Page 20 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
irt, tie, vest, and slacks, looking every bit the part of everything he isn’t. His handsome face stares back at me, wearing that cocky smirk of his and I’m-a-rock-god expression.
My heart aches.
I know I should close the magazine, put it back, and walk away, but my eyes wander and roam over the interview. Skimming the questions about his upcoming album. About his home life and long-time girlfriend. Where she fits in his everyday, and how she gets him when it seems no one else does. About how he sees a good thing in his girlfriend and would never purposely screw it up, although he unintentionally has many times before. I scan his answers and then read them again, slower this time.
He’s talking directly to me. The dichotomy of it all makes my head spin. On one hand, he’s in Rolling Stone apologizing to me, and on the other hand, he’s saying everything I needed to hear before. Everything he negated to utter when he screwed Tara-perfect-tits.
“Dylan? Everything okay?”
I hear his question, but by the time his words register, he’s taking the magazine from my hand.
“Christ,” he mutters as he scans the article before looking up to meet my eyes. There’s concern in his, compassion, and the sight of it from a man I’m currently mad at has me fighting back tears. “I’m sorry. Just when you need someone to be nowhere, they’re everywhere. Let’s get out of here. We need to drop Petunia at home, and then I know the perfect place to go.”
“Why are we here drinking again?” I laugh as I tap my glass to his for what feels like the twentieth time.
“Because your boyfriend’s an asshole and because I’m . . . because I need it too.”
I stare at him as he tosses back the amber liquid, and the sights and sounds of the bar buzz around us. He doesn’t give me more than that, and I accept it without prying further.
“You want to tell me why Jett was speaking about you as if you were still together?”
I sigh and finish off my drink. “Our agent wants us to keep our split under wraps.”
“You have the same agent?”
“Yeah.” I snort. It sounded good at the time to have the same one. I can only hope that’s still the case once this project is done.
“Why would they want you to keep quiet?” He looks as confused as I felt when Ava made the request.
“While Jett’s bad-boy reputation may play well with his audience, the label isn’t too fond of it.”
“Why do they care so long as he sells albums?”
“Selling albums is one thing. Being manageable is a whole other matter. Jett is far from manageable. When an artist has a hard time recording an album, let alone promoting it, because his antics get in the way, it’s a problem.” I sigh. “Temper tantrums where he’s trashed the studio when a song isn’t working. Refusing to show up and record a song because I’m not in town to be there. It’s just—”
“He sounds like a real winner, Dylan.”
I glare at him, feeling like I’m being judged while justifying in my mind that he doesn’t know Jett like I do. He doesn’t understand him. And then I roll my eyes at myself. How stupid does that even sound?
“There’s a part of him that’s all image. Then there’s the guy he was before he hit it big.”
“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “So where do you fit in all of this? Why does your agent need you to keep up the charade?”
“Because I was told I ‘soften’ his image. I’m the only one who tames him. The label knows I’ll deliver. The producer will work with me, not Jett. Ava fears that if they know we’ve split, they’re going to delay or table the album like they threatened to from the get-go.”
“So let them table the album. Maybe he deserves to be taught a lesson,” Grady says, giving the most logical commentary .
“I’m not sure anything will change him. It’s obvious he hasn’t learned from any of the repercussions he’s faced before, but when he’s punished, I’m punished. Tabling the album would damage my career and livelihood too.”
“How so? It’s not your fault he’s unmanageable.”
I think of the contract Ava constantly reminds me about. I think of the billing statement in my inbox from the rehab center. I think of this surreal bubble bursting that I’ve actually made it in this business when Jett fucks up and the album isn’t delivered on time.
But I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I toy with the edge of my cocktail napkin and refuse to meet his eyes.
“You know you don’t owe him anything after what he did to you, right?”
“You’re right. I don’t.” I mentally shake myself from my thoughts. “I sound like a doormat agreeing to our agent’s request, but I assure you, I’m not.”
