“Hi,” she said after one ring. I looked at the clock, realizing Hannah was probably napping. It was the only time she got in the studio, and I felt bad for interrupting her.
“Hey to you, too. Are you okay?” I asked her.
“Okay is a wide range. I’m here. I’m surviving. Will that do?” she asked.
“What happened with Nash?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She sighed. “Let me guess, he went from my couch to Mac’s?”
I laughed. “Well, technically, I’m sure he was in the loft, but now he’s here in Jacksonville.”
Silence for a moment. “He is?”
“My brother sent him here like some overprotective mama bear after the incident last night.”
“What incident?” Tristan asked.
I rubbed my finger along the wood of the desk. “Brady’s stalker threw a bunch of firecrackers at him as we were leaving the venue. It was on the news, so I thought maybe you’d seen it.”
“Oh my God. Is he okay?” she breathed out.
“He is.” I didn’t feel like getting into the whole part about me being hit and pressed her instead. “Do you need to talk about what happened?”
“Nothing really happened. I just feel like…we both need some space,” she said, but it was elusive, as if she didn’t want to come out and tell me about it. “Honestly, I’m glad he’s there with you.”
“You’re glad he’s with me?” This surprised me because I’d expected her to be…not jealous…but proprietary over him. She relied on him for a lot more than just helping with Hannah and the dog. Their relationship was convoluted. I couldn’t decide if they were friends, family, or much more.
“He needs someone to smack him around a bit, and I think you’re just the person for the job.”
I laughed. “Well, I don’t know about hitting him, but I don’t intend to take any of his shit.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
I was glad I’d called her—for me as well as her. I told her to reach out whenever she needed it, reminding her I was up at all kinds of hours these days, but I knew she wouldn’t. Tristan was as much of an enigma as Nash on most days.
My feelings for Nash being in Florida were almost too mixed up to peel apart.
A sharp knock on my hotel door brought me to the peephole and a blurry vision of the man himself on the other side.
I swung it open enough to stare at him without inviting him in.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Did you even check who it was?”
“I’m not seven, Otter. I don’t need a lecture on stranger danger.”
He was cataloging me again. Every tell. Every hair. Every breath. It was maddening and stupidly tantalizing at the same time.
“When are you leaving?” I asked in response to his silence.
“I’m not.”
I crossed my hands over my chest. “What do you mean, you’re not? If you went through their plans, then you’ve done your duty. Go back and figure out how to fix your own life.”
He didn’t rise to the bait I’d laid out. His position mimicked mine—arms over his chest, making the muscles and tattoos on his arms flex.
“Are you leaving?” he asked.
I scoffed. “Why would I leave?”
“Because it isn’t safe. Last night you were collateral damage.”
“I’m not quitting,” I said, gritting my teeth. Last night had been awful. It had triggered my feelings of powerlessness and caused my emotions to run rampant in the elevator. It had brought back all the feelings I’d hated most after Fenway’s attack. But I hadn’t backed down when he’d originally assaulted me, and I certainly wasn’t going to back down now when I’d accidentally been hit by firecrackers aimed at my friend. I’d support Brady any way I could. Skittering away like a mouse with a light shined on it was not me.
I wasn’t a mouse.
The muscle in his cheek flexed as if he were trying to hold back the words he wanted to say.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“This isn’t a poker game, Athena,” he said, pushing on my button just like I’d tried to push his.
I stepped back and let the door shut in his face before I said something I’d regret. I was fuming on the inside. Fuming that he’d used the poker game against me. Fuming that he’d asked me to quit. Fuming that I’d let Fenway impact me again. Fuming that someone who had worked for Brady was now threatening him.
I let my emotions drive me through the pile of work I had to do, trying to shake off the negative press. I was limited in what I could say because of the nondisclosure agreement, especially when I hadn’t even been fully read in on it myself. I spent an inordinate amount of time on scheduling social media posts for the next few days, looking over the list of VIPs for the next day’s concert, and pretty much redotting my i’s and recrossing my t’s.
After I’d done as much as I could, I ordered room service and turned on the TV. My phone rang, and I saw, with surprise, that it was Bee.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” she said back, and then silence drifted over us. I loved Bee, but we didn’t really have the kind of relationship where we called and told each other everything. Mac and Georgie were the people I opened up to the most. I’d always had a shield up with Bee because she’d been hurtful with her words more than not. Because she’d never defended me to her friends or the people in her life, starting in high school all the way to her husband, Thomas, who enjoyed being snitty at my expense.
“You okay?” I finally asked when she hadn’t said anything and the quiet became painful.
“Me? I’m fine. I was actually calling to
