Page 27 of Diva Pop

Chapter Eight

Jett paced the living room, an inner battle raging in him over the stupid voicemail message Silas left. He hadn’t actually listened to the message, but that was beside the point. The fear of what it might say was too much for him to face alone.

He’d left his own messages for Tory, but still hadn’t heard back from him. Tory hadn’t even been active on Messenger since their last rehearsal. Or, should he say, the drama fest when the choreographer stormed out.

Jett snorted to himself. Stomping off in a fury was usually his move.

Jett dug around in the drawers of the long buffet that was supposed to be Danish modern or something like that. He had no idea. The guy he’d hired to decorate the house said it matched perfectly with the theme of the home.

Whatever.

He’d been on tour at the time and merely wanted a ready-made place to come home to afterward. Someone -- was it Bonnie? -- had said Mid-Century Modern was all the rage, so Jett had instructed the realtor to find him a place that fit the bill in the Los Feliz Hills. A week later, and tada! He was a first-time homeowner.

Someday, when things weren’t so crazy in his life, he’d take the time and pick out a home he truly wanted. His shoulders slumped. That was assuming he’d still have a career and be able to afford a decent place. Maybe the in-demand style of house he was currently stuck in would give him enough cash to live on for a while.

Jett yanked out one of the drawers so far, it clattered to the marble tile floor of the dining room, spilling its contents everywhere. Apparently, he also owned a copious amount of flatware for the dinner parties he never held.

“Fuck me.”

Jett gathered up the mess of silver and shoved it back into the drawer, making a mental note not to use the cutlery until it had been washed. The fact that he’d probably never take the flatware out again was inconsequential. He was more concerned with not being able to find any cigarettes around the house. Sure, he could go get some, or perhaps have some delivered, but the thought of interacting with humanity made him want to retch.

Maybe Silas would drop some off for me. “Ha ha.” He rolled his eyes at himself. Too bad he couldn’t think of a plausible, non-pride destroying way of enticing Silas to come over.

Jett dragged his fingers through his hair. Perhaps grabbing a shower and making himself somewhat presentable wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had. Not leaving the house for the past three days was making him nutty.

When he didn’t hear from Silas about rehearsal or the band schedule the day after their blowout, or to be fair, Jett’s blowout, he’d been relieved. Having to face Silas again so soon was too overwhelming. By the second day when he hadn’t heard anything, he’d begun to get concerned. He pestered Tory several times about it, asking him if he’d heard anything. His friend had repeatedly reminded him that Silas had said he’d only call if they were needed.

Jett checked in the bar area for a cigarette, even though he’d already searched there three times. If nothing else, his quest had unearthed a rather impressive lighter collection. It felt like every lighter he’d ever lost in his lifetime had mysteriously resurfaced.

He chewed on his thumbnail. What if the message was about rehearsal? After all, that would make sense—Silas calling everyone the night before to show up the next day. Jett frowned. He’d be pissed if that was the only reason Silas had called him.

But this was exactly why not being able to get hold of Tory was making him insane. He needed to know if Tory had gotten a message from Silas, too.

Jett dropped the cock-shaped lighter he’d just discovered behind the barware as his cell went off. Where had he left the damn thing? The prongs of an errant fork stabbed his bare foot as he tromped on it to reach the phone. Jett howled in protest, ignoring the stab of pain as he raced to answer his cell before the call went to voicemail.

“Oh my God, Tor. Where the hell have you been?”

Not that he expected Tory to be at his beck and call all the time, but he usually was.

“Sorry, hon. I’m out of town and my battery died. I didn't even notice it wasn’t on until about an hour ago. I had to charge it up before I could check my messages. What’s up?”

Jett blinked in confusion. Tory never said anything about going out of town. Maybe he’d gone to see his folks down in San Diego if there was no rehearsal?

“Oh. Uh, I was wondering if Silas called yet about anything? You know, the photo shoot or costume designer or rehearsal. Anything?”

Mumbled words of someone else in the background couldn’t be deciphered, but clearly Tory wasn’t alone.

“Is that your brother?”

Tory was very close with his little brother, which was yet another thing Jett tried not to think about. Jett was a younger brother. A hated younger brother.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, hon. No, that’s Sean.” Tory broke into peals of laughter. “What? Yeah, it’s Jett.”

The fuck is going on?

“Sean? Are you guys out shopping again?”

Not that it was any of his business, but more and more he was feeling like the odd man out.

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