Page 98 of The Drummer

It's almost eight, so I’m hoping to hear the door at any second.

Luke hasn’t emerged from his room.

I haven’t sought him out.

It’s better this way. I don’t trust my ability to tame the riot inside me if I face him right now. The last thing I want is to explode on him and defeat the entire purpose of me taking the punishment on his behalf.

I didn’t go through that hell for no reason.

By the time the door lock triggers around nine, I’ve shifted my zombie state from the couch to the kitchen. It was my intentionto make coffee, but I never got past leaning on the island, staring into space.

Callie pokes her head around the door, and the heavy weight crushing my chest melts away.

Her expression is almost shy when she approaches with a paper bag in one hand and a small suitcase in the other. I can’t imagine why she’d be nervous, until I remember our rampant text flirting the night before. God, that seems like forever ago.

“You came back,” I say with a smile.

“And brought food as commanded.”

“Good, I’m starving.”

She drops the bag on the island, and I join her at the end.

“I got a few kinds of cream cheese. I wasn’t sure what you liked.” Her voice is still hesitant, like she’s not sure how this encounter is supposed to go. I try to remain bright and positive for her sake, but her day is about to get ugly.

“Plain.”

“Got that.”

She fishes a container from the bag and passes it to me, along with a plastic knife.

I grab a bagel and dig into the cream cheese.

“How’s Luke?” she asks.

The air drains from the room. I can’t hold the act through the surprise hit, but maybe it’s better this way. There’s no point dragging this out.

“Uh-oh,” she says in an ominous tone.

“Yeah. It wasn’t a good night. I didn’t want you to worry so I didn’t say anything, but remember that thing you told me about with the chair?”

Her shoulders sag as she nods.

“Well, it hit last night. Freaking blew up. I’ve been on the phone since six this morning with TJ, the lawyers, the Label PR people. What a mess.”

Her expression grows pensive. “I was afraid of this. What are they saying?”

Nothing and everything. Lies that become truth. The great juxtaposition of our media obsessed world.

“All bullshit. You know how it goes. No one actually knows anything so they all put their own ‘hypothetical’ spin on it, which then becomes fact. You should hear some of the stuff they’re saying. Totally crazy.”

She frowns and watches her finger make absent stabs at her bagel. “What kinds of things?”

Every instinct in me wants to protect her from exactly that, but she has a right to know. She’s going to find out anyway.

“Stupid stuff,” I mumble. “That he was high. That he got in a dispute over a bill. Oh, and you’ll love this. You’re in the story now, too.”

Her head darts up. “I am?”

---