Dissonance Page 2

  I nod to the table across the roof. “You’ll never have to work with that fuck-nut again.”

  Cam smiles, nodding appreciatively. “That isn’t just a silver lining. That’s fourteen-carat gold.”

  “I thought you’d like that.”

  “I love it. You always know what to say to make everything better.”

  I shrug. “You live in the gutters, there’s nowhere to look but up. You learn that a little optimism goes a long way.”

  “You’re a walking, talking inspirational poster.”

  “Follow your dreams. Hang in there. I hate Mondays.”

  “I think you slipped out of posters and went to the comics, Garfield.”

  “Lasagna.”

  Cam laughs, leaning down to kiss my cheek chastely. “Love you.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  I smile as I watch Cam walk slowly back to the table. Back into the white Christmas lights strung from every peak we could find. He sits down in the glow with Bryce and Anna, interrupting whatever potentially ugly conversation they were having. It takes only a few seconds before they’re all smiling. Anna laughs lightly. Cam chuckles, munching absently on a carrot stick.

  It’s amazing how he does that. How people gravitate to him, happy just to know him. There’s something easy about Cam. Something good and indelibly kind that makes you lean in when he talks and laugh when he smiles. Something that makes you go against every instinct in your body. Something that makes you go home with him one rainy night after a particularly heartbreaking day.

  “Not for sex,” he vowed seriously.

  It wouldn’t matter if it was, I thought achingly.

  “I want to help you,” he offered.

  I want to die, I whimpered inside.

  He held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  I stared at it blankly. I didn’t understand.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  I barely remembered. I hadn’t said it in years.

  “Greer,” I whispered.

  He put his hand over mine on the greasy table. His palm was warm and dry. I disappeared underneath it.

  “You’re better than this, Greer,” he promised me.

  I shook my head. “I’m not.”

  “You are. And I can prove it. But only if you come with me right now.”

  I looked in his eyes. They were brown and warm as a Teddy Bear. Honest as Abe Lincoln. His face more handsome than JFK.

  I smiled at him weakly. “I’ve always had a thing for Presidents.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I turned my hand over. I pressed my palm against his. “Where are we going?”

  That was two years ago, and out of all the dumb, crazy, irrational decisions I’ve made in my life, that one is still the dumbest. Still the craziest.

  And still the absolute fucking best.

  The door to the roof pops open suddenly. Samantha is there silhouetted by the light spilling out from the stairwell. She looks like an angel with long blond hair and an oval face. A heart shaped mouth that falls open in surprise when she sees the nearly empty rooftop.

  “I thought this was a party,” she complains.

  “It was,” Cam answers. “About two hours ago. You’re late.”

  She snorts, letting the door slam shut behind her. “If a party can’t last longer than three hours, it’s not a party.”

  “Whatever. It’s over. You missed it.”

  “Bummer,” she drones, not sounding the least bit bummed. “Guess I’ll have to go find another one.” She nods at Bryce. “You wanna go with me, cupcake?”

  “Hell no, bitch,” he snaps. “You’re a black hole.”

  Anna frowns. “How is she a black hole?”

  “She steals his light,” Cam explains, completely uninterested.

  “At the bar, on the stage, from my aura,” Bryce rattles off.

  Samantha smiles, taking a seat across from him. “I can’t help that I’m prettier than you.”

  “You’re lumpy. It’s disgusting.”

  “They’re called breasts and most men think they’re tasty.”

  “So do babies, but you don’t see me strapping on a diaper and shitting myself in public.”

  “This is getting weird,” I point out.

  Samantha turns sharply in surprise. “Kansas! I didn’t know you were here.”

  I walk slowly toward the table. “I live here, and I’m not from Kansas.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’m from New York. Says so on my birth certificate.”

  “Huh. Well, your body is definitely New York but your eyes are Kansas.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  Bryce chuckles. “She means your body is fierce but your brain is simple.”

  I glare at Samantha. “Tell me he’s wrong.”

  She shrugs in reply, dipping her finger into an open tub of whipped cream before popping it into her mouth.

  The thing about Samantha is that she’s a bitch. Plain and simple. But she’s an honest bitch, one who will always give you the truth no matter what. Out of everyone in the Rendezvous cast, she’s the most senior. She’s been in the theater/acting business since she was eight when she landed the starring role in Annie. She’s been on a downslide as she’s gotten older. Turns out her cuteness was what got her a lot of notice when she was a kid, but as that cute little girl has aged into an edgy young woman, the world is starting to look the other way. Rendezvous is a small show that’s been a Hail Mary for her and a lot of people; a last chance for fading actors and actresses. Producers. Directors.

  I’m a rarity on the other side of the spectrum. A newbie on the stage for the first time in my life. It was terrifying at first. After Cam coached me, I auditioned for the female lead in Rendezvous. I never dreamed I’d get it, and I didn’t, thank God. I think I would have died of stage fright on the first night. I was too green back then, not at all confident in the talent Cam swore I had.

  I glance at Cam now, looking for his support against Samantha, but instead of an ally I find him watching her. Watching her finger and her lips. Her bright red nails and even brighter red mouth.

  He ate two steaks less than an hour ago, and he looks absolutely ravenous right now.

  I snag the whipped cream off the table, snapping the lid on top of it. “Whatever. Who’s gonna help me clean up?”

  No one answers me. No one makes a move to help.

  I let the tub fall limply to the table. “Seriously? No one is going to help me?”

  “I just got here,” Samantha reminds me. “Why would I help?”

  “You still wouldn’t help even if you got here early.”

  “So why are you surprised?”

  “I’m not going to help because I don’t want to,” Bryce tells me honestly.

  I turn to Cam. He looks at me blankly for a long time, trying to wait me out. When I refuse to look away, he sighs. “Why not just leave it? It’s all disposable anyway. We’ll clean up tomorrow.”

  “There’s perishable food here.”

  “Trash it.”

  “That’s wasteful.”

  “It’s not that much.”

  I groan in frustration. “You lazy slobs. You’re really going to just sit there?”

  Bryce cringes faintly. “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Don’t say it if you don’t really mean it.”

  “Retracted.”

  I pick up the tub again, muttering, “I hate you guys.”

  “While you’re up, can I get a beer?” Samantha asks sweetly.

  “You can go fuck yourself is what you can do,” I shout to her over my shoulder.

  The table responds with a chorus of laughter.

  There’s a cooler on the roof in the corner. I snag the cheesecake and dip on my way to it, dropping everything carelessly in the lake of melting ice at the bottom. On the other side of the building, away from the lights and the group, it’s cooler. Quieter. So quiet I can hear the sound of th
e streets below. They feel far away, but they’re so close I can smell them. I can remember what it’s like to sleep on them. To beg on them. To run for my life over them.

  My heart is hammering in my chest as I listen, as I remember, and I feel so suddenly, irrationally scared right then that I feel dizzy.

  “Oh my God!” Samantha cries in delighted surprise.

  “Oh shit!” Cam echoes. “Rewind! Play that again!”

  “Can’t get enough of it, can you, Cam? You want Bryce to screen shot it so you can make it your wallpaper?”

  “Greer!” he shouts to me. He’s on his feet waving frantically. “You gotta see this!”

  “Oh hell yes!” Bryce agrees, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Show Kansas. She’ll love it.”

  I shake my head as I walk slowly toward them, reentering the glow of the lights. “Not from Kansas.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come here. You’re gonna freak when you see this.”

  “What is it?”

  He holds his phone out, pointing at the screen. “It’s all cued up. Just tap the center.”

  Warily, I take the phone from Bryce’s hands. The screen is frozen on the image of a crowd in front of a stage. It’s dark and grainy but whoever is filming is close. I can make out the band at the back in the shadows. The man standing in the center, a guitar strung over his shoulder. I recognize him immediately.

  I smile reflexively. “It’s Jace Ryker.”

  Bryce chuckles. “See? I knew she was into him. She’s so basic it hurts.”

  “Basic?”

  “Hit play,” Cam insists. “Seriously, you need to see it.”

  “He doesn’t get hurt, does he?”

  “No. Trust me.”

  “Seriously, play it,” Samantha snickers. “It’s so good.”

  I tap the screen, bringing it to life; bringing Jace Ryker to life in front of me. I can’t help smiling again when I hear him sing. I’ve always had a thing for him, even when I was little and he was a new star on Disney’s Download. I only got to see the show for a year before I left home, but I heard his music on the radio everywhere I went. I saw him dancing in music videos on TVs sheltered in store windows. They were where I learned my first moves. Where I first picked up dancing. Where I first fell in love.

  The song ends, the next one cuing up behind the thunder of applause ripping through the arena.

  “This is a new one,” Jace speaks intimately into the microphone, his voice taking on that low rumble it gets when he’s serious. He adjusts the strap on his guitar, his eyes on the mic in front of him. He grins faintly. It looks strained, like he’s struggling with something, and I wonder if he’s sick. He’s coated in sweat, his dark hair shining wet against his forehead. “Some of you might have heard it already. Some of you might already know it by heart. If you do, why don’t you go ahead and sing it for me.”

  He licks his lips as he strums the first three chords on his guitar. They’re faint and restrained, but the crowd recognizes them immediately. They go wild with excitement. Wolf whistles and cheers erupt as he continues the intro. As the lights rise behind him in a faint red hue that fills with the sound of the band backing him up.

  When he sings the first words of the song, dancers appear behind him. Three of them dressed in corsets and high heels; all red and black. Sultry. Sexy. The whole song is like that, and while it’s not that different from Jace’s other songs, it doesn’t quite feel like him. It feels too pop. Too manufactured. It’s not the Jace Ryker I’m used to, but the audience is eating it up with a spoon.

  “What am I watching for?” I ask, my eyes glued to the screen.

  Cam chuckles. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

  The dancers congregate around him. They drape themselves over him, hanging on his body as they hang from his every word. Every chord. One girl sticks out. Lexy, his on-and-off girlfriend. She settles herself on her knees in front of him, swaying lazily. She’s not in time with the music and I wonder if she’s drunk. Then I wonder what she’s doing with her hands on his belt.

  “What is—”

  My question is lodged in my throat when I see her unhook the black belt, yanking the silver ends to the side. Before he can reach around the guitar to get to her, Lexy pulls on Jace’s pants. She takes them straight down to his knees. The other girls jump back in surprise. Jace’s face is contorted with shock and rage. The entire audience gasps as one. I gasp with them, my hand covering my mouth as the other holds the phone with white knuckles.

  She didn’t just get his pants. Lexy took his underwear down as well.

  And there, below his guitar in plain view of everyone in the arena and the internet, is Jace Ryker’s dick.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jace

  I growl, rubbing my hands over my face. I push them into my hair, pulling on the strands until it hurts.

  “Jace.”

  “I know,” I snarl. I pull hard one last time, wincing against the self-inflicted wound, before dropping my hands into my lap. I look up at Grant impatiently. “I fucking know, man.”

  “I’m talking to Sarah about how we’ll spin this,” he explains calmly.

  “You’re talking about how we’re gonna spin my dick?”

  “Essentially, yes. We’ll do as much damage control as we can, but this is… it’s...”

  “It’s bad.”

  He nods once. “Very.”

  I close my eyes, wishing I could go back to sleep. I wish I could sleep for days, weeks. A month if I need to. Whatever it takes to get this bullshit behind me. But every time I try, I keep reliving it.

  I’m swaying on stage, drunker than I should be. I’m singing that song – that damn song – and I’m wondering if I can make it fit. If I can be that guy. I’m not a kid anymore, but am I this man? Is this who I want to be? Or is it something else entirely? Should I go country? Stick to rock? Go metal? Punk? Vegan? Amish?

  The options are endless and unappealing.

  Then there’s Lexy. She’s on me the way she always is, grinding on my dick closer than a condom, and for once I’m not into it. It’s not doing it for me. So she ups the ante. She’s pulling on my pants, and before I can stop her, she shows my shit to the world. She ruins me in under a minute flat. There are kids in the audience! Tweens that have been into me since my Disney days and she just put my dick in their face.

  I’ve never been so mad in my life. I’m ashamed and embarrassed to say I thought about slapping her. If a dude did that to me, I’d break my fist against his face. No question. But because she’s a woman I’m impotent. I eat my anger, yank up my pants, and leave the stage. I leave the arena. I walk aimlessly until Keith finds me and brings me home.

  The fallout has started by then. The video is everywhere and there’s no way to get it back. No way to put the genie back in the bottle, and I feel ashamed for the second time in an hour because some small, sick part of me is actually glad my mom is dead. At least she didn’t live to see this.

  “Lexy is fired,” Grant tells me, pulling me out of the rerun in my head.

  I laugh shortly, an angry bark of a sound. “No shit, she’s fired.”

  “We can press charges if you want to.”

  “What kind of charges?”

  “Sexual assault, to start.”

  I bite my lips between my teeth, shaking my head. “Nah. The media would go crazy with that. I’m not adding fuel to this fire.”

  Grant frowns, leaning forward in his seat. “I think you need to look at the big picture.”

  “Bigger than me naked on stage?”

  “The fire was already burning before this. Lexy just threw on kerosene. The problem started with the joint and was kept burning by the flask.”

  “For fuck—” I stand up, pacing the room. “I told you, it wasn’t a flask.”

  “The pictures are pretty convincing.”

  The goddam media. They’re killing me lately. They’ve been up in my ass ever since my mom got sick, and they refuse to let up. Every move I mak
e is documented and analyzed. Every mistake blown up bigger than the Hindenburg. They used to love me, but lately they’re throwing shade on every cover.

  I’m an alcoholic. I’m a sex addict. I’m a druggy.

  I’m washed up.

  I still remember the first time I was on the cover of a tabloid. I remember how proud I was. I was fifteen years old, at the White House for a State Dinner. I met the President’s daughter. I posed for pictures with her, played her a song on the piano in some receiving room, and when I left, she slipped me her private phone number. I thought I was a baller. The President’s daughter wanted me and I was dating rock legend Rod Melbourne’s daughter, a girl who went on to be a supermodel. I thought I was unstoppable. I thought I was a god.

  A year ago, I was named one of People Magazine’s sexiest men alive. It ran on the shelves right next to the slightly blurry cover of Gab Weekly where I was seen with an unidentified, half-naked woman under my arm and either a joint or a hand rolled cigarette hanging from my lips. I’ll never tell which, mostly because I don’t remember. That was the beginning of the end for me with the paparazzi. Ever since then, the narrative has been the same:

  Jace Ryker is a hot mess.

  “I didn’t bring a flask to court,” I insist. “I don’t care what the pictures show. It was my cell phone.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “No.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Thanks, man. That’s supportive.”

  “Sarah is going to call you later.”

  “Shit!” I shout, bracing myself against the back of a chair. “Can’t you talk to her?”

  “She wants to talk to you.”

  “You mean she wants to yell at me.”

  “Probably. She’s a publicist. It’s what she does.”

  “Fucking Lexy,” I grumble. “This is all her fault.”

  “She’s crazy,” Grant agrees, scanning through his phone. “You always knew that.”

  “She was fun crazy at first.”

  “Yeah, then she turned drug fueled crazy. You should have fired her the first time you caught her with powder under her nose.”

  “I thought it would be wrong to fire someone with a problem. I wanted to get her help.”

  “You’re not running a charity, Ryker.”