Page 17 of Mic Drop

The tiny spark of hope extinguishes. I explain, “Someone’s spray painting spiders on her buildings and sidewalks. She thinks she knows who’s doing it.”

He says, “She should use UC’s PR team.”

“No shit.” I fist bump our keyboardist. “That’s what I suggested when she took my head off.”

He smiles. I chuckle.

“Have you tried to reach out to her?”

I rear back. “No.” I hold up my empty hands. “With what phone?”

“What happened to it?”

My head drops. “It met a concrete wall. Didn’t fare too well.”

“Oh boy.” He hands me his cell. “Want to call her from mine?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not ready for that. Thanks, though.”

“Any time.”

Coop and 007 join us, chatting about the upcoming meet and greet. When Río finally joins us, Tris observes, “Nice of you to make it.”

He runs his palm over his hair. “Hey, it takes time to look this good.”

We slap each other on the back and make our way to the fan event. Which goes about as expected. Some people were interested in meeting us and learning about our process. Others wanted to hear about the tour. Most of the women, though, only want to hook up with a rock star. The rest of the guys oblige them, while I turn down each and every one. Including the two blondes I had specifically requested from Elias.

The head of security took my decision a lot better than the women. “Next time you place an order, should I check in with you an hour later, boss?”

“I’m not feeling them now.” He nods but I call him back. “Hey, can you get me a replacement cell phone? With all my contacts and shit on it? My old one had an accident.”

Elias doesn’t question me. With a nod, the former Marine carries out both duties—dumping the chicks and figuring out how to replace my phone.

If Jenna was as torn up as Tris says, what made her lose it?Nothing new has hit the internet. I try to remember what she was saying as she packed, but all I recall is a bunch of gibberish about how I made her miss her mother’s calls. I might have suggested she call her back when we weren’t busy, either with physical therapy or otherwise, but I never prevented her from talking with her mother.

There’s one unavoidable truth. Something bad happened.

When the last fan has left the building, I follow the band into the limo and we go to the club. I’m not into the scene tonight. My mind’s in Aroostook.

Luke passes me a Manhattan. “Here you go, B.”

“Thanks.” I sip the drink, noting a special flavor. “Hey, I recognize this whisky. Is it from Moray Distillery?”

“You have a good palate.”

“Damn straight.” I take another swallow. “I need to catch up with Callum.” We played at his family distillery’s grand opening in America a year or so back. His now-wife was the brains behind the rockumentary that revived our career after Darren’s death. He’s a great guy.

Luke says, “I heard the distillery is winning all sorts of awards.”

“That’s great.”

“So. About Jenna. Are you ready to talk about what went down with her?”

My shoulders lower. I knew he wouldn’t let it go. “I wish I knew. I was talking with Tris about it earlier, and we both think something is really off.”

Luke raises his hand. “Hold up. You andTriswere talking? No one needed to break you two apart?”

“Keep up or take notes.” I slap him on the back. “Yes, we were talking because, you know, we’re adults and shit.”

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