Fall (VIP 3)

“He’s staying. Expect to be shadowed for a while.”

“No fucking way.” I sit straighter now. “I mean it. I see one of the guys following me around, I’m sending him home. And don’t even try that manager shit with me on this.”

I’m met with silence. I don’t bother trying to fill it. I’ve played chicken with Gabriel Scott before.

Finally, I hear a long-suffering sigh. “Do me this small thing, Jax. Keep a low profile. I don’t know how much you’ve seen—”

“I’ve seen enough,” I cut in. Enough to make my stomach heave. Enough to tempt me back into bed where I can close the world out entirely.

“Then you know to keep quiet until we can issue a statement.”

I laugh without humor. “There is no good way to spin this shit.”

“No, there isn’t.”

His flat response makes me cringe.

“Then we’ll let it ride,” I tell him, fighting the urge to vomit.

“Assure me that you’ll stay away from your usual haunts.”

“Jesus, Gabriel. Has lack of sleep addled your brain? You don’t need to lecture me. I don’t have haunts anymore. I’m a damn hermit these days.”

“Right,” he says after an awkward pause. “Well, my work here is done then.”

Despite myself, I smile with true amusement. “Yeah … It’s been fun.”

“You’re a terrible liar, John.”

“Don’t John me.”

“Did you or did you not just pull a Gabriel on me?” he retorts.

“You were being a wanker again.”

“Speaking of people who call you John—”

“Excellent segue,” I cut in.

Scottie expels a protracted sigh before he speaks. “Have you explained the situation to Ms. Grey?”

I resist the urge to squirm. “Are we gossiping now?”

“Yes.”

“God help me.” I rub my tired eyes and close them.

“Have you?”

“No,” I grit out. “I was too busy taking care of her while she was sick.” And, you know, chickening out.

“You poor smitten kitten. You’re in deep, mate.” He sounds so smug, I’m sorely tempted to hang up on him.

“What was your first clue, Fred?”

“Fred?” The confusion in his voice makes me laugh.

“Out of all the gang, you’d definitely be the one to wear an ascot, so yeah, Fred.”

Scottie scoffs. “I’m tempted to say you’d be Shaggy but you’re more the Daphne of the group.”

“Fred had the hots for Daphne,” I point out.

“This conversation has taken a strange turn and is making my head hurt.”

“And my work here is done,” I say proudly.

I can visualize him rolling his eyes.

“Speaking from personal experience,” he says, getting back on point. “I can only advise that you be honest with Ms. Grey. Likely, she’ll have questions—”

“Scottie, man, I’m not involved with Stella. We’re just … I don’t even know what we are. But I’m not trying to get in her pants.”

“Lying makes my headache worse,” he mutters. “I don’t know why you bother with me.”

“I’m a walking cautionary tale,” I say, annoyed now. “Not exactly prime boyfriend material.”

“The fact that you used the word ‘boyfriend’ tells me all I need to know,” Scottie says. “Get your head out of your ass and talk to the girl. Oh, and we’re all coming over tonight for dinner.”

At that, Scottie hangs up. Since he often hangs up on me when he’s done with a conversation, I don’t take it personally. Only now I’m alone with silence. Talk to Stella? I feel like a kid again, about to face the headmaster and really wanting to run the other way. That kid wants to go downstairs and hang out with Bruce instead.

“Shit.” I run my hand through my hair and squeeze the back of my neck. I know what I have to do; I have to talk to Stella, warn her off while I still have the strength to let her go. Because there’s one thing I understand quite well: I always manage to disappoint the people I care about, and I don’t want to be yet another person in Stella’s life who fails her.

Stella

* * *

When you’re sick, you kind of go with the flow. It’s not like you can protest. Your whole world narrows down to how bad you feel and how can you feel better. In that hazy reality, I hadn’t truly thought about the fact that John was there with me. But I’m well now, and I’m thinking about it. A lot.

He took care of me. Better than anyone has since my mother died. The knowledge leaves me all tender and squishy inside. I owe him. I miss him.

I might have been physically miserable when he was here, but I’d been completely comfortable around him. Happy, even. Which is bizarre, given the amount of pain I’d been in.

But he’s gone now. He’s been gone for days, and I haven’t heard a peep out of my friendly neighborhood rock star. It’s unsettling. How can he go from being utterly attentive to completely gone? Did I offend him somehow? Was it a pity thing?