Doll Face(17)

“Obviously, the tour is over. It should've ended a long time ago,” he whispers, looking away, like this whole thing was his fault. But I know it wasn't. It was mine. And Stephen's. And America's. Milo clears his throat. “But that doesn't mean Indecency is over.” Milo takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his perfectly styled hair, straight and clean, combed back over his head and gelled into place. He looks a lot more put together than he did this morning, like he somehow found time to shower and change. Good for him. You go, guy. Kick some ass. “I sent Josh home for awhile,” he says and I glance over at Ronnie, watching his face twitch. Some of us don't have any home to go back to. At least Milo seems to be aware of that. “Let's stay in Los Angeles for now, regroup and figure out where to go from here. We need to do a press conference at some point, address all the questions and the rumors. After that, I think it might be beneficial for us to lay low. Perhaps record a new album?”

“I can't think of anything better.” We all look up to find Turner Campbell standing over us in his girly lady pants, a mask of self-confidence stamped across his face. I can see right through it, to the pain underneath, but I decide it's best to let sleeping dogs lie. Who am I to call him out on it when I've got enough issues of my own crammed down deep? No judgment here. “I called a realtor and we've got a showing to see the house.” He holds up the phone and wiggles it around enticingly, running his tongue across his lower lip and the pair of silver piercings.

“Mr. Campbell,” Milo says as he rises to his feet and holds out a hand for the phone. “I understand you've not nowhere to go, but why not start at a hotel? Take some time to recuperate?”

“Because Naomi can't come home to a hotel room.” He lifts his chin and crosses his arms over his chest. “The doctors said if she were to stabilize, and I had the right staff to take care of her, that I could take her home.”

“Turner,” Milo says, in a much softer voice this time. “That would be a decision for her next of kin to make.” Turner levels a glare on his manager and lowers his voice to a growl.

“She doesn't have any next of kin, Milo. But,” Turner pauses and glances around the room, leaning in close, “she did appoint a … uh … ” Turner looks up at the ceiling like he's trying to think and then snaps his fingers together. “A durable power of attorney for health care.” He leans back and tucks his fingers in the back pockets of his pants. Or at least he tries, the Goddamn things are so tight, I'm not quite sure how he manages. “And that happens to be me. I'm her power of attorney.” Turner sniffs and lifts his chin up like he's inviting argument. No, like he's desperate for it. Anything to take the mind off the pain, huh? “Not to mention her fiancé.”

“Is this something Naomi's going to remember agreeing to when she wakes up?” Ronnie asks, in a very careful tone of voice. Instead of getting angry though, Turner's face shatters like it's made of glass. His brown eyes glaze over and he groans, squatting on the floor and putting his hands over his face.

“She said if she survived the concert, she'd think about it,” he whispers. “If she survived.” Turner lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “If. I should've spirited her ass away, took off and moved to the Bahamas or something.” With a grunt, Turner drops to his ass on the linoleum and lifts his face up, letting his hands fall into his lap. “As far as the attorney thing … ” He trails off and then sighs again. “Brayden's people set that up, I think. I know sure as shit Naomi never had the time to do something like that. To be honest, I don't even really know what it means, but the doctor said I should've spoken up sooner and that now that I've faxed legal documentation in, I can finally see her. So I did. And I made decisions.” His voice cracks and he has to swallow three times before he can speak again. “I want to buy a house, so that I can have Naomi moved there as soon as possible. They've done all they can do with surgery, and now we're playing a waiting game to see if she'll wake up.” Turner shrugs his shoulders like he doesn't care, even though it's pretty fuckin' obvious that he does. How many flying fucks does Turner Campbell give about Naomi Knox? Give you a hint … it's probably somewhere in the range of infinity times infinity.

“Trey woke up, Turner. You believed he would, and he did,” Ronnie says, standing up and moving over to his friend. “And when Naomi went missing and everyone else thought she was dead, you believed she wasn't. You've gotta stay in that head space, man, or the worry will kill you.” Ronnie's friend glances up at him and nods, pushing himself up to his feet with tight lips.