Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Seth
“HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT.”
Mason’s shout startles me from a sleep that was restless even at the best of times. I slouched home after firing myself yesterday and took whatever I found in the medicine cabinet that I thought might help me sleep. It sort of worked, but I woke up several times, tossing and turning as my thoughts chased me all night.
Now, Mason is banging on my bedroom door. After a couple knocks, he dispenses with the niceties and barges in.
“What the hell is going on?” he says.
I rub at eyes gummed over with both sleep and the lack thereof. I have nothing but briefs on, but it’s far from the first time Mason and I have seen each other in such a state.
“What?” I croak.
He strides to the bed and grabs me by the wrist, tugging until I grudgingly get up. As he drags me nearly naked down the stairs and into the living room, my head clears.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Trying to figure out what kind of mess you caused for us.”
“Me? I’ve been asleep. I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah, then explain this.”
Mason takes me to the front of the house and yanks on the cord beside the blinds. They snap up — and suddenly cameras are flashing in my face. I blink, reeling back, as a horde of reporters press closer to our front window. The glass muffles their shouted questions, but the sheer volume and quantity of the blood suckers floods the house with strange voices.
I snatch the cord from Mason and close the blinds as quickly as I can. The cries continue penetrating the glass, and I stumble back several steps. Only then do I remember I’m in nothing but underwear, a fact all of those cameras undoubtedly captured.
“What the hell?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Mason says. “What the hell, Seth? What is going on here?”
“I have no idea. How do you even know this is my fault?”
Mason levels a skeptical look at me. “Do you really think those reporters are here to talk to the accountant? Or do you think they’re here to talk to the rich, famous, hot rockstar’s bodyguard?”
Realization hits me like a bucket of ice water.
“I’m not his bodyguard anymore,” I say.
“Yeah, well, apparently they haven’t gotten the memo.”
Mason waves dismissively at the front window before stalking away. I follow him. The clamor softens as we retreat toward the kitchen, where Mason hands me a cup of coffee he must have made before the commotion started. We take our mugs to the couch and turn on the television, mostly to further drown out the torrent.
“So, you wanna tell me what this is about?” Mason prods.
I heave a pent up sigh. There’s no running from it. The truth is circling around my house, so I let it out, admitting to Mason that I hooked up with Jacob (“ha! I knew it,” he says way too triumphantly) and telling him all about the disaster that took place at the meet and greet yesterday.
“I called the management company and resigned the second I got home,” I finish.
“So I guess we can assume the story leaked somehow,” Mason says.
I nod. Secretly, I hope it’s only the story of a crappy bodyguard who didn’t stop Ryan from getting too close to his charge, but a piece of me fears the press somehow knows about those ill-advised hookups as well. I should have stopped this before it ever started. I knew it was a terrible idea, but with one look, one pleading word, Jacob punched past all my defenses time and again.
Now, we’re mired in a disaster I don’t know how to dig us out of.
Hopefully the press is only here for me. Even as I send out that silent prayer, the image on the television changes, and suddenly Jacob is filling the screen.
“Looks like they got your man too,” Mason says.
My stomach twists. I clench my coffee mug a little too hard, nearly spilling hot brew into my lap as someone shoves a camera into Jacob’s face. He tries to push them away and reach a building only a few steps away, but he and the rest of the band have no team with them today. It looks like they’re heading out to practice, but I wish they hadn’t. With no protection, the press is right up in their faces. It takes Keannen physically stepping between the reporter and Jacob for Jacob to get free. I hardly breathe until Jacob slips into the building and the reporter, having lost his prey, backs off at last.
“Fucking vultures,” I growl at the screen.
Every protective instinct surges inside me, but I shove them down. That’s not my job anymore. It can’t be my job anymore. I was compromised because of my feelings for Jacob, and it very nearly resulted in serious harm. I removed myself for his safety, but what the hell is Emmett thinking not getting a replacement there ASAP? Someone should be with them, especially if the press has caught wind of the meet and greet incident. These guys can’t be alone.
Part of me suspects they snuck out without telling a soul about this practice, not even Emmett. It’s probably not their manager’s fault. Still, the news got out somehow, and it means they’ll have a hell of a time getting home tonight too.
I yearn to be there. I want to sweep in and barrel through the press for them. My hands itch with the desire to shield Jacob from this, but I can’t do that anymore. I blew it. This is the result of my poor decisions. I have no right to be the one who sweeps in to save him.
My knight in shining armor.
Knights aren’t supposed to sleep with princes.
I thought princes got to do whatever they wanted.
Even in my memory, his hazel eyes dance as he slaps away my hesitation, dimples burrowing into his cheeks. Having that look focused entirely on me should have been the first clue this couldn’t last. I’m not the kind of guy Jacob should look at like that. I’m an ex-military dude who didn’t know what to do with himself and happens to be a bit bigger than average. Jacob is the one who’s extraordinary, the one who lights up rooms, who fills whole stadiums with his voice. Me going anywhere near him was always going to end in disaster … even if he seemed to want me too.
“Still no answers about the incident, but we’re following it closely,” the reporter on the screen says.
I jerk my gaze up. Apparently, I was studying my cooling coffee all this time, but now I focus on the reporter, an otherwise average-looking guy with a subtle side shave and dark eyes. He all but grins with mirth as he details the band’s recent troubles.
“The bodyguard, Ryan Dunning, was immediately fired, according to someone with knowledge of the incident,” the reporter says, “but it seems a second bodyguard, Seth Atkinson, was also fired, this source tells us. They were unclear as to why, but speculate Atkinson may have resigned voluntarily.”
“Fuck,” Mason breathes beside me.
He startles, then hastily turns off the television.
“Sorry, um, so I guess the word is out, huh?” he says.
I nod, terrified of speaking. If they know all that, how much more might they know? Where the hell do these guys find all their anonymous sources? Who in the management company is telling them this, and why isn’t Emmett strangling them? It definitely isn’t Emmett himself or anyone in the band. They’re all invested in Baptism Emperor’s success, and this shit is pure distraction. Not even the most cynical marketing guy would put the whole band through this just to get some clicks.
“Hey, so, look, I know this is pretty bad. Okay, really bad,” Mason amends when I glare at him, “but it sounds like they don’t know about the, um, ‘other stuff.’ Just the meet and greet thing. So that’s positive, right?”
Maybe. For now. But if they’ve managed to get all this, how long will it be before they find out the rest? All it would take is one bystander who saw Jacob walk into this house, or who saw me go to drop him off and not leave his place for hours, and these bastards would be all over the story. I shudder to imagine what they could do to Jacob and the band with that kind of ammo. Hooking up with some random security guy would raise a ton of questions. It would paint a certain picture about the Ryan incident, leading people to ask if Jacob was hooking up with more than just me, if he also went to bed with Ryan, if the whole meet and greet thing was a big misunderstanding.
Worst of all, Jacob would be alone to face all those questions.
I wouldn’t be able to help him. In fact, the best thing I can do for him now is disappear. The less I say, the less I give the press, the more they have to speculate. If they don’t have any evidence or confirmation, then this could remain empty rumors. Hopefully, it’ll pass in a few days. Then Jacob can move on and forget all about me, like he should have from the very beginning.
“Shit,” Mason hisses.
My heart sinks. “What now?”
His look is apologetic as he holds up his phone so I can see the screen. It’s a video this time, not live footage. Jacob is heading toward that building we saw on TV a moment ago, but this time he stops to answer a question.
“How are you faring after the incident?” an unseen reporter shouts.
Jacob tries to smile, but my heart dives even lower at the obvious falseness of it.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Really, everyone’s okay.”
“But it must have been a shock, right? You’ve really trusted your security team up until now.”
“I did,” he says. “I still do. They’re great guys. This was a new person, but it’s behind us. The guys who are still with us are great.”
“Who is still with you? We’ve heard your head of security, Seth Atkinson, was fired as well. What can you tell us about that? Was he involved in the incident somehow?”
“No,” Jacob says quickly, almost too quickly. “No, absolutely not.”
“Then why would he be fired?”
Jacob hesitates. He looks directly into the camera, and even through the grainy video on Mason’s phone, his eyes gaze straight into mine. The world hushes, as though I’m back in his room with him, alone, secluded, both of us stripped down to some more honest, more real version of ourselves than who we have to be in public. My chest squeezes so tight I can barely fit a breath into my lungs.
“I don’t know,” Jacob says finally, “but I hope he comes back.”
His words are as soft as a promise, flitting through time and space and phone screens to burrow behind my heart. He might be in a video with hundreds of thousands of likes and views, but for a second, I know he’s speaking only to me out of everyone in the entire world. All those people greedily grabbing at him, trying to claim his time and his person for themselves, and he still found a way to send a message to me and me alone. I did this to him. I failed him. Instead of protecting him, I created this shitstorm. Yet inexplicably, he’s reaching out for me.
He strides away, and when the sunlight catches his brown hair, I swear the waves glint as golden as a crown.