Page 74 of Concerted Chaos

“Caffè latte, right?” I ask as I pour beans into the hopper. I hear his affirmative response over the sound of the grinder.

He is quiet while I operate the somewhat noisy machinery, but I can feel him watching me. I try to keep my hand from shaking as I focus on pouring the steamed milk and trying to make a picture on the top of his drink. I’m good at swirls and hearts, but those wouldn’t be appropriate, so I’m attempting something else. It looks nothing like what I intended.

When I finish and slide his mug over to him, he looks down and snorts. “What did you do to this?”

“I’m not a foam artist. It’s a camera. Don’t critique my apology coffee.”

“Do I need to bake you some apology cookies now?”

“I wish. I can’t eat them yet. I’m on soft foods only.” I point to my sad smoothie, now warm and even less appealing than it was before.

“Oh. How about some apology ... hmmm. Pudding? I can look up a recipe.”

“Just drink your latte. Don’t worry about me.” I sit back down and toy with the straw in my cup. I don’t want the smoothie. I don’t want anything. I want to crawl back into bed and have everything go away. I want to wake up and be magically transported to four months ago, and I tell Jace not to go on that helicopter. I want to notice the money laundering and put a stop to it before anyone gets hurt. I want to put my head on Tanner’s shoulder and close my eyes and sleep without dreaming of Silas’ hands around my throat.

Tanner clearly understands my desire not to talk right now, so we sit in companionable silence. I know that if I need someone, he’s here. After a few moments, he nudges me with his elbow.

“I watched the concert.”

“Federal prisons do pay-per-view concerts? Lots of Last Barons fans in there with you?”

“I wasn’t in prison during the show, I was in a holding cell where Agent Roth—did you meet him? He’s big and scary—took great pleasure in telling me my evil plans had failed and the concert was going off without a hitch. But no, I didn’t watch it live, I downloaded a bootleg copy yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Because buying it costs twenty dollars, and I didn’t think Powell would mind.”

“Not why’d you pirate it. Why’d you watch?” I’ve watched it myself several times with Powell, while listening to his running critique on everything from a misstep Devon made in a dance to the way the lighting was a lumen short of what he desired. The camera panned to me often, and each time it caught me looking sad, holding on to Brix. And each time my name combined with the false description of my relationship with Jace flashed across the screen.

“I figured they’d show the audience, and I wanted to see your face. Honestly, I was still mad at you, so I kind of wanted to see you cry, but you didn’t. You were your usual self, stoic and self-contained. You are the strongest person I know.”

“It does take a lot of strength to keep a straight face through some of those songs. Grown men singing about meeting a girl at her locker? That one didn’t age well.”

Tanner laughs. “True. Did I ever tell you, one of my sisters was a Last Barons fan? I recognized some of the music. She used to blast them loudly from her room.”

“I toured with them four times. I memorized all the songs and the dances too.”

“Yeah, I saw you in the gym rehearsing with Powell. You’ve got the moves.” He nudges me again, teasingly. Next time my brother is prepping for a show, I’m going to paper over the windows to the gym studio and save myself some embarrassment.

“I’ll teach them to you,” I offer, but for some reason he doesn’t want to take me up on it. He finishes his latte and goes over to the sink to rinse his mug out.

“So what happens now?”

Great, he’s bringing the conversation back to serious subjects. I shrug, feigning unconcern.

“A trial, I guess. So far Whitney’s cooperating, though, so it’s possible we never have to go to court. Maybe we sue for damages, so she can’t write a tell-all and profit from what she did. And Silas, well, he’s probably not going to recover, so we won’t have to worry about him.” Someday the real story will be leaked, and everyone will know that Powell and I were attacked and how we fought back. But for now, Mike is a hero, Powell and I are safe, and nobody needs to find out what went on in Powell’s condo that day.

“That’s not what I meant. What happens for you? The entire time I’ve known you, you’ve been dealing with the aftermath of Jace’s death. I don’t expect you to get over the love of your life this quickly, but the memorial is done with. Where does that leave you?”

There’s an error I need to correct in that statement. I won’t argue with a dead man, but I can share my own truth. “Jace’s will was what he wanted to say. It didn’t dictate my feelings. All it did was push me into a more public role than I wanted, because I can’t be the one to ... you know. Correct him. He’s dead, I’ll let him rest in peace and privacy.”

“So you’re not mourning the loss of your one true love. Good to know.” There’s that dimple again. “But seriously, the concert has passed. What do you do now?”

“Besides preparing for Whitney’s trial? Powell has a new album coming out, and we’re going on tour at the end of the summer.”

“I don’t care about them. I’m asking about you. What’s next for you?”

And I don’t have an answer for that. My life revolves around others; there isn’t anything for me.

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