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Chapter Four
I pressed my fingers to my temples and rubbed them slowly. The day was not going as planned, and I was stressed. Okay, stressed would be an understatement. My brain was acting as if it were a traveling circus complete with carnies and giant elephants. The mayhem was like nothing I had ever experienced before. My thoughts tramped over each other making no sense what so ever. After finding my name smashed in the bathroom mirror, Marc called the police. It was clear to everyone that this was not a random act of violence; the destruction was deliberate and had only one purpose: to scare me.
Slowly, I walked off the tour bus and set into publicist mode. No longer was I a friend of Asking Thursday. My main objective was to focus on the press and make sure the boys came out looking good in the situation. Some media could possibly try and spin the situation to where the band looked at fault (headlines like “Band Gone Wild” and such). I was determined for that not to happen.
An hour later found me in the hotel lobby talking to a police officer. We had possibly been over what had happened a million times, but the officer continued to ask questions, much to my dismay. It was ready for a press conference.
“And this red head, did she have anything against you?” He tapped his pen against his notepad expectantly.
I sunk down into a chair and massaged my temples again. Remaining calm and collected was my only option.
“The only time I saw her was when I walking into the bathroom, and she was with Evan. She looked pissed, but didn’t say anything. I came back to the hotel, and when I woke this had happened.” I gestured wildly at the tour bus.
“So she viewed you as a threat?” He looked and sounded bored.
I peered around the lobby and took in my surroundings. Marc was at the front desk talking to a man with sweat stains just under his arm pits. From the nametag on his shirt, I gathered that the man was the manager of the Hilton. He was wringing his hands, talking to Marc in a fast manner. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that Marc was going to get everything with the hotel squared away. That effectively took a huge burden off my shoulders.
The police officers cleared his through, reminding me that I had yet to answer his question.
“Um… I don’t know. I mean, I guess she could have been, but Evan and I aren’t and have never been romantically involved.”
My eyes were drying out, and I could feel my eyelids sagging. I wished I had gone to bed earlier in the night. Thanks to Eli though, I was facing the horrible day on maybe four hours of sleep.
“How did the woman know where you guys were staying? Or that this was your tour bus?”
I took a deep breath and looked the officer in the eyes. It was obvious he had never heard of Asking Thursday before. One couldn’t really blame him though. They (the band that is) were new to the music scene and had made it to radio play, but they weren’t full blown famous yet.
“We, or rather the guys, had a concert earlier that night. She may have gone to it. As for your first question, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Evan.”
“We already are,” the officer mumbled, not looking up from his pad of paper.
I raised an eyebrow and turned to find Evan. He was slumped in a couch talking to another police officer. One hand was pinching the bridge of his nose and the other was rubbing his thumb and forefinger together unconsciously. I could tell he wanted a cigarette. His eyes and posture looked annoyed. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to the officer, but I imagined it had something to do with the red head seeing as she was the crazy vandal (I was 99.9 sure of it; the 0.01 thought that Mr. Rodgers had risen from the dead and destroyed the bus).
The front door slid open, and members of the press poured into the lobby hungry for a story. I was just the person to give them that story.
“Can I go?” I asked with as much politeness as I could muster up. “The press is here, and it’s my job to deal with them.”
The officer looked at me wearily. “It’s not wise for the victim to speak to the press.”
I looked at him incredulously. It hadn’t occurred to me to call myself a victim. “The victim here is the tour bus or maybe even the band, but…”
He cut me off, motioning for me to sit back down. I had made a move to stand unconsciously, but he was having none of it. Sheepishly, I sat down, a little intimidated by his authority.
“You,” he said stressing the word, “are the victim. It was your name that was written in the bathroom therefore in our eyes you are the intended target. Said person can not gallivant around talking to the press or let me rephrase that… It would not be wise to do so.”
I started to say something, but he cut me off again.
“You can get the manager to deal with the press.”
I thought better of trying to speak again, so I settled for just nodding and sinking lower into my chair. Sulking was the only option I really had.
The whole lobby was in chaos, and I was stuck in a chair having a staring match with a cop. The press was having a field day taking pictures of the guys in the lobby, guests were looking around trying to figure out what was going on, and Marc and the hotel manager were off in their own little world conversing. Needless to say, I was close to a panic attack because I couldn’t take control of the situation. My brain was going crazy. I knew I still had to figure out where we would stay for the next few days while the bus was being fixed, cancel the next couple shows, and then reschedule said shows for a later time.
As if sensing my distress, March looked up from his conversation. He shook hands with the manager before crossing the room to me.
“What’s going on?” he asked me, but looked at the police officer.
“Chip here won’t let me talk to the press. How ridiculous is that? A publicist who can’t do her job because someone thinks she was the supposed victim.” I gestured toward the officer angrily.
“My name is Officer Roberts,” he said with a smile. “Not Chip.”
Marc stopped me before I could reply.
“Avery, sweetheart.” Marc’s tone was sweet, which meant for me to shut up. “What do you want me to tell the press?”
My nose wrinkled in frustration. He was supposed to be on my side, not agreeing with Officer Roberts. I sighed deeply before talking.
“Let them know that the bus was attacked by someone not associated with the band. The cops are looking for the culprit. Unfortunately, shows will be cancelled due to maintenance on the bus, and we’ll post which shows are affected on the band website within the next twenty-four hors. It’s up to the venues’ discretion on whether or not money will be repaid or if we will perform at another date.”
My voice was flat as I droned out the speech I wanted to make. I imagined myself hitting the no named red-head over and over with a bat and only then did I smile. Okay, maybe that was a little harsh for what she did, but I was pouting like a five-year-old so might as well think light one (a very violent one at that).
“Sounds wonderful,” Marc beamed, diffusing the situation. “I just finished talking with the hotel manager, and they have a video tape of this girl entering the bus and leaving about half an hour later. The Hilton apologized profusely for not having adequate security and for not preventing this from happening. They’re paying for our stay here and the fix the bus.”
I gave him a surprised look, which he shrugged off.
“The Hilton wouldn’t want word to get out that they can’t help “superstars”—his word not mine. Besides, it’s not like they can’t afford it. The only catch is that we can’t say anything bad about the hotel. I think it’s a small price to pay.”
“Most definitely,” I replied in a happier tone than before. That, Marc statement, effectively solved any money problems that the band would have faced in the future. It was a huge burden lifted off all of our shoulders.
“Well, I’m going to go make this announcement. If Officer Roberts would permit it, the boys are headed upstairs, and I know Ryan wants to talk to you.”
I shot a glare at the police officer daring him to say no. Chances of it intimidating him were slim to none, but it made me feel better.
“What about Evan? How’s he holding up?”
Marc and I looked over at said person, who was still pinching the bridge of his nose with his elbows on his knees.
“It’s a wonder he hasn’t broken his nose yet,” I mumbled to myself, expecting no one to hear it.
Marc stepped closer to me and lowered his voice. “I didn’t tell you this, but he’s really upset that he got you into this. He blames himself for all of this. Grated, he did talk to the girl…” I quirked an eyebrow at him, knowing that he was watering down the truth. “Okay, so he fooled around with her, but how was he supposed to know that the bitch was Grade A crazy?”
I nodded and before I could come up with a verbal response, Marc’s phone started ringing. He fished it out of his pocket, mumbled ‘Business calls,’ and then walked away. I sighed once more before looking up at Officer Roberts. He was an okay looking guy with short blonde hair and hazel eyes. His jaw was very strong and he had a dimple in the middle of his chin. It would have been cute had I not been aggravated with him.
“You know, you have no right to keep me here,” I stated defiantly, sending another glare in his direction.
“I know.”
For once, I didn’t have anything to snap back at the man. I was expecting a command of authority not agreement. His eyes sparkled with laughter though his face did not show it.
“T-then why am I here?”
The man was confusing to say the least.
“You can leave if you wish.” He took a step back from me.
“You’re being unprofessional,” was the best reply I could come up with. To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement.
“I know.”
I huffed in exasperation and stood up quickly, but Officer Roberts stopped me with his words.
“I’m sorry if I upset you with my being unprofessional. I was just trying to help you out. I figured that you would go through with talking to the press.” He sure had guessed that right. “However, you look like you’ve just been through a great ordeal. Your cheeks are flushed and you look like a nervous wreck. I assumed that the press would read into that and start asking a lot of questions, linking you to the vandalism somehow. Let me know if I assumed wrong.”
He bent his head to check my eyes for signs of anger. I knew he wouldn’t find any because I knew he was right. It killed me to admit that to myself. I nodded slowly, feeling a little embarrassed for acting so juvenile when he was only trying to help.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“No problem. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to my partner.”
He nodded his head at me to say farewell and then walked over to the officer who had been interviewing Evan earlier. Everyone in the lobby, well the press mainly, was focused on Marc who was gibing them a brief run down of what had happened. I shuttered to think where the story would end up in the paper. Hopefully, far away from the front page seeing as a vandalized tour bus was hardly front page worthy.
Evan was still off in his own world, rubbing his fingers together. The other hand had let go of his nose, revealing his handsome features to the room. I stood in my spot and momentarily battled internally on whether or not I should talk to him. Mentally, I flipped a coin (which was completely biased) and ended up heading in Evan’s direction.
“You’re going to rub a hole in your finger if you keep doing that,” I said when I was close enough for him to hear me.
Evan looked up from whatever he was looking at and gave me a blank look. He obviously had no idea what to say to me. Flashes from the paparazzi cameras caught my attention. I stuck my hand out to Evan for him to grab.
“Come on. Let’s go meet up with the guys before they get anymore pictures of you sulking.”
My heart pounded in my ears as I waited for him to make a decision. I wanted him to take my head with everything in me. The feeling of his hand in mine would be amazing; I was sure of it.
He didn’t take my hand though, and I was a bit crestfallen. He probably didn’t because the paparazzi was watching (that’s what I hoped at least), or it could have been because he didn’t want to touch me. When he stood up, it was then that I noticed the height difference between the two of us. Evan was around 6’2”, towering over my 5’7” frame. Before, we had never been close enough for me to compare his height to my own. I was enjoying our proximity.
Evan took a step toward me and dropped his mouth to my ear.
“I’m sorry.”
At this point, my body went into meltdown mode. Okay, well maybe I’m being a bit over dramatic (I have a tendency to do that; Please forgive me.), but those two words sent my nervous system into a tizzy. I could just imagine the neurons and dendrites afire. My body tingled all over, and my breathing was shallow. I wanted to turn my head to look at him, but the distance between us prevented me from moving my head. I was all too aware of the paparazzi taking pictures of us, though I couldn’t bring myself to care.
“Let’s go upstairs to find the rest of the guys,” I said once I found my voice again. Evan nodded curtly and followed me to the elevator. The ride to the twelfth floor was probably the longest and most awkward thirty seconds of my life. I didn’t know what to say, and Evan’s facial expression was stoic.
When we arrived and the elevator doors opened, I darted out first and knocked on Ryan and Evan’s door. Ryan opened the door slowly as though he was unsure of who was outside his door. His face brightened when he saw me, and he quickly ushered Evan and I into the room.
“You all right?” he asked, worry evident in his tone.
I replied with an unladylike grunt and flopped down on his bed. The mattress welcomed me with open arms, and I snuggled into the pillow.
Ryan threw Evan a curious glance.
“She’s tired,” as all Evan could offer.
“What did the police say?”
“They don’t want me talking to the press about it, and there’s video footage of her entering and exiting the bus. The only problem is that no one knows her name,” I mumbled.
“No one knows her name? Not even you?”
Ryan addressed the latter question to Evan, who had his hands shoved into his pockets while looking at the ground. He clearly wasn’t proud of what he had done (hooking up with a girl before even getting her name), but he probably wasn’t the first to do it and sure wouldn’t be the last. Besides how was anyone to know she was a psychotic bitch? At first glance, she appeared to be just another groupie. It sucked that Evan had to be the first to deal with an unstable fan. The boys would probably encounter countless more in the future.
“I didn’t think it would matter. I figured I’d never see her again in my life. Why go through the trouble of getting to know her name when all I wanted to do was hook up?”
I turned my face into the pillow and rolled my eyes. The statement was crude, but I should have expected as much. After all, Jasper referred to every girl, save myself, as “dahling” (a drawn out version of darling) in case he forgot their name. It kept the girls happy. Was it unreasonable to think that Evan took a page out of Jasper’s book?
But he called her your name…
The thought made me shiver. Evan must have had me on his mind or so I deluded myself to think. Whether what he was thinking about me was good or bad I’ll never know, but I was in his thoughts none the less. Internally, I was doing a happy dance. Externally, I was sprawled out of Ryan’s bed looking dead to the world.
“Show what about our shows?’ Ryan asked, sitting on the bed next to my legs. I groaned into the pillow and peaked an eye over at him. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he had partied hard the night before. Lord knows he sure had a happy ending.
“We’re going to add them onto the end of the tour if the venues have time.”
The boys had to lean forward to hear what I was saying. Ryan patted the back of my legs before saying, “Don’t worry, Ave. You’ll get it figured out. You always do.”
We sat in silence for around twenty minutes; the boys were watching TV, and I was staring into my pillow. I didn’t have enough energy to do anything else.
“Ha, Marc’s on TV,” Ryan said, catching my attention. Evan turned the volume up, and Marc’s voice rang out into the room.
“The police are not sure who vandalized our tour bus, but the act will not go unpunished. Unfortunately, some shows will be cancelled while we wait to get the tour bus fixed, and we will have the shows that will be affected posted on our website within the next 24 hours. All fans who have tickets will be compensated either through another show at a later date, or they will get their money back. If anyone has any information on the recent act of vandalism, please call the Phoenix police. Thank you and have a great day.”
The three of us watching Marc walk away from the reporters in the lobby, ignoring the questions hurtled at him. The interview was probably an hour or two old, which meant I had about 22 hours to get the website update. Joy.
I reached out and grabbed the hotel phone and dialed Marc’s number, dreading updating the website, especially since I hadn’t talked to any of the venues yet. Marc answered the phone on the second ring. Once he found out who the caller way, he spoke so fast it made my head spin.
“I’m in the process of updating the website. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Click.
“Well, that takes care of that,” I breathed, incredibly relieved.
Evan watched me from his spot on the bed. I gave him a small smile, which he did not return.
“So what happened last night after I left?” I said, before thinking. I didn’t want to bring up the events in the bathroom, though today’s activities made me want to forget everything.
Ryan, who was unsure of what I was talking about, said nothing. He merely watched from his vantage point.
“She was pissed,” Evan said after a few minutes. “Thought I was using her to get to you. She kept babbling on about how she and I had something special. When I told her that she was just a fling, she flipped out on me.”
He ran his fingers along the bed spread not looking up.
“She said that she’d make you pay. I had no idea would do something like this.”
Truth be told, I was a little freaked out. No one had ever been out to seek revenge against me before. I was in a whole new territory. I tried to sound genuine with my next statement, but it came out sounding weak and small.
“Evan, I don’t blame you for anything. It’s not like she harmed me at all. If I were in the hospital right now, we’d be having a different conversation.”
My attempt at humor didn’t go over well. I saw a flash of pain in Evan’s eyes and immediately regretted opening my mouth.
“Why were you going to Damien’s room last night,” Evan countered back, not addressing my poor sense of humor.
Ryan jerked his head to where he was looking me in the eyes. He looked bewildered. “You slept with Damien?”
I could have sworn his voice was an octave higher, but I didn’t want to embarrass the poor boy.
“I did no such thing. I slept in his room because Elijah was in my bed, and before you ask about Elijah, he was drunk. We couldn’t find his key or Jasper so he crashed in my room. I couldn’t sleep because he was snoring really loud. Plus you sounded like you had some company.”
I was still lying in bed, but from where I was I could see Ryan’s cheeks turn pink. Had I not been so tired, I would have laughed at his reaction. Instead, I ignored it.
“I was about to say, Damien just doesn’t look like your type.” Ryan playfully shoved my arm, and I hit him with the back of the pillow.
“I don’t know. I kind of dig the silent and brooding type. I mean Mr. Darcy had it going on,” I teased.
Once that statement had left my mouth, I realized that Evan fit into that category quite nicely. My cheeks reddened, and I hoped he wouldn’t put two and two together. The last thing I need was Evan to find out I was pitifully fawning over him. To my knowledge, the only person who knew about my pathetic crush was Ryan, and that is how I wanted it to stay. Slyly, I looked over at Evan who was staring out into space, showing no signs that he had heard me. I was incredibly grateful.
If he were to ever find out my secret, I would die of embarrassment. I mean, it’s not like he would return the sentiment, right?
