Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
“ A re you ready to go to my rental?” I ask Jenna. “It won’t take me long to pack.”
She sighs. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. Do you think they’ll bother Ma?”
I can only hope they don’t dig into Jenna’s life. “I want to tell you they won’t, but it’s a distinct possibility. If you think it would help, want me to put security on her house?”
Her thumb and pinky rub together. “I hate they can do this. Reporters shouldn’t be allowed to be so disruptive. We’re only trying to live our lives.”
My arm goes around her shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry.” Despite going against every molecule in my body, I add, “If you’d prefer, I can make a big deal out of leaving Aroostook. Reporters will follow me to wherever, and you’ll get your lives back.”
Please say no .
The wait for her to respond is agonizing.
“I don’t want you to leave when your injury is still unhealed. You’ll have to start over with a different physical therapist, which isn’t fair, either.”
Is this a win? She said she wants me to stay, so I’ll take it as one.
“It’s settled then.” I want to hug her but manage to keep my arms at my sides. “Let’s hit up my rental first, since I hope the paps don’t know where I’m staying. I’ll pack and we’ll go back to your house for you to get a bag. I’ve called and we can meet King and Angie at Secluded Rest.”
Her eyes smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
She gathers her paperwork and meets with the clinic’s receptionist, explaining she’s going lie low for a few days until the media attention wanes. The fact we’re going to be together for the next few days doesn’t escape me.
We take the back elevator down to the ground floor and make our way to her car. “I can drive,” I offer.
“No way,” she huffs. “I’m not going to ruin all your progress by making you get behind the wheel. Get in, Mr. Lead Singer.”
She’s never treated me like a famous musician, and her nickname doesn’t sit well with me. I open her door. “I’m just a guy, Jenna. I do a job, but that’s not who I am.”
She tosses her purse in the seat behind her and slides into the driver’s side with ease. Her head tilts up. “You don’t seem to have much of a life outside of the stage.”
Unsure what to do with her observation, I slam her door shut and make my way to the passenger door. Once I’m inside, I say, “I’m always busy, either with UC-related stuff or representing the band at clubs or parties. I think that’s a full life.”
“It is.” She turns on the car. “I apologize. I was out of line.” She doesn’t sound apologetic, rather resigned.
Despite wanting to challenge her further on this, I let it go. After all, why bother to fight when I’m leaving soon?
Story of my life.
As she drives to the front of the building, I drop the front seat down to prone again. “The media are surrounding the car,” she narrates. With the windows closed, I can’t make out whatever they’re screaming, but I can only guess .
After she turns right out of the parking lot, I sit upright and watch the reporters as they begin their pursuit. When we approach a stop sign, I instruct, “Don’t stop, Jenna. Keep on going.”
Looking determined, her right foot presses on the gas. We make several quick turns and lose most of the reporters. A few of the more intrepid ones follow. “So much for being under the radar,” I note as we pull up at my rental.
We fight our way inside and slam the door shut. “Jenna, if it’s like this here, your place is going to be much worse.” We walk into the kitchen. “Impassable.”
She protests, “But my clothes, my things.”
“We can buy new stuff for you.” Her expression falls. “I don’t think we should go back there now. It’ll be a madhouse.”
I can hear Mom from here. This is what you do, mess up everyone’s lives .
“I needed to get a few new pieces of clothing anyway,” she rallies. “It’s fine. I can handle this for a couple of days. Then everything’ll return to normal.”
I complete her thoughts: When I’m gone.
“Make yourself at home while I pack my stuff. I won’t be long.” I leave her with the fridge open and enter my bedroom. At least I’ve packed and unpacked my suitcase a million times while on tour, so this chore is completed in under ten minutes.
I wheel both pieces of luggage out to the living room. “Ready.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know how you can live out of a suitcase. I used to say the same thing to Darren. He always replied it was part of the gig, and touring was something to be enjoyed.”
“He was right.” I join her at the kitchen island. “Listen, the press is a pain in the ass, for sure, but they don’t know what’s inside here.” I tap my chest over my heart. “They make up crazy stories, but I know the truth. UC’s PR team usually comes through with debunking the most outlandish stuff they dream up. Try not to let them get into your head. They don’ t deserve it.”
She plucks at the label on the water bottle. “I’m trying. I’m not cut out for this life.” Her lips rise in a half-smile.
“I don’t know. From where I sit, you’re not letting them calling you a Black Widow get to you. Don’t. Keep up your barriers.”
“I’m trying, but it’s hard. I don’t like having a barrier.”
My hand covers the top of hers. “You keep the people you love inside with you. All the rest of the world can believe what they want. That’s all I’m saying.” Guess that’s why it’s so easy for me. I don’t have people inside the barrier.
My cell breaks the extended silence. Despite knowing exactly who it is, I pull it out of my back pocket and stare at Mom’s name. I close my eyes.
I’m about to decline the call, when Jenna says, “It’s your mother. She must be worried sick about you.” Her chin tilts. “Take it.”
I don’t want to answer the phone with Mom on a good day. Today certainly does not qualify as one. “How about this? I’ll call her when we’ve settled into Secluded Rest.” The phone rings again.
“Promise?”
“Yes.” On an exhale, I send Mom’s call to voicemail. “Let’s get ourselves to the mansion.”
Big, grey eyes meet mine. “Can we at least drive by my house to see how bad it is? Maybe I can squeak in?”
How can I deny her this simple request—one I brought to fruition. “Sure. But if it’s nuts, we’re not going near it, you hear me?”
“Thank you!” She wraps her arms around me for a fierce hug. “I’m sure they won’t be camped out at my place.”
Wrong . I keep my opinion to myself. Together, we each take a piece of my wheeled luggage, and I put the backpack on my shoulders. “Are you ready to face the music?”
Her head shakes. “Always with the band references, huh?”
I shrug. “It’s what I do.”
“Well, true.” Her shoulders plop downward. “I’m ready.”
I open the door and go out first to try to deflect the reporters. She clicks to unlock her trunk, and I stow both pieces of luggage and my backpack in it while she rushes to the driver’s seat. I stand and close the trunk, then turn to face the vultures.
“Don’t you guys have something better to do than interrupt my vacation?” I whine. “I’m out here for some R&R. Can you please give it to me?”
“Is it true you’re buying property in Aroostook?”
“Why are you spending more time with the Black Widow?”
“Are you moving in on Darren’s girl?”
This last one hits a nerve. I stop in my purposeful walk to the passenger door. “I can safely say Jenna Westfield is her own woman and doesn’t belong to anyone. I would hope you would understand that.”
I open the door when another pap’s question sails through, “Are you excited for your tour?”
This one I can answer. I push away from the car. “I am very excited to go out on tour with Untamed Coaster. Following the amazing movie that chronicled our struggles over the past years, we’re ready to get back to performing.”
“Bennett, how is Tristan integrating into the band?”
“Bennett, who is writing the songs for the next album?”
“Bennett, will Jenna be joining you on tour?”
It’s like I unleashed the furies on UC. I raise my hand and they quiet somewhat. “I would appreciate your giving me some space before I get on the road.”
It’s as if I didn’t say anything, as the screamed questions continue. With a wave, I slink into the car and lock my door. “Still think they won’t be camped outside your door?”
“I hope not. But you really handled them well.”
She starts the SUV, and we pull away. I turn around to check on their status but my pulled muscle protests. My hiss of pain causes Jenna’s head to spin toward me. “You need to massage it, so the knot loosens.”
I try, but without too much success as we weave through the town. To distract myself, I say, “I’ll be happy when we’re in Secluded Rest. Doing my PT there for a few days, without running into reporters, will be like heaven.”
“Pain scale?”
“Not too bad. Maybe a seven.”
“Which means a high eight.”
I don’t correct her, simply watch the houses pass until we turn onto her street. Reporters dot the landscape, but it seems passable. Somewhat. “Do you think you can handle this, Jenna? If not, we certainly can order whatever you need.”
Stubborn jaw set, she replies, “I’m going in.” She maneuvers her car passed the few paps into the driveway. “I never use the garage because it’s filled with stuff.”
Still rubbing my thigh, I reply, “Understood. Keep your head down and walk straight to your front door. Don’t answer any questions.”
“What about you? How are you going to walk without a limp?”
“It’s not like I have much of a choice. I’ll get out and walk in front of the car, then you join me, and we’ll go in together.” Come to think of it, if we wanted to divert the reporters, we should’ve gone straight to the mansion. “Wait. I think we shouldn’t go in, especially since you’ll be bringing luggage when we come out.”
I can see a war brewing in her eyes. “I only need a few things. How about I use what could be considered a large purse?”
“Better.” I inhale. Since she’s not backing down, I ask, “Ready?”
At her nod, I get out of the car and ignore both the screaming from reporters and my thigh. My only goal is to get her inside the house so I can collapse. This was a bad idea. Yet...I couldn’t deny her some small comforts considering I’m the guy who’s preventing her from staying here.
When I round the front of the car, her door opens and she pops out. The reporters scream more questions at her, but we ignore them and soon are inside the house. She urges me to the same sofa I slept on last night. “Stay right here. I’ll get you an ice pack before I get my things. ”
Because I’m tired, I don’t protest. Soon she deposits the ice onto my thigh. “Now call your mother.”
If I refuse, I look like an asshole. “Fine,” I grumble and pull out my cell. With any luck, she won’t pick up.
“Bennett?”
No such luck. “Hi, Mom. I saw you called but was in the middle of something. Is everything all right?”
Jenna gives me a sunny smile and heads upstairs. If only she knew.
“I saw you’re in the headlines again, this time for stepping out with your dead bandmate’s girlfriend.”
“It’s not like that. I told you I pulled my muscle and needed physical therapy. Miss Westfield is a dammed good therapist. Nothing more.” I adjust the pack on my thigh.
“The news is reporting it like you and she are shacking up.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to believe anything you read or hear? You know how it is. Reporters are always looking for a story. Or making one up.” I hit my good thigh. Gullible people like her believe their lies.
“I do know stories are usually based on truth.”
“I don’t want the press to know about my injury. Nothing’s going to stop this tour, and I don’t want their speculation.” I stare at my cell. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
She cackles. “Who would I tell? Ramona? She doesn’t care anything about your type of music.”
At least that’s something. “I’ve told you a million times to stop reading the tabloids and seeking out shit online.”
“Don’t do this, don’t do that. You’re not the boss of me. If you’d let your sister live, I’m sure she wouldn’t treat me like the dog you do.”
And here we go . If I’d had any say in the matter, my twin would be here right now. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Do not engage. “You know I’m only telling you this for your own good.”
“What you think is my own good,” she sniffs.
Time to change the subject. “What did you do today?”
“Ramona took me on a walk inside the mall.”
“Sounds nice.” Better than railing against me. “Did you buy anything?” Like Jenna’s going to have to, because of me.
“No! I wanted to get a blouse, but she said it was too big for me. I know my size. I know it would’ve fit me perfectly. That Ramona thinks she knows everything. Like you do, Bennett. Neither of you know anything!”
Round Two. I need to end this. “I’m sure she meant well.”
“Just like the Black Widow you’re hooking up with now. I’m sure she meant well when she killed Darren. Maybe she’ll do us all a favor and take you out too.”
My blood pressure spikes. “Perhaps if you were a sane human being, you wouldn’t have run Dad into an early grave.”
The line disconnects.
Jenna steps into the room. “Guess the call didn’t go well?”