Jace, page 24
Will do. Have fun. Thanks. Emmy responded with a string of kissy-face emojis.
By the time Krystal reached her bus, she was dripping sweat and having full-body shakes. She downed a bottle of water and crumpled to the floor, curling in on herself. Hands pressed to the ground, she took slow, deep breaths. It didn’t help. Visualizing her happy place was impossible. Her brain had Becca and Tig and memories she’d locked away for years cycling over and over. “Asshole.” She lay flat, staring up at the ceiling. “Damn you.”
If Becca didn’t want her help, she couldn’t force it on her. But she couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. When Krystal had stayed to hear her sing, it had meant something to the girl. Becca was love starved and lonely—perfect victim material. It might take time to show Becca she had a way out—options that didn’t include debasement and emotional abuse—but it was worth it.
It took effort to peel herself off the floor. Once Krystal was up, she leaned against the wall and headed to the bathroom. She washed her face and hands, ran a hand over her braid, and stared herself in the eye. “You’re strong. Be strong.” Fear had controlled her for so long. “No more.” Her hands were trembling, so she shook them out, splashing more cold water on her face and neck. “This is going to take some work.”
Sawyer would be here soon. She was suitably recovered to make it through the evening—she hoped. There was no way to erase tonight, but letting it shut her down was letting Tig win somehow. Head high, she walked back down the hall, shaking her hands and breathing deep. Heather and shopping and cake and fun, all reminders that the world wasn’t all bad.
“See George is still your driver. Good poker player.” Tig was there. In her bus.
Time seemed to stop, the thump of her heart drowning, deafening.
“I’m here to clear the air.” He sounded calm and rational. Not a care in the world. “Before you go off the handle and make a mess of everything.”
He’d already done that. Why couldn’t she breathe? She was strong, dammit.
“Nothing to say now?” He smiled. Smiled. And it scared the shit out of her. Not that he could know that. “I’ll talk, you listen.”
The command in his voice was just what she needed to snap out of it. “Leave.” Her voice didn’t break. Didn’t waver. Strong. “Now.”
Tig didn’t budge. “Becca and I have something special.”
“She was crying with joy?” Being angry made this a hell of a lot easier. “And the slapping I heard? That was a conjugal high five?” Why was she talking? Listening? Letting him stay? “Leave, Tig.”
“She’s twenty-one.” His brows rose.
“Not fifteen. Or sixteen.” She shook her head. “Get off my bus.”
“Your bus?” He ran his hand along the oak paneling, stepping toward her. “You think you got this bus from your talent alone? It was me, sugar. Uncle Tig. Talking you up and selling the Three Kings like you were the best thing since sliced bread. I helped make you who you are today.”
He had no idea.
He shrugged. “Think of our time together as payment. Pretty sure I got the short end of the deal.”
“You think you had a right to do…what you did to me?” She shook her head, the roaring in her ears returning. “Get out.”
“You remember it how you want. I know you liked it.” He paused. “You begged me, remember? On your knees and begging. Is that what bothers you? That you wanted it so bad?”
“Because you said Emmy Lou was next.” She remembered every detail of that night. How he’d threatened Emmy Lou when she’d tried to resist. He was calm and rational about it. Like getting to Emmy Lou would be easy. And she believed him. He’d made her apologize, made her beg for his forgiveness. And she had. After, she’d gone to her parents to tell the whole awful truth. And her already broken world imploded. “You hurt me. Me. It wasn’t enough that you made my body feel dirty. You made me feel dirty, too. I wasn’t going to let you do a thing to my sister, you son of a bitch.” Stop talking. “Get off of my bus.”
“I think you couldn’t stand sharing me with someone else.” He smirked. “The truth can hurt. Thank me and move on. I taught you what it takes to get ahead. How to survive.” He was standing over her, stealing the air and crowding her. “Tell your story if you want. Tell them how I used your sweet, young body, taught you how to please a man, and you let me get away with it. You did that.” He sighed. “Go on and tell. And you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering who’s staying out of pity. You think Jace won’t always wonder? That he’ll stay because he cares? How can he leave you after this? He’s stuck—with damaged goods. You’d do that.” His eyes narrowed. “You destroy your family and their careers, go on. Emmy, you know how fragile she is. And Travis? Kid’s always been hotheaded. You gonna trigger that?” He was closer, breathing on her. “All that and truth? No one will believe you now. No one. Even if we both know it’s true.”
“Get out.” She was on the verge. “Get out, damn you.” Screaming now. “Get out!”
Tig put his hand over her mouth and she lost it.
Who hit who first, she didn’t know or care. His hands were on her and she had to get them off. Had to get away. He kept grabbing her, telling her to be quiet…but panic blinded her and she fought like a trapped animal, mindless in her panic. She was falling, her head slamming against the bus floor hard enough for her to see stars.
She blinked, confused as Tig Whitman went sailing through the air.
Sawyer was leaning over her, a little hazy around the edges—but there. “Krystal?” He leaned closer, too blurry to see now. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”
But she passed out before she could answer him.
* * *
It had only been a few nights since he’d moved into his own place, but he’d missed the chaos and energy the King family had. And the loyalty—strong and unwavering. He’d been disappointed that Krystal wasn’t with them, but he suspected she was where she needed to be.
Something about Becca troubled him. She seemed on edge—all the time. Like it wouldn’t take much to break her spirit. Maybe Krystal could help her with that. He’d never met anyone as strong and fearless as Krystal—unless it came to committing to a relationship. But he was working on that.
Hank’s phone started ringing the minute the cake arrived. “Talk about timing.” With a smile, he left to take the call. “Leave me something.”
“No promises.” Travis rubbed his hands together.
“Best meal ever.” Heather stared at the assortment of cake slices on the tray their waiter carried.
Jace was hoping there was a nice big steak in his future.
“Dessert first is never a bad idea,” Emmy said. “Don’t you dare touch the strawberry shortcake.” She wielded her fork with menace.
Jace chuckled. “Partial to strawberry shortcake?”
“Krystal’s favorite.” Travis shrugged. “You snooze, you lose.”
He needed to remember that. He was pretty sure his grandmother had a recipe she’d bragged about winning awards with. He’d have to check.
“Don’t be a jerk.” Emmy Lou frowned. “My favorite is carrot cake. Which I don’t have to defend because—”
“Carrot cake isn’t cake,” Travis finished. “Cake isn’t even part vegetable. Am I right? Cake is the antithesis of a vegetable.”
“Antithesis, huh?” Emmy giggled. “You’re working hard for your cake, aren’t you?”
“Y’all are awesome,” Heather piped up. “Thank you, like so much, for all of this. I know Jace can be a pain sometimes, so knowing he has people looking out for him is a big deal to me. Especially since I can’t be around very much.”
“Ouch.” Jace pressed a hand to his chest. Heather’s lack of a filter wasn’t always a good thing.
“Which part?” Travis used his fork to scoop off something chocolate. “The part where she’s thanking us for being your friend or the part where she’s apologizing about you being a pain?” He was laughing.
Emmy was too. Hell, even Heather was now.
“I’m not sure.” Jace shook his head, his gaze darting to his phone.
“She’ll be here.” Travis sighed. “It’s been less than an hour, man. Show some dignity.”
It was his turn to laugh.
“I think it’s super cool she’s taking Becca Sinclair under her wing. Thank you.” Heather took the plate with sample bites from Emmy Lou. “She’s like this orphan with a grandpa who’s super old and Tig Whitman heard her singing at some berry festival thing or something and saw potential and now she’s singing with you guys.”
“All that?” Jace nudged her.
“How old is she?” Travis asked. “She looks, like, twelve?”
“She better be legal.” Jace shook his head. “She downed two drinks at the mixer like they were water.” And today, her nerves. A little performance anxiety was one thing, but what the hell was Tig Whitman thinking, putting her on the big stage? Maybe when she wasn’t dripping sweat and white as a sheet, but now? It seemed unfair to her and the fans looking for a good show.
“Something going on there.” Travis nodded.
“I think it’s sweet.” Heather sighed. “Not that she has baggage, but that Tiger Whitman is going to help her dreams come true.”
“Any second now, a singing cricket in a top hat is going to come in and sing about wishes and hopes and dreams.” Travis took a massive bite of cheesecake.
“Pinocchio was his favorite,” Emmy Lou explained. “He went as Jiminy Cricket for Halloween one year.”
Travis glared her way. “I suddenly have a craving for carrot cake.”
“Aww.” Heather was a little too starry-eyed over Travis King. “I bet you looked adorable.”
“I was all about the blue fairy.” Travis shrugged. “She was hot.”
“And just like that, the awws fade away.” Emmy Lou sighed. “You’re supposed to be sharing.”
“I only want what I want.”
Travis had managed to pull most of the plates directly in front of him. He was taking random bites and swatting her fork away with his.
Jace’s phone vibrated.
Not coming. Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.
“She on her way?” Travis picked up his phone. “Oh, hey. Dad texted.” He stopped eating and set his fork down. “We need to get home.”
“What’s wrong?” Heather asked.
“He just said home 911. Which means get our asses home.” Travis flagged down the waiter. “Can we get to-go boxes?” He glanced at his phone. “Says Sawyer is en route. Will drop y’all at home on the way.”
Is everything okay? Need anything?
Krystal didn’t respond to Jace’s text. By the time he and Heather were delivered to their front door, the mood between Travis and Emmy had declined into long silent stares out the window and the occasional obligatory response to Heather.
“I’m bummed out.” Heather waved the dark SUV off. “Think everything is okay?”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Jace lied. Something was up; he could feel it.
“I need your help.” Heather tugged him up the stairs and opened her suitcase. “What do I wear?”
He and Heather spent the next few hours picking out different outfits, talking about her classes, the “hot” TA in her Western Civilization class, and how badly she wanted a cat.
“No to the cat and hell no to the hot TA. What’s wrong with this?” He held up a feed store shirt. “It’s a concert, not an awards show. That’s Sunday, so we’ve got time to get you whatever it is you need for that. Hopefully Krystal or Emmy can help with that. If not, I’ll call Calvin.” He’d told her all about the quirky stylist.
She grinned. “You’re not performing tonight, right?”
“Nope, just walking in, shaking some hands.” He tossed the T-shirt at her. “Maybe after we can go see that movie with the chick from outer space who—”
“Meaning you’re not dying to stay and watch the whole show?” She dropped her T-shirt on the bed. “Isn’t, like, everyone going to be there?”
He shook his head. “It’s more an opening-act kind of night.”
“But you are playing with the headliners on Sunday.” She smiled. “That doesn’t freak you out? Like whoa, that is my brother up there.” She flopped onto the bed beside him. “I mean, I still think of you as shy, super-private—”
“That went out the window when Next Top American Voice made my life into a viral video.” He tugged a strand of her hair.
“Sorry.” She did look sorry. “But, you know, it all worked out.” She picked up the feed store shirt. “Are you sure about this?”
“Nope.” He smiled. “Why do you think I wear black all the time? And it’s in my contract.”
She laughed. “Guess I’ll get ready.”
He nodded. “Sounds good.” He closed her door behind him and headed for his room. Sending Krystal another text. Is a feed shirt something Heather can wear tonight?
She didn’t want to answer a question about what was going on, maybe she’d answer a text about Heather. He put his phone on the charger and took a quick shower. As he toweled off, he checked—still no message from Krystal.
“Dignity?” He put the phone back on the charger. It’d help if he could shake the unease knotting his stomach.
“Fine.” He pulled out the box of grooming supplies Calvin had left for him.
When he’d gently but firmly told Calvin he could get himself ready for ACMF, he’d expected a protest. Calvin didn’t protest, but he did leave a detailed list on “the right way” to do his hair and his wardrobe for the entire festival.
“Ten steps?” He stared at the how-to list for his hair. “What the hell is pomade?” He dug through the pinstriped bin Calvin had taken great care in organizing. “Screw this.”
His phone pinged. Krystal. Feed store shirt is perfect. Does she have boots? She needs boots.
He grinned. “Needs, huh?” Heather had boots. Whether she brought them with her was another story.
I’ll see what I can find. Did Travis eat your cake?
No cake for me. My butt is getting too big—Travis says.
He frowned, his thumbs flying. Travis is full of shit. You can tell him I said so. Your butt isn’t too big. It’s just right.
I hope you and Heather have fun tonight.
He leaned against the counter. Be better having you on my arm. He hesitated. You okay?
Call me when you get home. We need to talk.
There was nothing comforting about those words. He went from uneasy to worrying. If he hadn’t promised Luke he’d put in an appearance, he’d be asking Hank if he could stop by. But he’d promised, so he dressed in his Calvin-approved attire and frowned. “Seriously, man?”
“You ready?” Heather called. “I sent Krystal a pic and she approved.”
He pulled the door open. “Looking good.” He glanced down at his skin-tight black shirt. The damn sleeves were short and rolled tight. “Well, I’m pretty sure this is my stylist’s idea of revenge for telling him I can dress myself.”
“What’s wrong with it? Your arms look superhero huge and impressive.” She grinned. “Just don’t breathe out or all your buttons will pop.”
“Ha-ha.” He gave her a once-over. Her feed store shirt was on the snug side, so were her jeans. Then again, she was his little sister and he wasn’t ready to accept that she wasn’t all that little anymore. She wore sparkling hoops, a long, fringed leather necklace, and her boots. “You look nice, kiddo.”
“Great.” Her sigh was telling.
“What?” He tugged on the sleeves of his shirt.
“I’m almost nineteen. The kiddo thing is getting old.” She shrugged.
“I hate to break it to you, Heather, but you’re always going to be my kid sister.” He kissed her forehead. “Always.”
Heather’s phone went off; she pulled it out. “Brenna. I sent her a picture of what I was wearing, too. And tonight’s program—” She stopped talking, her smile fading. “Wait.” She picked up the remote on the counter and stared at the buttons. “How do you work your television?”
“Might not even be hooked up—”
The screen came to life. “Guess you don’t know what channel TNM is?”
He shook his head and headed back into the bathroom for his phone. “What sort of moron rolls up their sleeves this high?” he asked.
“Jace?” Heather called.
He headed back into his bedroom. “We need to leave pretty quick.”
“Look.” She pointed at the television, grabbing his arm. “Jace, I’m serious. Look.”
He did.
“An eyewitness says the altercation took place in the bus behind me. Miss King was taken by an ambulance to a nearby hospital, but details are still coming in.” The reporter turned to her coanchor.
Footage of the Kings Coach II appeared, several police cars parked at angles, forming a perimeter around it. He waited, the unease he’d been grappling with all night grabbing hold.
The footage cut to a reporter, standing beside one of the police cars. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “The Austin Country Music Festival was slated to kick off tonight but things have come to a screeching halt until law enforcement can confirm the threat is contained.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “The only thing we can confirm is that Krystal King was attacked in her bus by an unidentified assailant earlier this evening. We’re waiting for more information—”
Jace was running out the front door, boots in one hand, keys in the other. “Heather,” he called. He needed to see Krystal, to know she was okay. Be okay. Please, please, be okay. She had to be.
Chapter 16
Her head hurt. A pulse in her eyes. The whole side of her face, really. She lay there, trying to make sense of the strange beeps and low voices, and why the hell was it was so cold? The hard, mean reality of what had happened came slamming to the forefront of her brain.
