The Revolution (37 page)

The three of us head back to the other suite and enter quietly. It’s just about to start when I find Rochelle off in the wings watching. Kaz looks handsome in his button-up shirt and jeans. His hair is a damn sexy mess of dark that looks like he just rolled out bed.

The female reporter seems to think so too. She has the nerve to stand from her chair and touch his hair that’s hanging down over his eyes at one point.

And I want to break her fingers for it.

Taking a deep breath, I try to relax. I’m definitely more nervous about this than he is. With his legs spread wide, he owns the space around him, sitting calm on the outside. I wonder how he’s doing on the inside.

The signal is given and the interview begins. Misti Roberts introduces herself and the segment before introducing him as Kaz Fabian, member of the rock band,
The Resistance
, and missing pianist child prodigy, Kazimir Petrowski. He doesn’t react to the names, but smiles and greets her. Always the gentleman.

She starts in rapid fire. “Do you prefer to be called Kaz Fabian or Kazimir Petrowski?”

“Kaz is fine.”

“Let’s go back to your days in Russia.”

He interrupts, “I was born in Russia, but I spent most of my life traveling to different countries.”

“So Russia is not home for Kaz Fabian?”

“Russia is my birth country. I love Russia, but it’s not been my home in a very long time.”

“Where do you call home?”

He glances my way.
Home.
Then he answers, “Los Angeles. I’ve lived here almost nine years.” I know he can’t see me in the dark back here, but he knows I’m here. He knows I’m his home as he’s mine.

“Are you here on a visa?”

“No. I got my citizenship three years ago.”

“Before you were a member of
The Resistance
?”

“Yes.”

“So Johnny Outlaw, the band, and management never knew that you weren’t an American?”

“I am in all ways except by birth. As I said, I’m an American citizen.”

She leans in as if the conversation is between friends, intimate, just the two of them. “So tell us, a star by fourteen, talent that was unmatched by others who had studied and performed for years, and you walked away.”

He stays the course and remains how he’s sitting, not responding to the leading statement, but waiting for the questions as instructed prior to coming here.

Misti continues as if repeating his life back to him will be news to him. “You attended Julliard at age twelve, living in New York City that year with your parents and sister. The Petrowskis have managed to maintain wealth and status for hundreds of years, through wars, and transitional times in your birth country. How does your family make their money?”

“That would be a question to ask them.”

“You’re not close with them?”

“When I left, I knew what I was walking away from—”

“A life of luxury from what our research has determined. You walked away with nothing. Why would you do that? Why would a boy of sixteen walk away from a burgeoning musical career, his family, status, and wealth, Kazimir?”

He stares at her. Unblinking.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until Rochelle releases the one she was holding. He replies, “I am part of one of the greatest bands to ever play music. I would have played guitar for them even if I had to do it free. That’s success. I didn’t have success when I was fourteen, fifteen, or sixteen. I had fame. I don’t need fame, Misti. I need purpose. I started a journey that brought me around the world and set me in the middle of the land of opportunity. So I don’t think of myself as leaving wealth, status, or a career behind. I didn’t leave those things. I found them right here.”

“You didn’t mention family.”

“The band is my family. My girlfriend is my family. I have everything, so it’s not what I left behind. It’s what I have now and that’s all I’ll ever need.”

Misti shoots a look my way. “About your girlfriend—”

Rochelle nudges me, and whispers, “You were off limits.”

“Seems I’m back on.”

Kaz is firm when he states, “I don’t talk about my private life now. I’ll answer the questions we agreed to about me and the speculation surrounding my disappearance, but my girlfriend is not something I’ll discuss publicly.”

“Since you brought her up, I thought we could clarify a few things. Mark Renner, for example. When his rep was called, they released a statement to us. Would you like to know what it says?”

“No,” Kaz replies coolly.

She reads it anyway, “Mr. Renner is deeply saddened by the turn of events that has caused Ms. Kessler any pain. He apologized to her in person recently and wants to take this opportunity to apologize publicly.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“It’s not that lon—”

“I don’t. Want. To. Hear. It.”

“Maybe Lara Kessler does,” she insists, turning to me.

Kaz’s fingers start moving along his hip. What appears to be a meaningless motion to some is noticeably a nervous habit to me. Rochelle grabs my arm and pulls me farther back. Ms. Harsh Hair intervenes and flips off the reporter. Offense is heard in Misti’s gasp and seen in a forehead that I would have bet money couldn’t wrinkle. It is though, causing me to smile.

Clearing the silence, Kaz asserts, “This interview is about me, not the ones I love.”

“Love, Mr. Petrowski? Lara Kessler is embroiled in a bizarre event with Mark Renner. How does love factor into this situation?”

She’s poking.
Poking. Poking.
He’ll only remain cool for so long before he loses his patience with her questions. Whispering to Rochelle, I ask, “Is she allowed to ask him these kind of questions?”

“There’s no law. It’s a guide. We’ve seen a lot of reporters pull this bullshit. We can stop the interview.”

Tommy’s hand rises. “One moment, let’s see how he does.”

Kaz shifts in his seat. “I thought we established that Fabian is my last name?”

She falters under his glare. “My apologies.”

“As for Ms. Kessler, you can contact her PR rep after our interview and ask the question I don’t have a right to answer.”

The reporter stands. “I have a surprise for you.”

Rochelle and Tommy are on alert. The three bodyguards are focused.

Tommy rushes forward. “He was set up.”

The double doors to the suite open wide and just as I look from Kaz to the people walking in, it clicks.

He’s been ambushed.

The bodyguards are in motion. Rochelle jumps over cables to get to Kaz, and I do the only thing I know to help. I hurry to the producer, and say, “She can interview me. Anything. She can ask me anything.”

Kaz stands. “No.”

Misti is beaming. “Join us.”

“No, Kaz goes if I do this.”

She seems to debate so I spell it out for her, “Kaz Fabian, Kazimir Petrowski. Mystery solved. Me and Mark Renner, the famous baseball player-turned killer. What will sell more commercial spots?”

“Your story.”

“There’s your answer.”

Kaz shakes his head. “No. You’re not doing this.”

“
Zdravstvuyte
, Kazimir.”

We turn toward the thick accent of an older woman. I know who it is. Her hair is lighter, her eyes darker, but the love for her child is evident. Spinning to face him, I place my hands on Kaz’s chest. “I’m here for you, Kaz. Whatever you need. Remember, I’m here for you.”

His gaze is fixed over my shoulder, a deep line forming between his eyes. Confusion is the heaviest dose of reality and I know anger or pain is next. “What are you doing here?”

With her hands holding a large leather purse, his mother speaks to him in English, “We are invited guests.”

Misti smiles proudly. “We organized a reunion. The camera is still on by the way, so we’ve captured it all.”

“Stop recording. We’ve revoked all rights to do anything with this footage.” Ms. Harsh Hair is my hero. I need to find out his publicist’s real name, this one not fitting anymore.

Misti’s shoulders square and she glares at her. “You can’t. We already own the interview. He’s already been paid.”

His publicist wins the battle when she retorts, “Read the fine print, princess. A stunt like this terminates the contract and we retain the fee, so bye, Misti.”

Rochelle jumps in between Misti and Kaz and tells him to go. Her voice rises as she talks to the bodyguards. “Get them out of here.”

Kaz takes my hand. “We’re leaving.”

Walking wide around the camera equipment, I’m well aware that we’re avoiding his mother. Debating if it’s best to leave or to face his mother, a woman who looks sad watching her son leave without the reunion she hoped for, I ask, “Your mom, Kaz?”

“My parents want their prize back. They don’t care about me or they wouldn’t have shown back up like this. It’s all for show. Playing it up for the cameras.”

His mother cries, her words slipping between Russian and English. One phrase is clear: “I love you.”

“Kaz?” I hesitate.

He doesn’t. “No, I won’t give them this. If they want to speak with me, they can do it privately.”

I don’t argue because he’s right. I don’t know what they want or why they’re here, but it’s not a good place for him to be—emotionally or physically. We make it down the elevator to the bottom floor and down the corridor that leads out the employee entrance when Kaz jerks us to a stop.

Before us stands a woman a few years older, not by much, maybe five, with a lifetime of sorrow written on her face. Taking what life has given her out of the equation, the resemblance is remarkable. Her eyes match the unique color I’ve fallen in love with. Her hair is the same dark shade as his that recalls midnight over the Mediterranean. “Hi,” she says.

Looking to Kaz, I wait to see what he wants to do.

“Hi,” he replies. His hand tightens on mine as they stare at each other.

“Please don’t leave,” she pleads. “We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” His tone slips into an accent that hits the letters more intensely.

We start walking again, sidestepping around her. The door is pushed open, the SUV waiting for us just beyond it. But before we can leave, his sister says, “
Otets
is dead.”

KAZ STOPS.

Standing beside him, I wait, letting him make the final decision. The door in front of us is wide open. We can leave, forget all this, and try to live the life we had this morning. Or we can turn back and fill the holes that make up the emptiness in his heart.

Will we keep walking, leaving his sister behind, or do we stop and face the ghosts of his past life?

“Father is dead. You don’t have to run any longer.”

Kaz turns his head toward me, but speaks to her, “I haven’t run in years.”

“We couldn’t find you.”

“Because you weren’t looking.” Our eyes stay locked on each other’s.

Even with my back to her, I can hear her say, “I’m looking now.”

“Maybe it’s too late,” he replies, looking down, away from me. I miss his eyes already. The pain filling them makes me want to hug him until it’s gone again, but I don’t dare move. Not an inch.

Her voice sounds closer when she says, “Maybe it’s not. I miss you.”

His head lowers forward and he closes his eyes, his emotions seeming to overwhelm him. Our hands separate and he turns around, staring straight at the woman he once tried to protect. “What do you want from me, Katerina?”

“I want my brother back?”

“Why? Because father’s dead?”

“No, because I love you. I miss my younger brother.”

I take a step back, feeling intrusive standing so close to the two of them as they try to find peace between them.

Rochelle, Kaz’s mother, and a few other people come off the elevator. Tommy taps Kaz’s arm. “Time to go.”

Kaz turns to leave, but I stop him this time. “You’ll regret leaving them behind. Maybe not now, but one day.”

The back of his hand runs over my cheek. “You’re too forgiving.”

“You might benefit from that one day.”

A smile appears. “True.” He takes a step, but stops again. Looking back at Tommy, he says, “Make sure they arrive at my house safely.”

“Will do.”

I take hold of his arm and we head for the SUV. The door is open and we settle in quickly before Misti comes after us with a cameraman in tow. The door is slammed closed and the vehicle takes off. Kaz looks out the window as we pass the fans on the sidewalk. “Well that went to shit fast.”

“Did it?”

He looks at me surprised. “You think that went well?”

“I think there’s an opportunity for it to turn out well.”

“Jesus, Lara, have we not been through enough?”

“More than our fair share. That doesn’t change that your mother and sister are here to see you.”

“For the publicity. If they wanted to see me before, they could have. My dad is dead and they need someone else to take care of them. Don’t let that soft heart of yours blind you to the facts.”

“You walked away. You said that. Now you want to punish them again for it. What if they made a mistake? What if they are here to make up for it?”

“Don’t turn this on me.” His hand fists at his side. The other fist goes up tapping against his closed eyes. “I felt the loss for years. I finally don’t and look who shows up.” He lowers his hand and his fingers flex. Looking at me with eyes that plead for mercy, he says, “I know you want to see the good in everyone, much to your detriment, but there are not two sides to this story. There’s one and the facts remain. They chose the man who hit them over the kid who would have fought to the end for them.”