Running Game(161)

“Okay, fine, fine, calm down,” she muttered self-importantly, pulling her phone back out. She swiped to her photos app and showed us the pictures.

It was four or five shots of him sitting there, and then one of me coming out and him standing. His hat had slipped a little, exposing enough of his hair to reasonably identify him.

“Delete them,” he growled.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” she insisted suddenly.

He whipped his glasses off, glaring down into her eyes. I could see her visibly shrink under his fiery gaze.

“Delete them right this fucking minute, or I’ll have your goddamn job in under five minutes,” he glowered. “You had one chance to meet your idol, as you so put it a few minutes ago, and you royally fucked it up. Now I know who you are, and I’m pissed.

“So, delete those fucking pictures in front of me or, so help me god, I will show you why you never want to meet your heroes.”

Her lower lip trembled.

The poor girl looked like she was about to break down into a heaving fit of tears.

Instead, with trembling hands, she deleted the pictures in front of us.

“Good,” he finally whispered. “The worst part was, I was gonna hook you up with some backstage passes for the next tour. But now? Fuck it, and fuck you.”

She was still standing there, speechlessly, as we strolled towards the nearest counter. As I walked quickly beside him, holding what was probably thousands of dollars in clothes, Trent slipped his glasses back on without a single word.





23





Trent





My father used to say there’s no rest for the wicked. That’s primarily because it was true.

And I was plenty wicked.

Not even a full two days after being back home, I had to disappear off to make a press appearance with the rest of the band. We were going to be interviewed and placed in a bit part for an upcoming summer film.

Apparently, the director was a big fan.

He’d written this scene where we were performing onstage at a concert for the protagonists. We were more a set piece than anything, but even I couldn’t turn down the opportunity.

I hated the idea of dragging Angel along, though. After all, she’d been trapped in the back of a bus for the tail end of our nation-wide tour.

I felt she could probably use the rest.

When I pitched this promo to her, she agreed.

“It’s only a couple of days, right? Would it be okay if I just relax down here? Go have fun, and I’ll be waiting for you when you come back…”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I smiled wickedly, climbing across the couch to kiss her deeply.

But I had to get my rest that night, since I was hopping a plane at 4 in the fucking morning.

Instead of tearing her apart in bed, I got a halfway decent night’s sleep.

She was still curled up beside me, sleeping away, when I kissed her goodbye on the forehead.

“I love you,” she murmured quietly.

I paused.

What?

She rolled over, deep in sleep, and I was left to deal with what that meant to me…what it meant for us.

Oddly?

I wasn’t bothered with the idea. In fact…

Hearing it cemented something in my head.

Something strong.

Something we could build a foundation from.

I whispered loving words in her ear, watching a dopey, slumbering smile cross her lips.

With that, I quietly slunk downstairs and picked up my packed bags, stepping out the door. Locking it tight, I threw my shit into the trunk of my car and gunned it for the airport.

It had apparently rained overnight. The streets were slick with overlooked rain; the reflections of the streetlamps so late in the morning gave the roads an otherworldly glow.

I liked it.

Lights, rising from the darkness.

Reflected in all that was here.

It suited me.

I dropped the car off at a private lot near the airport, handed the keys to the valet, and strolled towards my destination with my suitcase in hand.

My chucks splashed indiscriminately through my own reflection in the puddles.

The night was cool, and greatly refreshing. A light mist hung around from the passing of the rain. After so much time on the bus, it was nice to have this rejuvenation in the air.

“Hey, bud.”

I growled inwardly.

Someone was nearby…

But I couldn’t tell where he was.

“Bud. Talkin’ to you.”

There.

Some tall, lanky guy in dark rags was loitering in the shadows just ahead. Hanging out near the airport. Stepping out from the dark to confront me. Looking for easy prey.

He thought that I fit that bill.

I almost laughed.

“Your wallet and your phone,” he growled, flicking out a particularly vicious switchblade.

I continued walking up, and he took a step towards me. As he saw that I wasn’t going to comply, he assessed me briefly, deciding that I was somehow bluffing in my confidence.