Quint dashes into the room, shockingly fast for his size. Arms flexed, he whips his head from side to side, assessing the situation, looking for danger.
I point at the traitor, jaw ticking. “Get her the fuck out of here. And she isn’t allowed access ever again. Make sure everyone knows.”
It isn’t his job to do that, it’s hers, but he nods obediently. He wraps his beefy hands around her biceps, hauling her against him.
“Jared, no. You’re angry right now, and you have every right to be but—” She fights, tears running down her face.
“I don’t need your permission to feel anything. Stop talking.” Disgusted, I turn away.
“Jared, let’s talk once you’ve calmed down. You’re about to launch your solo career, announce a new album and tour dates—you need me.”
Quint has her at the door when I turn on my heel, facing them. “I’m in serious trouble if I need the likes of you. Get the fuck out. We’re done.”
She calls my name, fingers latching onto the doorframe, gaze pleading. Quint’s trying to be gentle, mashing his lips together in frustration as he pries her fingers from the wood.
“Just take some time. Jared, think about it and call me—”
“You’re dead to me.” My chilling words and unforgiving gaze cause her to let go, slumping in Q’s arms.
The door closes on them and I yell, marching toward the bar. My fingers curl around the bottle of vodka and the other unscrews the cap.
Eva is alive. It’s both fantastic and gut-wrenching news. The lengths both her father and sister went to, all because they hate me.
“Fuck, no.” As if winding up my arm to throw a pitch, I smash the bottle against a wall.
Glass crashes to the tiled floor behind the bar, the wall wet, and Quint bursts through the door. “Boss, you okay? Who should I call?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
We drive toward my house in Bel Air, though the thought of being in my own space doesn’t feel right. On the way, I call Silas, my best friend and lead singer of our now-defunct rock band.
In a moment of weakness, in the early years of our friendship before the success of our band, I told him all about Eva.
He became my person, the only one I could turn to when I needed to unload the ghosts. Even more so than Bianca. Fuck, Bianca.
“Hey, how’d it go?” he asks. “The big release plan is all locked down?”
Silas has been close by my side since I first told him about my plans to go out on my own. He has had my back all the way, and even produced my debut album.
Sure, it’s a smart business decision and great publicity for both of us. Ex-bandmates working together again—the media and fans eat that shit up. And the album is fucking epic, even if I am biased, so no one loses.
Part of his support is driven by guilt, even though he’ll deny it. Ending Trojan was his idea. And while we could have found another lead singer, as much as any one of us, Silas Palmer is Trojan. None of us were replaceable, even Gray, the last addition to the band when Rich stepped away.
“Nah. Not even close. The meeting was a time suck and torture. You know how it is.” I blow out a long breath. “That’s not why I called.”
“I don’t miss that shit. So what’s up?”
“I don’t really know where to start. Everything I know or believed has been blown to smithereens.”
“You okay? Where are you?” The edge, potential fear, is clear in his tone, and I hate to give him cause to feel this way.
He fucking cares. At least I can count on him. Trust him.
“I’m…okay. Reeling, but okay. And I’m in the car. Q’s taking me home.”
“J, stop messin’ around and tell me. What happened?”
“Eva’s alive.”
“What? Eva Ramirez?” Silas doesn’t know her, but most probably feels like he does. The poor guy has sat through many a drunken stupor where I’ve cried like a fucking baby about Eva.
“Yeah. And get this, Bianca lied to me. She’s known all this time. That’s why she showed up all those years ago. She went looking for me so she could make sure I never found out about Eva.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“I wish I was…no, that’s not true. I’m fucking ecstatic that she’s alive. I want that more than anything else. I can’t help but feel like it’s a second chance.”
“Hell yeah, it is.” He chuckles. “How are you dealing with this? Do you want to talk? What B did is fucked up and pisses me off.”
“Yeah, I fired her and don’t ever want to see her again.”
“Uh huh. Bruh, let me come over there and we can hang out, figure this shit out.”
He’s going into safety mode, forever a key part of my support network, and I smile. “I’m fine, really.”
“Do you know where she is? Have you talked to her yet? If you need help—”
“I saw her today. She showed up at the hotel. I get the sense she forced Bianca to tell her where I was.”
“Holy shit. No wonder your mind’s blown.”
I fill him in about everything including the aftermath. Bianca was Trojan’s manager for nearly a decade, and her betrayal comes as a shock to Silas.
“J, I don’t think you should be alone. Let me come over or you come here. Pansy’s bringing home dinner.”
“Nah, I won’t be good company.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Silas, I’m cool. Seriously. I’ve got so many questions for her. I don’t know if I can wait until tomorrow to talk to her.” I fiddle with the guitar pick between my thumb and forefinger. She gave me this, and I always have one with me.
“Then don’t. You have her number? Call her. Go see her and talk.” His tone is matter-of-fact yet what he’s suggesting isn’t so straightforward.
“Really?”
“Yeah. What are you waiting for? Don’t waste any more time.”
Shit. Time. So much has been squandered, and he’s right—I don’t want to waste any more.
“Okay. I’ll do it. Thanks, bruh.”
“J, call me night or day. Pansy and I are here for you.”
“I appreciate it. Really, I do.”
“Hey, why don’t you both come over tomorrow?”
“Does Pansy know you’re inviting guests?” A smile pulls at the corners of my lips.
“You’re not a guest, dumbass. You’re my brother. Come for lunch.”
My chest swells. “Cool. Thanks. Talk later.”
My thumb hovers the call button next to Eva’s number. It’s so surreal to think that with one push, I can hear her voice. How many times have I wished I could talk to her? See her? Am I fucking dreaming?
If so, I don’t ever want to wake up.
20
Spoiled and infected
EVA
“Why did you come?” Hands on my hips, I face Miguel.
Exhaustion, the toll from flying all night, stains his usually serene features. “Eva, I was worried sick. When I got your note, I didn’t know what to think. Why would you leave like that? What were you thinking?”