Page 70 of Opening Strain

“Bennett, will Jenna be joining you on tour?”

It’s like I unleashed the furies on UC. I raise my hand and they quiet somewhat. “I would appreciate your giving me some space before I get on the road.”

It’s as if I didn’t say anything, as the screamed questions continue. With a wave, I slink into the car and lock my door. “Still think they won’t be camped outside your door?”

“I hope not. But you really handled them well.”

She starts the SUV, and we pull away. I turn around to check on their status but my pulled muscle protests. My hiss of pain causes Jenna’s head to spin toward me. “You need to massage it, so the knot loosens.”

I try, but without too much success as we weave through the town. To distract myself, I say, “I’ll be happy when we’re in SecludedRest. Doing my PT there for a few days, without running into reporters, will be like heaven.”

“Pain scale?”

“Not too bad. Maybe a seven.”

“Which means a high eight.”

I don’t correct her, simply watch the houses pass until we turn onto her street. Reporters dot the landscape, but it seems passable. Somewhat. “Do you think you can handle this, Jenna? If not, we certainly can order whatever you need.”

Stubborn jaw set, she replies, “I’m going in.” She maneuvers her car passed the few paps into the driveway. “I never use the garage because it’s filled with stuff.”

Still rubbing my thigh, I reply, “Understood. Keep your head down and walk straight to your front door. Don’t answer any questions.”

“What about you? How are you going to walk without a limp?”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice. I’ll get out and walk in front of the car, then you join me, and we’ll go in together.” Come to think of it, if we wanted to divert the reporters, we should’ve gone straight to the mansion. “Wait. I think we shouldn’t go in, especially since you’ll be bringing luggage when we come out.”

I can see a war brewing in her eyes. “I only need a few things. How about I use what could be considered a large purse?”

“Better.” I inhale. Since she’s not backing down, I ask, “Ready?”

At her nod, I get out of the car and ignore both the screaming from reporters and my thigh. My only goal is to get her inside the house so I can collapse. This was a bad idea. Yet...I couldn’t deny her some small comforts considering I’m the guy who’s preventing her from staying here.

When I round the front of the car, her door opens and she pops out. The reporters scream more questions at her, but we ignore them and soon are inside the house. She urges me to the same sofa I slept on last night. “Stay right here. I’ll get you an ice pack before I get my things.”

Because I’m tired, I don’t protest. Soon she deposits the ice onto my thigh. “Now call your mother.”

If I refuse, I look like an asshole. “Fine,” I grumble and pull out my cell. With any luck, she won’t pick up.

“Bennett?”

No such luck. “Hi, Mom. I saw you called but was in the middle of something. Is everything all right?”

Jenna gives me a sunny smile and heads upstairs. If only she knew.

“I saw you’re in the headlines again, this time for stepping out with your dead bandmate’s girlfriend.”

“It’s not like that. I told you I pulled my muscle and needed physical therapy. Miss Westfield is a dammed good therapist. Nothing more.” I adjust the pack on my thigh.

“The news is reporting it like you and she are shacking up.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to believe anything you read or hear? You know how it is. Reporters are always looking for a story. Or making one up.” I hit my good thigh. Gullible people like her believe their lies.

“I do know stories are usually based on truth.”

“I don’t want the press to know about my injury. Nothing’s going to stop this tour, and I don’t want their speculation.” I stare at my cell. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

She cackles. “Who would I tell? Ramona? She doesn’t care anything about your type of music.”

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