The Bad Boys of Summer (38 page)

“Fuck, Noah, you feel so good,” she cried, her forehead pressed against mine as she rode me.

“So do you,” I whispered back. “I want you to cum hard all over my dick, Laurel. I want to see your face.”

“Oh, God.” She shivered at my words, and I felt the pressure of her bouncing get harder and faster.

One hand ran up and under her shirts until I had a handful of breast. I rolled her nipple between my fingers and she groaned. “Are you going to cum for me?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, Noah.”

“Come hard for me, Laurel,” I said.

Her pussy started clenching around me and I knew she was close. I bucked my hips up to meet hers, driving my cock deep and hard inside of her, and Laurel screamed at the added pressure. She gripped my shirt like she was falling off a cliff as her orgasm rocked her body and didn’t stop fucking me until she had pulled me over the edge with her. When she did, the waves of her orgasm milked my cock, as if they were desperately trying to draw every ounce of fluid I had left in my body.

Laurel didn’t seem aware of herself for the first few moments after she came. She rocked slowly on my hips and cock, her beautiful face looking calm and still through the dim half-light of the fogged-up truck windows. I pulled her lips to mine and kissed her, enjoying the soft moans still escaping from her throat.

“Noah,” she said wistfully. Her eyes were closed.

“Yeah?” I whispered back.

Laurel paused. She rubbed her face against mine longingly. I had a sense the words that finally came out of her mouth weren’t the first that she thought of—but I liked hearing them, anyway.

“I’m glad I found you.”

I
’d been staring
at my laptop for forty-five minutes, just circling around the same mindless websites and think pieces I had already checked. There was a lot of important work to do, but my brain was flooded with thoughts of Noah. Yesterday had been unbelievable, dreamlike. I wasn’t sure exactly what was happening to me, but it wasn’t like anything I’ve been through before.

In my mind a quiet question was gaining strength, demanding attention, and it was taking more of my energy than ever to ignore it.

But I fought it. I had to keep fighting it. I had a job to do, and now that job was more important than ever. After hearing what Noah had to say about the festival—exactly the scoop we dreamed of—this hunch that I had been wrong about him only seemed more certain. Since the first time I met him, Noah Hardy had thrown me for a curve, yielding layers of complexity beneath the bullshit image the media had built for him. Wasn’t it reasonable, then, that there was more to the story of the festival than we expected? It was true of everything else about Noah.

It had been hard to contain my excitement when he told me about what really happened at the festival. I found myself flooded with all sorts of relief; but more than that, I wanted to sprint away from that beach right then and there to find a solution to his problems.

That night had turned into something I didn’t expect in a lot of ways. I was still reeling from the incredible sex, from the intimacy, from the warmth I felt in Noah’s arms that I had never felt anywhere else before. Warmth I didn’t know was possible to receive from another person.

But I really did have work to do. I had to check out what Noah had told me. After hearing his story, I started doing some digging, and I was more certain than ever he was telling the truth. It was just that no one would listen to him.

Finally, Steve’s knock at the door interrupted my mindless surfing. He brought coffee and donuts this time, still a little sour from me wasting the extravagant feast from the other day, and together we gathered up around the tiny circular table near the window.

“So, you finally remembered you’re not here on vacation?” he said with a raised eyebrow as he passed out the donuts.

“It’s been like, two days, you big baby. You really need me around all the time for entertainment? This city is great.”

“I’ll take the Atlantic chill, thank you.”

I shook my head and drank some of the black coffee he’d brought. “Anyway, shut up, we have a lead on something and we need to drive at it hard.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I hiked my leg up onto the cozy, round chair. “We’re missing part of the story. We always have been. Noah killed that guy in self-defense.”

Steve coughed on a bit of the donut making its way down his throat. “Are you fuck-drunk? How many times did you watch that video, Laurel? That dude didn’t even
see
Noah coming, let alone go after him.”

“The guy was going after Quinn with a blade. Noah stopped him.”

Steve just watched my face like he was waiting for me to break. I gave him a withering look back and asked him to respond.

“Man, are you in love with this guy or something?” said Steve.

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t admit to Steve—or myself—how much my chest tightened up at the question. “That’s not the reason, Steve. I’m serious about this.”

“It’s not
the
reason, but it’s
a
reason?” Now Steve was smiling like a fucking idiot.

“Steve, goddammit.”

“Big bad Laurel quivering for Noah Hardy? Battista is never going to believe this,” said Steve as he dug in his pocket for his phone.

“If you don’t put that fucking phone down, I’m going to call Diane right now and tell her how many mimosas you made me sneak you on the plane ride over here, I swear to God. Test me.”

Steve froze. Silently he slid his phone back into his jacket pocket and looked at me with renewed interest, fingers crossed on the table top. “All right, fine. I’ll bite. Tell me more about this bat-shit theory of yours.”

“I’m not saying we run with it without proof,” I assured him, pulling up the pages I wanted on my laptop. “I’m saying we find proof.”

“Find proof that the dude Hardy killed was on-stage to attack Quinn with a knife, you mean. Proof that, somehow, both the security company and the cops missed that during their investigation.”

“Your sarcasm is noted and rejected,” I said, sliding the laptop around to face him, and then dug into the éclair he had put next to my coffee. “To answer your immediate concerns, I don’t think the cops and security missed the proof. I think they’re hiding it.”

“Goddamn, it is too early for this.”

“Just shut up and listen. Our best bet as far as looking at proof is the video evidence, but that also presents our biggest problem. We have a lot of cell phone footage from the crowd from different angles, but none of it helps us. Did you notice why?”

Steve stared at the laptop, his finger sliding over the mousepad. After a few seconds he said, “They’re all too far away.” He looked up at me with a curious face, chewing slowly.

I raised an eyebrow at him and nodded. “Exactly. They’re all too far away. Somehow, not a single person that was in the first ten rows near the stage was using their phone when the attack happened. Does that sound right to you?”

“Sounds like straight-up bullshit. Half the crowd at every show is on their phone, and the ones up-close have more reason than anyone,” said Steve.

“That’s what I thought too,” I said. “I can’t find a single video that close. So last night after I got back to the hotel, I started sniffing around some of the fan message boards and Tumblr and the like, hoping someone from the crowd posted what they saw happened.” I waved a finger at the laptop. “Pull up the tabs of the ones I’ve saved, and you’ll see what I saw—a pattern of a couple different people claiming they had their phones confiscated by the security team after the attack.”

Steve’s eyes went wide as he browsed over the blog posts. “Holy shit. Do you think they could be making it up?”

“I found a few bullshit posts among the sites, sure, but these four share consistent details, and proof they were really at the festival that day. It’s enough that I don’t think it’s bullshit. I think the security team working the festival that day took the phones of everyone they could—everyone reasonably close to the stage barricades.”

“It’s a fucking cover-up,” said Steve, both excitement and disbelief in his voice.

“It’s a fucking cover-up,” I said with a smile. “That security company knows it messed up by letting a fan get behind the barricades and onto the stage in the first place. It makes sense that they would try and limit any evidence of their wrongdoing.”

“Holy shit, Laurel,” said Steve. “But, the cops… you really think they wouldn’t notice the security company gathering up phones?”

“You know damn well that security firms are loaded with current and former cops moonlighting. Or they’re dudes who wish they could be cops and would do anything to impress someone in uniform. I don’t think it’s crazy at all to imagine the local PD playing along to protect some of its officers, even if they weren’t on duty at the time. All the security company has to do is say they didn’t find anything, and the cops just have to nod and look the other way. No one’s going to question them.”

“Except the real cowboys, like us, right? Goddamn, we are good.”

I nodded, overwhelmingly happy to see Steve on board with my quest. “If we can find even one of the videos from the front rows, we might be able to find proof of what Noah saw when he was onstage, and show that he really thought Quinn was in mortal danger. We could completely exonerate him of this.”

“It’ll be the journalistic bombshell of the fucking decade!” said Steve, slapping the table.

I laughed. “Also that. At least, in the music world.”

“But what’s the plan? And how do we find videos that don’t seem to exist?”

I finished off my coffee before I answered. “The name of the security company is Sentinel. They’ve got headquarters in LA just a few miles outside the fairgrounds where the festival took place. According to the calls I made to the festival admins, Sentinel was just an independent contract hire, working on retainer with the media conglomerate that owns the festival and a few labels. The woman I spoke with said they pretty much accept the security firm’s word on the incident. They’re like cops in that way, always getting the benefit of the doubt.”

“And what’s the firm’s position on the stage breach?”

I rolled my eyes. “They blame that on Noah, too. He brought a few girls on-stage a couple songs before the attack happened, so they’re claiming the security guards were reasonable to ignore another fan trying the same thing during the set. It’s just boilerplate corporate handwashing. ”

“That’s bullshit. All that pre-planned stage stuff would have been cleared with them beforehand at a fest this big.”

“Exactly,” I said. “This all stinks, and it all goes back to Sentinel Security. I’m going to hop a flight down to LA tomorrow night and see what I can dig up at Sentinel’s headquarters. Local cops usually tend to be outnumbered by the private security at events like this, and actual cops would have a much harder time confiscating the cell phones without a fight. If someone did take the phones, odds are that it was Sentinel. I want to see if I can find them.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do that?”

I shook my head. There was no way I was putting Noah’s future into anyone else’s hands. “I want to do this myself. You should stay here and keep an eye on Noah.”

Steve pretended to write a note on his hand. “Keep all other pussy away from Noah, got it.”

“I hate you.”

“What? I said keep all other pussy
away
from Noah. This is me helping.”

I
hadn’t even had
my first cup of coffee when my phone started buzzing across the counter. Gavin was on the other end.

“I’m picking you up. Be ready in ten minutes,” he said.

Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I replied, “What the fuck’s going on?”

“We have a meeting with your band downtown. It’s urgent.”

Panic gripped my chest. The coffee cup in my hand slopped mess over the counter as I set it down. “What happened, Gavin?”

“Get dressed. I’m almost there.” He hung up before I could say another word.

Cursing, I rushed to my bedroom and threw on the first clothes I could find that didn’t smell when I held them to my nose. The day outside was remotely sunny, so I forewent the jacket and instead tried to save what was left of my coffee, dumping it in a portable cup. Outside, a smooth engine rumbled, and two honks sounded in quick succession.

The record label paid for big shots like Gavin to be driven around the city. He was sitting in the back left corner of the town car, engrossed in a phone conversation, as I ducked inside and sat down. Hidden behind the dividing glass, the driver said nothing as he began reversing out of my driveway.

I sipped my coffee and waited for Gavin to finish his call. He was mostly listening, anyway. After a few moments he mumbled quietly into the phone and hung it up, turning to me.

“How are you feeling today?” he said. His face looked flat and gray, like a statue. Or like he’d been up all night sick to his stomach.

“C’mon, man, save that shit for Quinn,” I said. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I realized the coffee cup in my hand was shaking. “What the hell is going on?”

The way Gavin couldn’t look at me straight, it only made me more nervous. He put his fingertips to his lips as he spoke, as if he could somehow filter the awfulness of his words that way. “I wanted to tell you in private first. The rest of the boys are meeting us downtown. Well, minus Duke and Jeff.”

“Wanted to tell me
what
first?” I pressed. My heart began to pound in my ears.

“Have you smoked today yet? Do you want a joint?”

“Gavin, what the fuck is happening?” I couldn’t stop the sound of shaking anger in my voice.

Finally he relented with a sigh, and began to loosen the tie around his neck. “Noah, I don’t know how to say this. I got the call from my friend down in the DA’s office, and the word is they’re going to put out the warrant for your arrest this week. Maybe even as early as today. They want you to face trail for manslaughter.”

Everything seemed to freeze like a scratched record, even the sound of the tires on the wet road. I stared at the tattooed hands wrapped around my coffee cup and found myself wondering whose hands they were, and how did I get here? This couldn’t be my life. I had fallen asleep and dreamed of being a rock star, and now this was the crashing end, and I was about to wake up in bed, sixteen and skinny again.

But the moment didn’t end. It just stretched on and on, until Gavin finally spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Noah. I tried everything I could to get them to see reason. I pushed on every contact and called in every favor I had in that county…” He trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The public outcry is just so ravenous that the DA can’t ignore it and look credible anymore. This is political, pure and simple.”

Everything in my brain and heart went numb. Kevin’s words tumbled out of my mouth. “They like the wolves until they prod one into biting.”

“What’s that?”

I shook my head. “Did you offer a joint because you have one?”

Immediately Gavin was patting his suit pockets until he came out with a shiny, silver cigarette case. He popped it open to reveal a string of pretty, professionally-rolled joints. I fumbled one out and cracked the window before lighting it up.

“I’ll figure out a way around this, Noah, I promise you. I’m not going to let you spend a day in prison.”

The air from the window was cold and wet on my face, the earth still soaked from showers during the night. Gavin’s high-grade pot definitely helped. I felt the anxiety in my body melting into itself and disappearing. I felt myself letting go of control, and anger. For the time being, it was the only positive sensation I had to hold on to.

We didn’t speak another word to each other for the rest of the drive into Seattle. I wasn’t even sure how long the drive was; part of it felt endless. Hands in my pockets, I followed Gavin through the pristine skyscraper lobby and could hear the whispers and feel the stares, but I couldn’t get up the energy to care. I let them hit me and kept my eyes on the back of Gavin’s suit as we entered the elevator and rode up to the offices of the label.

We walked into the conference room to find Ash lounging, bored, in one of the chairs. Quinn stood against the wall opposite him. They weren’t talking. I caught Quinn’s eyes when we entered the room, and I saw his face fall when he looked at mine, like he could read everything that had happened in the car. He looked sick.

Gavin stood near Quinn and leaned on the table. I kept walking past him, heading for the windows. I didn’t say a word to either of them.

“Guys, we’ve got some bad news. The DA is proceeding with charges against Noah. He’ll probably have to turn himself in by the end of the week.” Gavin wasted no time.

After that, I blanked the whole thing out and let my stoned mind get caught up on watching the speedy, mutating clouds forming over the mountains and the bay. I could only hear Quinn’s raging, tearful voice, but not the words he was saying—nor Ash’s bitter, shorter ones. It wasn’t long until I didn’t hear Ash’s voice in the room at all.

Quinn came up behind me, his reflection in the glass hazy. I turned to face him. His face was red, eyes already full of tears. He looked angry, like he wanted to fight me. It actually made my shoulders tense up.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said in a shaky voice. “We can’t just let this happen to you, Noah.”

The sight of my best friend crumbling under this pressure started to break the haze of numbness around my head. Pain began pulsing in my chest. I felt my lip quivering when I responded. “There’s nothing else we can do, man.”

“We have to—” Quinn couldn’t continue. He cried freely, clenched fist pressed against his lips, until I took a couple steps toward him with an open arm. He threw his arms around me tightly. My neck and shoulder grew damp with his tears.

“This isn’t over,” said Gavin. As sad as his voice was, it still had a fire to it.

I didn’t argue with him. I would never tell either of them, but for that moment in the conference room, the feeling of giving up filled me with a sense of sweet relief. Prison would be horrifying, but what else was new? My life had always had horror in it. This rock star thing—this was a lucky prize I was never supposed to have gotten in the first place, let alone keep.

People had been trying to beat me down into the dirt since I was a kid. Put me in my place. Make sure I didn’t get any big ideas about who I was. And every single day I had fought them. Some days harder than others, sure; and there was no perfect record to speak of. But I fought. I always promised myself I would fight.

Right then, though, I didn’t want to fight anymore. I was tired, and this fight was so big. And what was I fighting for now, anyway? A band that didn’t want me. A career that wouldn’t exist once the dust settled. And an empty bed, an empty home. Whatever Laurel might have felt for me, I wasn’t so sure it was going to survive me being a felonious ex-rock star. And why should it? She deserved much better.

I had nothing. I had no one. And now, I was probably headed to prison.

As glad I was it had happened, I suddenly wished Laurel had never met me.