Page 68 of Catch
She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t like it. There was something in her eyes, an emotion I couldn’t place. Worry? Fear? Something she wasn’t saying.
I said a quick goodbye, then watched as she and Jesse headed out the back where Jesse had parked.
As I made my way out the front door, I caught West leaning casually against the porch railing, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just eaten half a pie.
“Hey,” I said, jerking my head toward the driveway. “Wanna ride with me to Fiddlers? I’ll bring you back to your helicopter before midnight, Princess.”
“You know I don’t step foot in that bar,” he scoffed.
“Yeah well, I could use the time to talk to you about something,” I shrugged.
West’s tie was loosened, and his sleeves had been rolled up, he looked out where his helicopter sat idly, no doubt with his pilot on standby, ready to take off. “Fine.”
“I have no way of answering that,” West huffed as we drove toward Fiddlers.
"But she’s miserable.”
"People do miserable shit all the time. If she’s under contract, chances are she’ll have to do miserable shit until it’s over."
He wasn’t being much help, not that I really expected him to be. West wasn’t a lawyer. He was smart enough to pay otherpeople a lot of money to handle his legal issues. Still, I’d hoped he might know a way to keep Loxley from going back to her record label and that manipulative manager of hers.
"It just kind of freaks me out, you know?" I admitted.
"Yeah, you’ve become pretty protective," West said, his tone unusually soft. "And obviously, you two are close. But no matter how miserable she is with her label and manager, I’d bet you the cost of your house that she’d be just as miserable never stepping on that stage again."
"She can be on that stage without having her hands tied behind her back," I argued.
"Maybe. I’m sure there’s a way. But contracts, image, and social status… those things dictate a lot of what she’s allowed to do in the future. Just be careful. Trust me on this. The music industry can make life a living hell if she pisses off the wrong people."
West stared out the window, his jaw tight. His sudden seriousness matched the weight of our conversation but felt layered with something deeper. It wasn’t just about Loxley anymore. It reminded me that, as much as I thought I knew my older brother, that there were always pieces of him I’d never fully understand. He was the oldest, the grumpiest, the loneliest. He could hold his own in the family, but pretended to intimidate everyone else.
All the money in the world, and it still seemed like West didn’t have what Easton and I did. We had our town, our people, our sense of community. The few times I’d visited his penthouse, I’d noticed how cold and formal everyone around him seemed. He’d turned 18, taken his share of our parents’ life insurance, and multiplied it a thousand times over. He was smart, relentless, and determined. But the way he always looked so… alone ate at me. How much about him did I really know?
The car went quiet as we pulled into Fiddlers. West glanced around like he’d just landed on a new planet. Maybe he had, in a way. He hadn’t spent much time in Harmony Haven since he’d left.
"You coming?" I asked, already out of the Jeep.
West smirked. "If you’re scared, I guess I can protect you."
I laughed, shaking my head. That was the West I knew and loved, the one who could dish out shit-talk like a pro. He followed me inside, both of us scanning the sizable crowd.
Blue was behind the bar, hustling as usual. I approached, trying to pinpoint which of the patrons might’ve been looking for me. Blue caught my eye and huffed, clearly exhausted.
"I just tried to call you," she said, wiping her brow. "He left about 15 minutes ago."
I checked my phone but didn’t see any missed calls. "You must’ve tried while I hit the dead zone outside town."
"Probably. I was going to try again, but we’ve been slammed."
"What did he look like?"
She shrugged. "Mid-40s, Yankees hat, oversized suit, ugly tie. Kind of looked like Mr. Belding fromSaved by the Bell."
"He didn’t say his name or why he was here?"
"Nope. Just said he’d see you tomorrow. Sorry for calling you down here."
"I’m glad you did. It’s not every day a stranger comes through town asking for me. Let’s just hope he’s not with the IRS."
