already given up the hair.”
“You know I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass on purpose, right?”
Lionel’s chuckle was weary. “You’ve always been a pain in the ass.” He slid the papers across the desk. “This looks like a lot, but we’ve got backup plans to try to make this work for you.”
“I told you I’m done. I’m not coming back.”
“Luke told me you found out about Riley and your sister. Fine.” Lionel’s tone stayed neutral, but Jay caught the exasperation beneath it. “We can replace him. The guitarist we’re eyeing is solid. You don’t have to walk away because of Riley. You don’t want him? He’s gone. End of story.”
Jay cringed. He wasn’t sure if it was from the headache or his manager still not listening. “I don’t want to work with you or him after Mira’s NDA.”
Lionel sighed, dragging his hand down his face before taking a long sip of scotch. Jay watched the glass and how the amber liquid caught the light. His mouth felt like sandpaper.
“You act like this is the first time we’ve ever had to do something like this,” Lionel said. “For the band’s sake—and to keep you off the ledge—we agreed it was best you weren’t part of the negotiations we made with Samira.” He paused, leveling Jay with a look. “Same goes for Ari.”
“And when exactly were the negotiations made?”
“She was seventeen. Old enough to know what she was agreeing to.”
Jay sneered. “How the fuck is seventeen old enough for that shit? It’s not even legal to have a minor sign a contract.”
“She emancipated herself from your father. She was her own guardian.”
Jay’s vision swam for a second. Mira had to legally separate herself from their father just so his band could make her sign away her right to speak about being abused. And it’d been done without him knowing.
His heart rate kicked up. “Riley started this shit with her when she was in high school, Lionel. High school. And you made her sign an NDA to keep quiet about it?”
Lionel’s jaw tightened. “We made her sign to protect the band’s interests. What happened between her and Riley was their private matter.”
“Private?” Jay’s voice rose. “You knew. You knew what he’d done to her, and you silenced her so Riley could keep his career.”
“Samira took the settlement, Jay. Nobody put a gun to her head.”
Jay bolted upright, slamming his hands on the desk. The contracts scattered, and his head spun from the sudden movement. Rage was the only thing that kept him steady.
“Give me the termination agreement,” he demanded. “Now.”
The door to the office swung open before Lionel could respond. Luke and Riley strode in, freezing when they saw Jay hovering over the desk.
“Already throwing a fit?” Riley taunted.
Jay’s hands curled into fists. “Don’t fucking talk to me.”
Ava had urged him to keep his cool that morning, saying Riley wasn’t worth the mental strain. She was probably right, but seeing that arrogant smirk made every muscle in Jay’s body tense.
“Sign the papers and leave if you don’t want to be here.”
Jay’s breath came faster. He whirled around to face Riley properly, and the room tilted slightly before righting itself. “I told you to not fucking talk to me.”
“See, this is your problem. Everything has to be a spectacle. Pure melodrama.”
“You’re not helping,” Luke interjected, reaching for Riley’s arm to pull him back.
Riley sidestepped and walked to lean on the desk beside Jay, gesturing at the scattered papers. “So what’s the plan, then? Europe with him or without him?”
Jay struggled to focus as Lionel responded, “We’re trying to civilly discuss it right now if you two would like to pull up a chair.”
“I’m not doing this anymore.” How many times did he need to say it? “And I’ll be damned if he is the one singing my words.”
Riley laughed. “I don’t think you have much of a say in it if you’re the one walking away.”
Jay blinked hard, and then he saw it: a scar trailing from Riley’s cheek down his neck, pink and still raised. It was a scratch among other parallel lines, deep enough to have bled. Underneath, barely visible, were older marks, faded white and long healed.
He’d seen marks like that before on Riley’s arms, his hands. He’d never let himself wonder what they were from.
But now all he could think about was Mira’s nails—Mira fighting back not for the first time.
His mind went quiet.
Then his fist collided with Riley’s nose. The crack echoed in the office, and the world snapped back into focus as Riley stumbled, blood streaming down his face.
“What the fuck?!” Riley yelled, clutching his nose.
Jay didn’t think. He just moved. His breath came in ragged gasps as he threw another punch.
Luke was suddenly there, his arms hooked around Jay, pulling him back. “Jay, stop!”
He twisted free and landed two more hits, each one cracking against Riley’s face, before Luke finally managed to drag him away.
“Fuck!” Riley spat, blood smearing his fingers. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Jay shook Luke off, chest heaving. His knuckles throbbed, split and stinging.
Lionel, still seated calmly behind his desk, watched with an unreadable expression. He took a slow sip of scotch. “Do I need to call security, or are you guys going to act like grownups now?”
Riley wiped his nose again. Jay flexed his hand, trying to breathe through the rage coursing through him.
“Fuck you, man!” Riley snapped. “You’re not the only one who can fucking sing.”
Jay’s eyes narrowed. “That was for Mira, actually.”
Riley jerked his head up, his bloodied face twisting into an ugly snarl.
“She called me from the bar after you—”
Jay lunged, but Riley was ready this time, throwing up his arms. Jay’s punch glanced off, and Riley grabbed his face, fingers digging in, and shoved him back hard before driving a fist into his stomach.
Jay staggered but didn’t lose his footing, the pain dulled by adrenaline and whatever was in his system.
His knee shot up, catching Riley between the legs.
Riley crumpled, slamming into a chair on the way down.
Luke gaped, wide-eyed. Lionel let out a frustrated breath, like a parent tired of toddler tantrums.
“Jay, will you sit down?” Lionel snapped.