Fractured Beat (Meltdown Book 1) (34 page)

“He told your parents that you had an accident because you were a drug addict, that he sent you to rehab and that I was your drug counselor. He made me tell them that we weren’t in a relationship. They now think I’m being paid to act like your girlfriend. It was awful and I’m so, so, sorry. And then, after the show, which was amazing by the way, Jill appeared. Jill Limbert has the biggest mouth ever, and she knows things, Grant.” On that note she burst into tears. I was going to kill my mother and then Kirkland, in that exact order. After a good half hour cry Mallory finally passed out. Before joining her in bed I texted Blane and Hank. I told Blane his time was up and he better have something for me by tomorrow and asked Hank to come by Mallory’s room first thing in the morning.

The next morning I woke to someone banging on the door. Two seconds later my phone rang. Mallory wasn’t in bed and the bathroom door was closed. The banging started up again.

“Hold on!” I shouted to the person at the door. I hit answer on my phone, and said, “Hello?”

“Is it true?” my mom asked.

“What?” I asked, as I pulled open the door.

Hank pushed past me and said, “Turn on the television.”

“What that man said last night. Is it true?” Mom repeated.

“Hold up a second, Mom.” I hit mute and watched Hank march over and flip on the television. Splashed across the screen was Mallory’s face. Only it wasn’t the Mallory of today, but a much younger version. Mom started her rant back up, but I was too consumed by what I was watching to listen to her. The reporter spoke of Mallory’s amazing career ending in tragedy. They showed pictures of her in the hospital with her leg in traction. They went on to talk about her manager selling her out and how she turned to drugs. None of this was news to me, but I had to admit, seeing it splashed across the screen was somewhat shocking. That should have been the end of the story. Sadly it wasn’t. According to the newscaster, there was a new development. It appeared that Mallory, the woman I was in love with, got behind the wheel while fucked up and almost killed three people. They made it sound as if it happened last night and not over five years ago. Pictures of the accident flashed across the screen. From the looks of it, Mallory was lucky to be alive. I stared at the bathroom door and thought
this is why she’s been holding back.
They went on to explain how the medics lost Mallory’s blood sample from the scene of the accident, which led to her getting off on much lesser charges. Last were pictures of Mallory with me. There were pictures of the night we played in Charlotte, pictures of us standing outside the hotel in Pennsylvania and a picture of me kissing her just last night. When they began speculating about our relationship I’d had enough and said, “Turn it off.”

As Hank turned it off, I heard my mom say, “Grant? Are you there Grant?”

“I’ll call you back,” I told her before hanging up. My phone immediately rang again and I sent the call to voicemail. Then I stood from the bed and flung open the bathroom door. Mallory wasn’t there. I hit the closet next. Just as I’d feared, it was empty. Mallory was gone. “Fuck!” I shouted.

“What they didn’t say is how she paid for all three of those people’s hospital bills,” Hank quietly stated.

I turned to him and asked, “Who did this?” My phone rang again. This time I shut the fucker off.

“And she paid for the lady’s rehab,” he continued, “for years.”

“Who the fuck did this?” I repeated.

Hank’s phone rang, but he ignored it. “To this day she is still paying that family for the wrong she did them,” he added.

“Tell me who fucking did this!” I shouted.

“Don’t do this, Grant,” Hank warned.

“Do what? Find out who fucked with my girl and make them pay? Find out who made her run? Why shouldn’t I?” I shouted. His phone rang a second time. Again, he sent it to voicemail.

A confused look appeared on his face. “Wait, you’re not angry with her?”

What the hell was he talking about? “Why would I be angry with her? She has nightmares about that shit almost every night. She went to rehab. She got clean and paid her dues. Fuck, she became a drug counselor for shit’s sake. Why would I be mad at her? I’m mad at the person who’s trying to fuck with our lives. That’s who I’m mad at!”

When his phone rang a third time, Hank answered, “What?” His eyes immediately jerked to mine and I braced. “We’re in room 1302,” he said. After a brief pause he said, “Just me and Grant,” followed by, “see you in a few.” He hung up and advised, “Blane is on his way up.

“This has Kirkland written all over it. He knows we’re onto him and he’s fighting back.”

“Grant –”

I could hear the doubt in Hank’s voice. Fuck him. It wasn’t his life being blown to hell, it was mine. “First he fucks with her room, and then he fucking tells my parents everything…and does it in front of Mallory.” As I paced back and forth in front of the bed I thought about everything that happened the night before.

“What if it wasn’t Kirkland?” he quietly asked.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Think about it. It could have just as easily been Chelle. She certainly has the motive and the resources to pull something like this off.”

He had a point but I wasn’t buying it. “It was Kirkland,” I asserted.

“Or what about the girl from last night, you know, the one from Mallory’s hometown? I bet she knows all about Mallory’s past. How do you know she didn’t sell her story to the highest bidder?”

I stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What the fuck?” I asked.

“Blane is going to be here any minute. Before you go off half-cocked, you need to think about it. You think it’s Kirkland and I think it’s Kirkland but are you willing to bet your career on it? I’m just trying to make you see the other possibilities. Until we can prove it was Kirkland, it wasn’t. Do you get me?”

A knock at the door interrupted us. Hank shot me a look of warning before he opened the door. Blane stepped over the threshold looking like shit. His usually styled hair was a mess and his suit looked as if he’d slept in it. He was carrying a large manila file folder. My chest seized.
Holy fuck, he did it.

As Hank shut the door and flipped the lock, Blane headed straight for the bed. Once he got there he slapped the file down on top of the comforter and declared, “It’s all here, every last bit of it, and I want a deal.”

“First, tell us what’s in the file.” Hank said.

Blane flipped open the file and explained, “Here’s all of the correspondence with Whitfield. Trust me, you’ll be pleased. There’s an email where Whitfield says you’re not an addict, and another one among Dad, Whitfield and Nancy directing Nancy to do whatever it takes to keep you there. In addition there are bank statements showing sizeable payments to Dr. Whitfield and Nancy, all made to their personal accounts.
Kirkland Hamilton is a stupid man
, I thought. I could tell by Hank’s facial expression he thought the exact same thing. It was one thing to do the deed, but another to keep records of it.
Dumb fucker
. “There are also copies of emails to me from Dad directing me to hire an in-house drug counselor. As you will see by these, I had no idea what he was up to.” He flipped through a few more things and said, “That’s it.”

“What about the drugs? Hank asked.

“And Sarah Harmon?” I added.

“I went through everything. There was nothing about drugs. Believe me, I looked,” he told Hank. Then he asked, “Who is Sarah Harmon?”

“You didn’t see that name anywhere?” I asked.

“No, why?”

Hank shook his head at me so I played it off. “Her name came up. We wondered if Kirkland knew her.”

“Not that I know of. At least her name wasn’t in any of his emails or financial records. You’ll see. They’re all right here.” He straightened his shoulders and said, “I delivered. Now I want to make a deal.”

I still didn’t trust Blane and I didn’t plan on trusting him until his name was completely cleared, but he didn’t have to know this. “Talk,” I said.

“When you present Dad with this evidence he’s going to know it was me who betrayed him. I want a guaranteed position with Happenstance once you take it over.”

“I’m good with that.” Blane closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

“Is that all?” Hank asked.

He opened his eyes back up and said, “No. I want you to promise not to send Dad to prison.”

“That, I can’t do,” I told him.

“Think about it, if you press charges you’ll invite a massive scandal. You’ll have to pay lawyer fees and break tour dates for court appearances. It’s not worth it.”

Fuck that. “Kirkland has to pay,” I stated.

“So make him pay. Threaten him, scare the shit out of him, take Happenstance away from him and make him sign binding legal documents stating he’ll never step foot in the industry again. Just don’t press charges.” I hated to admit it, but he had a point. Did I want Kirkland to pay? Yes. Did I want to pay with him? If it meant we had to miss tour dates and spend day after day in a courtroom, we all would pay. I wasn’t sure it was worth it.

“Let us look this over first before we make a decision,” I finally said. Blane nodded in relief and turned to leave. “Blane,” I called out. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Do you know who fucked with Mallory last night? Was it Kirkland?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“If you hear anything –”

“I’ll tell you,” he answered before I could finish.

“Stay close,” I told him. He gave me a nod and then was gone.

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” I asked Hank.

“Who the hell knows anymore?” he answered, and added, “I’m going to get the file to LASH.”

“First you need to help me find Mallory. Then you can get the file to LASH,” I directed.

Half an hour later Hank and I were on our way to the airport to catch Mallory before her plane took off for Dallas. Thanks to Blane, Marcel was already on the Happenstance jet on the way to Charlotte to deliver the file that would hopefully nail Kirkland Hamilton once and for all.

Ready, Set…

Mallory

“B
e glad you
have money, ’cause if it was up to me you’d be rotting in your bedroom for the rest of your life instead of flying to Dallas to some crack pot rehab clinic.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Tell that to the people you almost killed. Tell that to your mother who is devastated. Tell that to someone who gives a damn.”

Bzzzzz…Bzzzzz…Bzzzzz…

I slowly opened my eyes and blinked.

Bzzzz….Bzzzz…

As I reached for my phone I felt movement behind me and froze –
Grant
. Last night’s activities came roaring back and I physically cringed.
Grant’s mother, Kirkland, tiny bottles of alcohol….
Way to go Mallory
. My phone buzzed in my hand and I looked down to see who was calling.
CiCilia.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and instantly knew something was wrong. CiCi never called before nine unless it was important. Not wanting to wake Grant, I clicked the call over to voicemail and quietly slipped out of bed. As I made my way to the bathroom I thought about Grant’s parents. Kirkland knew exactly what he was doing last night.
He knows something’s up.
After brushing the morning-after-a-binge taste from my mouth, I called CiCilia back.

“Are you okay?” she answered after the first ring.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I hesitantly asked. Then it hit me.
She probably saw the pictures
. It was only a matter of time before pictures of me and Grant got out, but I still should have warned her. “Look, the pictures are nothing,” I started to explain.

“Are you kidding me?” she screeched. “It’s a fucking witch hunt.”

Ooookay, obviously she was upset. “Sometimes it’s part of the job, Ci, you know this.”

“Have you seen the news this morning?” My stomach instantly knotted. “You haven’t, have you? Turn on your television now,” she ordered.

I bent over the sink and tried to catch my breath. Grant was asleep. I didn’t want to wake him. I especially didn’t want to wake him if what I thought was happening was actually happening. I knew it was a possibility, but nothing had prepared me for how I would feel once it actually came to fruition. “How bad is it?” I asked.

“The worst,” she quietly replied.

Nausea bubbled in my gut. I knew I was about to be sick. “I’ll call you back,” I said, and ended the call. I rushed to the toilet, dropped to my knees and vomited up last night’s pity party. After cleaning myself up, I began to pace back and forth across the bathroom floor.
What do I do? What do I do?
I chanted in my head. I threw up my hands in resignation. There was only one thing to do. I had to leave. As quickly as possible, I packed my makeup and toiletries. Then I slipped back into the bedroom and pulled out my suitcase. The rest of my clothes were in the bottom of the bus. I would have to get Hank to ship them to me later. I threw on jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes. Snagging Grant’s baseball cap off the floor, I threaded my ponytail through the back before tightening the strap. Once my things were packed there was nothing left for me to do but go. Only, I didn’t want to go. As I stared down at the man I was head over heels in love with, I felt my heart breaking.
I don’t want to leave you.
The sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand spurred me into action.