Page 67 of Mic Drop

Jenna’s business partner swallows hard. “I’ll do it.”

She takes one step, but I place my palm on her arm. “No. Don’t. It’ll be better coming from me. After all, but for me, none of this would be happening.”

“Beneath it all, our girl wouldn’t be as happy as she is. Remember that.”

“Our girl” hasn’t been happy with me—or anyone—for days. Not sure how finding out Lissa’s spewing more salacious lies about us and her miscarriage, plus the local press making a big deal out of Faith’s death, is going to cheer Jenna up.

I approach the pair. Without so much as a hello, I tug on Jenna’s arm. In her ear, I whisper, “I need to talk with you.” When she doesn’t move, I add, “It’s important.”

She gives Austin a sunny smile, then hauls me off into a different, dark corner. Sans the smile. “What is it?”

Instead of responding, I pass her my phone. She clicks the links, reads the stories, and returns it to me. The only reason I know she read the articles is the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Not knowing what to say, I settle for, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry. I’m sorry. Everyone’s sorry. The only person who matters, though, is lying in a coffin six feet under.”

How can I respond to her? While I dither—something I’ve never done—she does the unthinkable. She walks away.

I need to reach her somehow. This cannot continue.

Luke reappears at my side. “I spoke with the PR team. They’regoing to respond to the tabloids as well as put out an affirmative statement about Jenna and her mom.”

Without excitement, I reply, “Good.”

“Once we get Curtiss’s story ironed out, we can do much more.”

“Yeah.” Jenna hugs an older couple I’ve never seen before.

He adjusts his tie. “I think we’ll be ready to unleash on Lissa before we leave for Europe.”

“Fine.”

“All right. I know you’re a pretty quiet guy, but one-word answers aren’t really your thing. Talk to me.”

He’s so earnest, and I need someone I trust to be my sounding board. How to start? My head drops. “I don’t know how to reach Jenna,” I admit. “She’s so angry. At the world. At me. All I want to do is hug her, but she won’t even let me touch her.”

“She’s in a bad place, B. There’s not much you can do, other than let her be. She loves you, man. I was at your wedding, remember?” He taps his chest. “Best man here. She’ll snap out of her grief.”

“I don’t know.” This isn’t how things work in my world. People don’t simply “snap out” of it. No. They die like my father, or they go off the deep end like my mother or Lissa. I need to do something affirmative to keep Jenna with me. “Maybe I should send her flowers?”

“I’m thinking that’s a pass. Look at how many flowers she’s going to have after the funeral.”

“You’re right.” What else can I get for her? I snap my fingers. “I know, I can buy her another clinic.”

Luke cracks his knuckles. “Doesn’t Jenna want to earn her clinics on her own? If you give her one, she won’t have the same satisfaction.”

All the air blows out of my mouth. “Then what can I do? I can’t lose her.”

“B, you’re not going to lose your bride. You two are the real deal. Believe me.”

Problem is, I don’t.

I spend the rest of the repast circulating through the room,making small talk with people I’ve never met before but who think they know me. Or at least they know “Bennett Hardy.” One older lady even tries to give me her grandson’s YouTube channel to scout him for the label. I manage to avoid her for the rest of the evening.

The guys in the band haul me to the bar, ordering me a Manhattan. When they each have their preferred drinks in hand, Río raises his glass to the ceiling. “To Faith Westfield, Jenna’s mother. She had to have been an amazing woman to raise such a fabulous daughter. May her soul rest in peace.” We all take sips. Including 007.

A while later, I approach our drummer, who’s banging on his thigh with his free hand. “Thanks for the nice words.”

---