Be The One (Crave 2)

Tom steps into the interview and cuts me off before I can tell her where to go. “I think we’ll have to cut the interview there,” he says. I don’t hear what he says after that because I’ve already left the room by the time he gets those words out.

I stalk down the hallway to the lift and jab the button for it to let me in. We’ve got two more interviews scheduled for today, but I’m bailing on them.

“Jett!” West calls out as he jogs toward me. “Wait up.”

“I’m sorry, man, but I couldn’t sit through that woman any longer. She had no intention of listening to anything you or any of us had to say.”

“I agree, but Tom’s pissed off.”

“Fuck it, Tom will just have to deal.”

Tom catches up to us, a shitty look on his face. “No, you’re the one who has to deal,” he directs at me.

I give him my full attention. “I’m beginning to think coming here and doing all these interviews was a bad idea.”

He shakes his head and jabs his finger in the air at me. “No, it wasn’t. The bad idea was obviously you hooking up with a woman because you coped a lot fucking better with being away from home when you weren’t pussy whipped, my friend.”

My fury at the whole situation takes over. Stepping forward, I get in his face. “Did you ever stop to think my problem might be the fact that one of my best friends has been accused of something he didn’t fucking do, and now the world thinks they have the right to lump us all in as fucking criminals who think it’s okay to disrespect women?”

Tom takes a long breath. “I understand that, Jett, but I’m looking at this from another perspective and what I’m seeing is not only your frustration at what is happening, but also your inexperience dealing with being away from someone who means a lot to you. And I’m here to tell you, that is something you are going to have to learn to deal with if Presley is someone you want in your life. Hell, you’re planning on a tour later this year that is going to last for more than six months – you’re going to be away from her for a long stretch of time so you’re going to have to figure out how to cope with that.”

I listen to everything he says and then I turn around and punch the wall. “Fucking hell!” Needing space, I stalk back down the hallway to the stairs and make my way down ten flights of stairs. When I reach the ground floor, I push the door open and find myself in the lobby. A lobby full of fucking reporters who’ve obviously been waiting to catch us.

Not my brightest fucking move.

They see me and rush my way. The only thought I have is that I have to escape and a taxi outside seems like the best way to do that so I head in that direction.

“Jett, what do you have to say to the rape allegations?”

“Jett, why would West rape a woman when he can have any woman he wants?”

“Jett, is it true other members of your band have also raped women?”

They throw question after question at me, each one getting more and more ridiculous and at the last question, I stop and stare at the reporter I think asked it. “What the fuck did you just ask me?”

Excitement flashes in his eyes and I should realise he’s goading me, but I’m too angry to put it all together. “I asked if it’s true other members of Crave have also raped women?”

My mind explodes in colour.

Red.

Black.

White.

Anger like I’ve never known in my life shatters all around me. My body is alight with it, and I want to hurt whoever is the cause. Unable to control myself, I punch the reporter. I punch him so hard, he collapses, and blood goes everywhere. Momentarily, I wonder if I’ve broken a bone in my hand because the pain shooting through it is excruciating, but I don’t let that stop me. I bend over the reporter, and thunder, “If you ever fucking ask me something like that again, I’ll do more than break your fucking nose.” Without waiting for his response, I stalk out of the hotel and into a waiting taxi. “Take me to the closest bar,” I bark and settle back into the seat.

What a colossal fuck-up today has been.

And then Presley calls, and what sanity I have left goes to hell in a hand basket.

12

Presley

Oh God, I should not have drunk all those cocktails last night. My head kills, my stomach is rolling and every muscle in my body aches because not only did we drink, we also danced most of the night away. I crawl out of bed and head straight for the bathroom because I’m sure I am going to vomit, however nothing comes up so I make my way to the kitchen in search of headache tablets. And as I walk past the fridge and see the photo of Jett and me on it, I have a vague recollection I was talking to him last night.

Shit, I was. And I’m fairly certain I promised to call him when I woke up. I stumble back into my room to find my phone, clutching my stomach as I go.