Page 9 of Concerted Chaos

“Already?” How did they get past Omaha? We’re going to need to have a talk about his list.

“Cass!” Powell yells from the living room. “Was that the door?” Yes, Powell, excellent job, even in grief, you can recognize the sound of a doorbell.

“I’ll get rid of them,” I shout back. Really, I should ask Hank to do it. But I won’t, because he hasn’t left his son’s side since he got here. He needs recovery time after spending hours thinking his baby boy had been killed. I hope the doorbell was a signal to him though, one that reminded him to bring some on-site security out here. There are only so many things I can do myself.

“I’ll come with you,” Tanner offers, jumping to his feet to follow me. He must think he owes me since I got his photo price bumped up. I still don’t know why I did that, other than my annoyance at Eduardo.

I use my phone to call up the video feed from the security camera and discover, to my dismay, that it’s not a reporter. The latest arrival is someone much more annoying.

“Xander, what are you doing here?” I ask my least favorite Last Baron as I reluctantly open the front door. I guess he managed to drag himself away from his busy lifestyle, partying with a bunch of D-list actresses.

“As soon as I heard about Powell, I jumped on my private jet and flew out here so I could comfort you,” he proclaims magnanimously as he envelops me in an unwelcome embrace. Notice how he makes sure to point out he has a private jet? That reveals everything anyone needs to know about Xander’s personality. Also, he’s exaggerating. I know for a fact he only owns a share in it. It’s not his personal private property.

Xander is the fourth person to hug me in the past twenty minutes. Hank was first, and his hug was supportive, as they always are. The first time he hugged me I was twelve years old and I knew in that moment I wanted him for my stepfather. Mom’s would have been supportive, but she was crying and it quickly turned into a me comforting her hug rather than the other way around. Then came Tanner, with his warm cinnamon-scented embrace that was unexpected, yet strangely welcome.

But Xander ... ugh. No physical contact from Xander is ever welcome, but his hugs are the absolute worst. Not only does he wear far too much cologne—so much so that it clings to everyone unfortunate enough to come in contact with him—but also, I always suspect he’s subtly trying to use his chest to feel my boobs. Plus, he does this thing where he puts one hand on the back of my head to hold me against him. That’s a power move, and I don’t appreciate it.

I struggle to escape from this unwelcome cologne-transferring assault, but Xander is pinning my arms at my sides. If he were an attacker, there are plenty of self-defense moves I could use. The problem is I can’t do them on the misguided and slightly creepy former bandmate of my brother’s, because breaking his nose or kneeing his crotch would lead to worse problems.

“Get off me,” I say, but he can’t hear me over the sound of his own attempt at soothing.

“I’m so sorry, Cass, but don’t worry, I’m here, I’ll take care of you,” he keeps repeating, which is absurd. Not only can I take care of myself, but he’s the last person I would go to for assistance anyway.

“Alright, that’s enough.” A hand on my shoulder and another on Xander’s pulls us apart as Tanner forces his way in between us. He keeps his body positioned in front of me so Xander can’t molest me again.

“Who the hell are you?” demands Xander, sounding almost jealous.

“He’s my bodyguard,” I reply, and Tanner rolls with it.

“Sure. Yeah, that works. I’m her bodyguard. Keep your hands off her.” He crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look intimidating.

“My shirt costs more than your car. Don’t touch it again,” Xander warns, brushing invisible Tanner cooties from his shoulder. I have no idea what kind of car Tanner drives, but it’s entirely possible that Xander is correct. A pretentious asshole, clearly, but correct. “Cassidy, I’m here for you. Can we go somewhere to talk?”

As much as I loathe him, I do also slightly pity him. Sure, it was annoying that he hugged me. And yes, he was acting like a snobby jerk the way he talked about the cost of his shirt. But he was one of Powell’s bandmates and, not only does he still think Powell is dead, he is about to find out that rather than Powell, with whom he’s always had a somewhat contentious relationship, it was his close friend Jace who died instead.

“Let’s go to the living room. There’s someone you need to see,” I say. Perhaps I’m being petty, but I lead him in with no warning.

He stops abruptly in the doorway, “What the ... he survived? You’re supposed to be ... how ... what? Powell ... you...” Xander stutters and seems to be swaying on his feet. The shock of seeing my brother alive must really be getting to him. I almost feel guilty for the way I did the big reveal. But then I get a whiff of Xander’s scent clinging to my shirt and the guilt evaporates.

Powell shakes off our parents to come over and greet Xander. They exchange one of those bro-hugs where their bodies barely touch and they both step back quickly. The contact wasn’t nearly as intense as what Xander imposed on me, but I can tell from the way Powell’s nose wrinkles and he wipes ineffectively at his own shirt afterward that he is also wearing some of Xander’s cologne.

“I asked Jace to go in my place,” Powell tells him. “I’m so sorry; I never expected this to happen.”

“Jace was on the helicopter?” All the color drains from Xander’s face as he processes the news.

“If Jace couldn’t go, I was going to call you,” Powell says, which is in no way comforting, but Xander doesn’t respond. His knees give out and he collapses on the floor, head in hands. I nudge Tanner.

“This might make a good photo,” I point out.

“Already on it,” he says. Maybe I should have looked before I elbowed him in the ribs—I messed up his shot.

In times of tragedy, it’s human nature to want to come together, reaffirm connections, and process the loss. That’s why our house is starting to fill with people. Powell’s local musician friends are all here, both to reassure themselves that he still exists on this earthly plane and to mourn the loss of one of their idols. Jace used to jam with them on his frequent visits.

Since we have so many visitors, I find myself stepping in and performing hostess duties, a welcome distraction from my pain. I order food from my favorite nearby Mexican restaurant. Mom and Tanner help me set out the trays of enchiladas and tamales. It’s a little weird that he’s still hanging around; he’s already earned his photo money and no more celebrities are likely to show up. I’m not going to kick him out though. He’s a lot more helpful than most of our guests. As the only one here who was not personally affected by the tragedy, he provides a calm and steady presence.

But I can’t maintain my own calm and stead…e much longer. When it gets to be too much, I retreat to my room, overwhelmed and needing a break. Jace is dead. It still doesn’t seem real. He was my first crush. In fact, as a pre-teen, I was such a huge Jace Monroe fan that my mom worked overtime to buy tickets to a Last Barons of Sound concert as a surprise for my twelfth birthday. She met Hank at that concert and changed the trajectory of both of our lives. If I’d been desperately worshipful of a member of a different boyband, who knows where I would be today?

Jace was my first kiss, too. It happened at the Y2K Round the World concert, a 24-hour live broadcast welcoming the year 2000 sequentially in each time zone. The Last Barons were performing in Chicago. The show was rough—the boys were all unhappy that they lost out on the coveted New York City spot, there were issues with lighting and sound, and their backstage food requests were not adequately met. Just before midnight, a producer grabbed me and four other young women and shoved us onstage. I was told to stand directly behind Jace, and I obeyed, though I had no idea what was going on. At the stroke of midnight, they spun around to kiss us. It was unexpected, but so very exciting. My crush, kissing me on live television.

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