The Ghost and The Hacker (Dark Fire Book 3) (4 page)

"It's him, babe," she says, her face sad.

I cringe.  Was he calling me a nobody?  Figures.  I've been out of his life so long, he really did move on.  And I
am
nobody special- if I were, he would have asked for a number or something. He basically told me he doesn't exist anymore, so what else am I supposed to do?

I was the one to walk away from him at The Tap, true.  But what was the alternative?  I'm a part of a past he
no longer has.

In a huff, I stomp the rest of the way back to the apartment -
too many blocks
.  When the front door won't open easily, I resolve to begin looking for a new place for us.  With a steady paycheck and a current lease that goes month-to-month, getting my ass to another part of town is beginning to look like the best plan.

I need to be farther from Zach so that it isn't possible to run into him
ever
again.

Also, I'm not thrilled with the idea of getting an update on my tetanus shot.

Zach

Unless there is a crisis in progress, the days go by too slowly and I start to wonder if I'm losing my mind.  Sunday, a text goes out letting us know that Justin is busy helping Andy move.  I spend the time sucking down my favorite vintage root beer and kicking Cy's ass in every video game we own. 

Monday, we get a call to show at Justin's on a 911 text.  Someone got a pic of Andy and Justin coming out of a baby store.  Worried about the fallout, we meet to discuss how to spin the baby angle.

Juliana opens the door for me dressed in a black suit with a skirt, her hair up in some kind of twist, and some really kickass shoes in weird pink color.  When she opens the door to Justin's apartment, I notice she has her fingers in front of her mouth, telling me silently to keep my mouth shut for whatever reason.  It isn't until I come into the living room and see Andy curled up and crashed out on Justin's lap that I understood why.  Once everyone is there, a quiet conversation begins.

"I don't like what they're probably already saying about Andy," Justin sighs.  "I don't like that they have that kind of access, those types of incriminating pictures...  Hell, I can't even discretely scratch my ass in this town without someone putting it on some tabloid cover. 
Rockstar Fondles himself!
Honest to god, it's exhausting."

Juliana tilts her hip.  "You knew the media would be frustrating and tiresome.  It's part of the rockstar package and our office never would have lied to you if you expressed concerns like
needing privacy
when you signed your contract.  It's my job to separate the media from their story when we don't like the story."

"Justin, you just have to give them something they want.  If you don't tell them the details, they'll make them up."  Cy sips from a bottle of water and lets his legs swing around as he sits in a chair I've never seen before in Justin's apartment.  Since Andy just moved in, it's likely that it's hers.  Whatever.  Cy is enjoying the three hundred and sixty degrees of flailing he's doing...  All while drinking his bottled water.

He goes on to say, "Give her a story and she can spin this to our advantage, Justin.  You just have to let her do her job."

"Not if it's going to hurt Andy," Justin bites back, his voice breathy and low so that we can hear him getting angry even though he never raises his voice.

Juliana tries to explain.  "I understand you want to protect your girlfriend-"

But Justin cuts her off, dropping a huge bomb on us all when he simply inserts "Fiancée."

I'm not sure what to say at first, and no one else seems to know either, so we all just wait for the shock to wear off.  Incidentally, Griffin is the first one to open his mouth, which is probably better than me talking first.  God only knows how my insights will do anything to help.

"You sure about this, Jus?  She seems alright...  A little territorial about her food, but nice enough.  But hell man, you barely know her."

There really isn't any reason to dislike Andy, but seriously?  The dude barely knows her. Griffin is right about that.

"Doesn't really matter how long I've known her," Justin explains.  "I fell for her after about ten seconds.  Beyond that?  It's all been a bonus."

After everything I've been through with Sarah, knowing that Justin has this
thing,
this
perfect thing
with Andy, makes me a little jealous.  I open my mouth and speak, which turns out to be a terrible idea.  "Love at first sight, man?  That's almost too cheesy for lyrics."

There's quiet, and then, "I don't want to hear shit from you about love, Moore.  You've been lying about that girl back home for years.  You want me to start taking you seriously?  Go find your
Night of Dreams
girl and make it right.  Until then, you don't get to talk to me about being in love."

He could have hit me.  It might have hurt less.  And true, I let my jealousy get the better of me and I never should have opened my mouth...  But before I have a chance to say anything, Andy rolls a little until she can look into Justin's eyes to ask him, "You love me?"

I can barely hear Justin say more than "God yes, pussycat..."  Everything else is muffled noise against her temple, but I still feel like a deviant just overheard that much between them.  Like I'd been walking past someone's window and see them kick off their pants.

Their little quiet conversation goes on for another minute before Justin clears his throat and, in a much louder voice, looks over his shoulder at Juliana to say, "I need to get before a JP as soon as possible.  Andy said she'd marry me and I'm not about to let the love of my life get away.  I love her.  Spin that, Miss Rhodes."

"You love him?" Juliana asks, her fingers playing with the charm on her necklace.

"Yes. Oh!  But only for his money," Andy adds.  I hold my breath, praying that this isn't about to spiral into a disaster seconds after he's said 'I love
you'.

"If he ends up one of those class-reunion-memorial-band jackasses, I'm outta here.  I'm only in this for the fancy dishware," Andy says, nodding sagely.

Is this the end?  If Andy has him wound too far around his finger, this could break him, especially after the loss of Tyler.

Then Justin lets out a hysterical crow of laughter and they both proceed to chortle and hoot so hard so hard, I worry they'll fall off the couch.  They're in tears when they realize we're all staring at them in open-mouthed astonishment.

"I'm fucking with you all," Andy murmurs, smushing her face into Justin's chest.

There's quiet again and then Cy finally says, "Well shit, Justin.  She has your sense of humor.  I guess you better keep her.  No one else understands your fucked-up brand of comedy.  Put a ring on it, stat."

We watch Cy introduce Juliana to Andy, at which point Juliana explains that she's there in William Martin's stead because Mr. Martin's wife is in the hospital.  After pleasantries, Juliana gets right back to her job, pushing Justin for
something
to give to the press.  We sit through Justin's story, some of us getting info we haven't gotten yet about their meet-cute and Juliana begs him to let her spin the story like Justin stepped in to save Andy from her monster of a father.  Justin isn't interested; he just wants everyone to know that Andy is the love of his life.

In the end, Justin goes with both options. Juliana leaves with two press releases to write and, after checking her schedule, asks the rest of the band to come in Thursday to input personal notes for the releases.  We all agree.  I don't have any reason not to help.  The guy is one of my best friends, after all.

And it's only getting more and more obvious that he and Andy are soul mates.

Cy waves me off and I take a cab home, pulling my hat down low so that I won't be recognized.  I order take-out and have it delivered to the security desk (one of the benefits of our apartment).  I eat my hoagie, drink my rootbeer, and sit down at with Cy's laptop because I have nothing else to do and wiping the floor with teenagers with a digital AK47 holds no appeal.

I toss myself onto my bed, leaning against the bed frame and open the laptop on the comforter in front of me.  Cy lets me use his computer a lot, but he's got all the administrator settings, so when I log in as myself, there's an email in
my
inbox notifying me that someone remotely tried to access my email account.  I delete the account and send an email from my personal account to Will Martin's office telling them about it.  Half an hour later, the office sends back a response that I did the right thing by notifying them.  Fans can make a shit ton of trouble if they get into my stuff and started posting as me.

Another twenty minutes later, an email comes through asking me if I personally made a comment on YouTube, or if it might have been whoever got into my account.  I respond that it was me, but something makes me click the link they sent, sending me back to the two-minute video where I watched myself make out with Sarah at The Tap.  Will Martin's office found it initially, sending it to me so I was aware it existed.  I only posted because I needed to reaffirm for myself that Sarah is no longer a part of my life.

I need her safe.  I need to know that no one will look at that video and connect her to me.  I need to know that my past wouldn't eat her future...  Though she's already claimed that it's too late for that.

Ignoring the messages lined up below, I click play and watch the video again.  Then again.

And again.

I'm not even aware that I've stuck my hand into my pants and popped the button until a wave of pleasure washes over me.  I click play again and let my fist pump, watching Sarah charge the stage, her ponytail swinging, the darkness of the club obscuring what I know to be dark chocolate brown eyes and a light dusting of freckles.  Once we start kissing, her pixie face is turned away from the camera, but I can see it in my mind as I continue to rake my hand up and down my cock.

I bring back the memories of the two of us in the backseat of her car, steaming up the windows.  In my mind, I lift my hand up under her shirt behind her back, dexterously twisting the latch of her bra until it goes slack in my hand.

When we met, we were both virgins in pretty much every way.  Hers were the first breasts I ever tasted.  Her lips initiated the first blowjob I ever botched, coming less than a minute into it.  Hers was the first pussy I ever tasted, though only for a moment since she was hesitant to let me and asked me to be patient with her on that.  If I tallied the time I spent with my head between her legs, it was probably less than two minutes total, but the taste of her hits my memory hard, speeding up my hand, making my back arch.

I hit play again, this time fast-forwarding to the exact moment when I touched her hand to pull her up.  From there, I feel like a voyeur, watching myself kiss her, watching my hand slide down over her ass, pulling her even closer.

I feel a shudder ripple through me, down my spine to lodge in my balls.  I am so close.

It's the memory of losing our virginity to each other that finishes me.

Zach

I come - cupping my hand to limit the mess - thinking about how wild we were, unwilling to wait another day.  We played a set that night that went into two encores.  We were so buzzed from the adrenaline, we barely remembered to pull the brand new box of condoms out from the center console.

Even before that night, we both knew we were going to have sex.  It was just a matter of when.  Buying the condoms had been a logical step.  It just took another few months to get there.  But that night...  Oh god.  I can still remember the one single tear that ran down her face from the pain of losing her virginity.

But it didn't stop her.  She held me still, her hands on my hips, but then her own hips started twisting a little below me.  Then, before I could even put together the words to ask her if it was okay, she began to move, her body wrapping itself around me like a koala, hips slamming against mine.

I was lost to her that night.  I would have done anything she asked.  And while she didn't come during sex, I made sure, right after I came, to stroke her clit until she screamed.

Looking down, I see that the YouTube video ended at some point during my trip down memory lane.  I clean myself up, pull out a half-empty bottle of cheap booze someone left in the apartment, and throw myself back down on my bed, flipping on iTunes and quickly rifling through my music for something auspicious to play.

Easier to Run
, by Linkin Park, comes up first and I want to smack myself in the forehead.  I click to the next song before I realize I'm half blitzed already and probably shouldn't be putting together a playlist in this state.  The next song that comes on is
Let Her Go
by Passenger and I let myself sink into the wallowing.  Like the moron I obviously am, I open a video editing program, downloaded the YouTube video, and proceed to record it on loop, starting at the moment when our hands touched.

I let the video loop so many times that the end result is a video lasting nearly ten minutes, which I save, create a link on the desktop, and let run while I drink myself into unconsciousness, listening to the world's pussiest, most pathetically sad mix ever.

Not that it means much, but I do stay away from the video and booze for a few days.  The band meets for practice Wednesday but the conversation is minimal, stress about the upcoming double-header making us push through hard, adding in a few interesting details.  It doesn't end up making much difference since Andy comes home upset about something two-thirds of the way through our rehearsal.

We all hear the door slam but Justin nearly throws his mic down in his haste to get to his girl.  We follow at a more leisurely pace, trying to stay hidden behind the wall while blatantly eavesdropping.

"...support me?  That I wanted to keep my job for as long as possible?" we hear Andy ask.

Some muffled words and then a nearly-shouted "...complete douche."

"...baby store...boss...boom..."

There is more conversation but we can't make it out, then Andy's angry voice rises.  "And that makes it okay?  I got fired from my job for
failure to work at a satisfactory level
because that douche bag thinks I should have
tried harder
to work through my nausea.  And if that wasn't enough, he also threw in that the company doesn't like to retain employees who garner negative publicity.  He didn't come right out and call me a
gold-digging whore,
but he did mention that since I'm pregnant and will need maternity leave, he could save the company extra bucks by firing my ass.  And you're saying that I should be okay with all that?!?"

I try to stop Cy and Griffin with my arm, but they both push their way past me, obviously intent on getting more info.  I press my forehead into the wall.

Idiots.

They push back around the corner a few seconds later grinning like fools and Griffin whispers, "Ten minutes, my ass."

"Come on," Cy says, gesturing for us to head back.

"I take it Justin is busy," I smirk.  They both just nod, and then Cy shakes his head as if to say
I can't even
.

I probably would have cracked then, but we went right back to work and my mind wasn't given the chance.  I do crack, but not until Thursday.

That morning, Cy finds me in the living room.

"You wanna come with?" he asks, twirling his keys around his index finger.

"Come with, where?"  I put my controller down, pausing the game I have going and take a sip of rootbeer.

"I have some errands to run before we go to Juliana's office.  Figured we could ride together, make a couple of stops, add anything you need, then hit her office."

I raise a brow, confused.  "Why are we going to Juliana's office?"

"For the press releases, fucktard."

I smack my forehead.  The bliss of Monday's reminiscing orgasm pretty much overwrote anything else that happened that day- including scheduled press release interviews.  I want to smack my forehead again because I
don't
want to spend a bunch of extra time with Cy, giving him the opportunity to dissect why I've been so introspective and quiet since The Tap.

So I hedge, "Naw man.  I think I'm gonna finish this level first.  Been kicking my ass and I want revenge.  I'll meet you there."

"Two, though.  Be there on time, alright?"

"Yes, Dad," I groan, rolling my eyes.

He gives me the finger with a snorted laugh and is gone, leaving me to do exactly what I said I was going to do.  I really do want to beat the level, but with my full concentration, it only takes another twenty minutes.  Leaving now would mean sitting around in Juliana's office for an hour before our meeting.

Don't get me wrong, the office is
niiiiice.
  Dark Fire ranks high in their office and if I want an internet connection, a private room to myself, take-out, and some
company
, I would barely have to ask.  In fact, they keep my rootbeer on hand, cold and waiting.

But I just can't force myself to do it.  Instead, my mind goes to places I don't want it to, thinking about the interview and the mushy stuff I might have to say about Justin and Andy's love match.  I'm torn between feeling sick at their luck, and jealous as all hell.

Which is probably why I get that first shot of tequila.  I was planning to cab it to Juliana's office anyway.  A little something to take the edge off won't make a difference...

I am much more than a single shot into the bottle when I look down to see the little memory box in my hands, the contents spilling out onto my lap.  My mother's rings- the one with her birthstone in it that her parents gave her when she graduated high school, and the wedding and engagement rings my father gave her.  There's also a picture of her.  I cut the picture a long time ago, eliminating the asshole who was standing next to her when the picture was taken.

Next in the box is a ratty friendship bracelet.  When I left Lakemont, it was around my wrist.  It had been there ever since the summer before when I took Sarah to the County Fair.  Being broke and a teenager, there wasn't much from the artisans market that I could afford to buy for my girlfriend, but that hadn't mattered to her.  Leaving through the main gate, we encountered a local Girl Scout troop selling all kinds of trinkets to raise money for some trip.  The best three dollars I ever spent purchased two matching friendship bracelets- one for me and one for Sarah.  The last time I saw her in Lakemont, she'd still been wearing hers.  I wore mine until it fell off.  Then I glued the ends so it wouldn't unravel, and added it to my collection.

I run my fingers over the CDs she burned for me.  My mom made me watch
Say Anything
when I was little, so I knew what a mix tape was.  These are even better because they aren't just a bunch of songs that she put together to tell me how she felt.  I didn't have access to a computer to download music, or the money to buy songs at a buck a pop online, so Sarah watched my face whenever we listened to the radio and made notes to buy and download those songs I seemed to like.

And she knew me well.  Every song on these CDs was one of my favorites.

The last CD is full of live recordings of our band, Random, with Sarah's voice singing the lead, clear and true and beautiful.

Last, I pull out a stack of pictures that are paper clipped together.  I shuffle through them, revisiting each one, each of them including Sarah in some way.  Some just of us.  Some with the rest of the band.  Some taken at school by friends, copies dropped in our lockers later.

My favorite is the most recent, two weeks before I had to run.  Two football games a year were free for students, and while neither of us were really fans, our guitarist's brother was playing and we'd promised to come to support him.  Wrapped in a blanket in the cold, grassy hill behind the uprights, Sarah and I spent most of the game sharing our popcorn and daydreaming about the band making it big and how perfect our lives would be together.

Someone in the stands took a picture for the yearbook - we were already "most likely to live happily ever after" - zooming in our private happiness.  Sarah had a friend on Yearbook Committee who grabbed a printed copy for her.  Then Sarah drew a red heart around it, wrote "Happily Ever After!  Love, Sarah" under the picture, and gave it to me that afternoon when I drove her home.

We made a detour that afternoon to the dirt lot by the lake and blew through two more condoms.

I never had to count to know we used exactly eight of those condoms.  We'd done a lot of other stuff, of course, where we didn't
require
condoms...  Hands and mouths and- god, I'm getting hard just thinking about those few perfect memories of us together.  But the fact remains that we still only had sex on six occasions.

And
still
, the sex I had with her was the most intense, and very simply the best, I've ever had.  And I can say that even knowing I've gone through more than ten times that many condoms since then.  Counting those is a lot harder.  Not one of those girls meant anything so they barely registered.  And most of them happened that first year when we got a record deal.

I shiver, doing the most recent math.  It's been almost a year since I've gotten laid.

Maybe that's the problem.  I need to make a phone call, blow off some steam, and get Sarah out of my head again.  I need to get my phone out and make that phone call to that discreet agency that deals in discreet girls who don't
forget
about their 6'6", two-hundred-forty pound boyfriends.