Part 15 (1/2)

I thought about it for a moment, but I found I wanted him to hear whatever it was Jason had to say. I suddenly realized that just because Jason had expelled me from my former life with his lies, that didn't mean his lies couldn't follow me into this life like bad karma I just couldn't shake.

”Okay.” I took my phone back out of my bag. My hand shook as I pa.s.sed it over, and though Kent didn't say anything I knew those sharp eyes caught the trembling of my fingers.

He held my phone in his hand, and it looked very small in his long, calloused fingers. I remembered what those fingers felt like on me, and I wished things between us weren't so complicated and weird. And here I was, staring at my phone, in the city I'd fled from only a month ago, wis.h.i.+ng I could just forget Jason, forget San Diego, forget Carter and the tabloids and all that bulls.h.i.+t and just throw myself at Kent. Hold me, I thought, hoping he could hear it echoing in my head. Touch me.

But he didn't. ”Do you want to stay while I listen?” he asked instead, his voice still gentle, his hand still on my shoulder.

I thought about it. If I stayed, I would be able to hear Jason's voice, as unintelligible as it was, on the other end of the line. On the other hand, if I went, I'd have no clue what he had said. And I had to admit, my curiosity was eating at me, like cancer.

”I'd like to stay,” I said.

He stared at me for a moment longer, and then nodded.

Across from the elevators stood a small bench with a floral cus.h.i.+on on it. The warm hand on my shoulder guided me toward it and I took the seat gratefully. Kent didn't sit down next to me, however. Instead he began to pace in front of the bench as he dialed into my voicemail and held the phone to his ear.

At the other end of the line I heard the mechanical voice of the answering service, and then came Jason's voice.

My whole body tightened, any pleasure at being close to Kent forgotten. I couldn't hear the words Jason spoke, but I knew the tone all too well. The berating tone. The paternal tone. The subtly demanding tone.

Why don't we have rent money, Rebecca? I thought you were going to take care of it at work.

Don't bother coming to rehearsal, Rebecca. It'll be boring today.

I was out with friends.

I thought you loved me.

My arms came up and I hugged myself tight, suddenly so grateful to Kent that I could cry. The messages on my phone had been burning a hole in the back of my head for days. I knew I would listen to them, and they would take me back, back to here, back to that time when I lived with nothing but lies and I didn't even know it. And as I watched, Kent's face grew darker and darker, until his expression was as black as a thunderhead.

When the last message was finally done, he dropped the phone from his ear and stared down at me.

I stared back up at him, unable to even think.

He held up the phone. The s.h.i.+ny black screen seemed suddenly sinister, like a one-way mirror.

”Rebecca,” he said, ”do you mind if I hold on to this for you?”

I felt my lips thin. ”I'm not used to being without my phone...” I said.

”If you want it to browse the internet or check your mail, you can use mine,” he said. ”But I don't think you should have this in your possession.”

I clenched my teeth. ”Why? What did he say?”

To my shock, Kent hesitated, and then suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me, so our faces were level. I was still hugging myself, and he didn't make a move to disengage my arms, merely put the phone down next to me and reach out to put his large, warm hands on my arms. The heat of him rocked me, the touch of him slicing through the fear and the cold inside me.

”I don't want you to listen to those messages,” he said. ”But I don't want to delete them. For legal reasons.” His vivid eyes searched my face. ”Do you understand?”

I scowled at him. ”I'm not stupid,” I said.

He smiled a little in return. ”No, but you are emotional.”

”That's s.e.xist.”

”Only if it's not true. You think I didn't notice the spotless kitchen? The well-scrubbed toilets? The polished baseboards? When you're all messed up inside you're like June Cleaver on amphetamines.”

...G.o.ddammit. ”Yeah, well, you're like Trent Reznor on 'roids,” I shot back.

To my utter shock he laughed at that. ”Maybe,” he said, ”but I still want to hold onto this for you. You don't need this kind of ha.s.sle. Let me handle it for you.”

I shook my head. ”Why are you being so nice to me? You've been avoiding me like the plague and now... bam. What's the deal?”

As though he suddenly realized we were touching, he swallowed hard and pulled his hands away. His eyes dropped and he stood. ”You haven't heard the new alb.u.m yet,” he said. ”Carter said he wrote it for you.”

I blinked, not getting it. Maybe I was stupid.

He slid his eyes to mine. ”You know, when I first saw you sitting in the middle of all those suits, looking like a teenager who gave no f.u.c.ks about anything, I thought, 'she'd be a great lay.' People who don't give any f.u.c.ks about anything are crazy in bed. But you do give a f.u.c.k. You really do. About Carter and about whatever it is that drove you out of this city.” He frowned. ”I'm not explaining this right.” One hand raked through his hair as he began to pace. ”What I mean is, you care. You just... you overflow with it. You've... you've been good for Carter. And given the new alb.u.m, you've been amazing for this band... s.h.i.+t, I don't know.”

I stared at him, stunned that confident, self-a.s.sured Kent somehow had no idea what to say.

He looked at me again and stopped pacing. He held out the cell phone. ”Look. Rebecca. You don't need to care about this, okay? Let me care about it for you.”

There was a curious stinging in my eyes and when I swallowed, it was around a lump in my throat.

”Okay,” I said.

His shoulders relaxed at that, a tiny, imperceptible easing. ”Good,” he said. ”Now come on. We're going to be late.”

Dazed, I followed him into the elevator, too preoccupied and too touched by his offer to give a s.h.i.+t for me that I didn't notice his wording. But when the doors opened on the fifth floor, they revealed the rest of the band already divested of their luggage and waiting to go down to the bottom floor.

As they piled into the elevator, I started to squeeze my way out.

A hand caught my arm, and Carter said: ”Whoah, wait a minute. Where are you going?”

I turned in surprise. ”To the room.”

He shook his head. ”Nuh-uh. Come on, Mrs. Girlfriend. You gotta be on set in thirty minutes! Getting in make up and everything.”

I blinked at him dumbly. ”What?”

He grinned at me. ”You're starring in our video, Mrs. Girlfriend.”

I stared and his grin grew wider.

”What, did I forget to mention that?”

For the first time in a week, the thought, gentle and serene, floated across my brain: I'm going to kill him.