HERE
TOMORROW
7
PM PST.
N.N. BRITT
AUTHOR OF:
They
say first love doesn’t last. Alana’s ends on the night her boyfriend Dakota
dies in a deadly shooting at a Portland club.
In
an attempt to look for ways to deal with her grief, Alana reaches out to
Dakota’s older brother Mikah, who’s struggling with moving on himself.
Both
damaged beyond repair, neither Alana or Mikah know how to cope with their loss.
What’s worse, they have zero, idea how to handle the unexpected feelings they
start developing for each other.
There are no more speeches. People simply
wander around—some look bored to death and some seem to be too busy trying out
the snacks to care about the funeral—as if they’re pretending to be sad. And
some, like Dakota’s parents, are distraught. The kind of distraught that makes
your guts twist. It’s not hard to tell fake politeness from true grief. They’re
as different as night and day.
I find the whole concept of a funeral,
especially this one, overwhelming. It’s a lot of sorrow in one place, and that
upsets me even more, shredding the last of my calm.
I’m hiding on a couch in the corner, right
near the exit. In case I need to run. My head is spinning and my mouth is dry,
but the pain in my hands has dulled and I’m pretty sure it’s because of the
Jack Daniels.
I see Jess approaching me. She looks funny.
She looks like two Jesses. Her dress is solid black and simple, like mine, and
she hasn’t gotten as crazy with the makeup as she usually does when we go out.
Her parents are here too, which is a bit of a
surprise because they’ve been traveling all over the country lately. I’ve
literally almost forgotten what they look like.
“Hey.” She sits next to me and carefully takes
my hand as if it’s fine china. “Are you okay?”
“I think your boyfriend got me drunk,” I say,
trying to hold in a hiccup while my gaze follows Mikah’s silhouette as it moves
through the crowd. He’s shaking hands and accepting condolences, but there’s
this particularly odd hint of devastation in his eyes that no one else here
has. Can anyone see it besides me?
Jess is quiet and I can almost feel whatever
it is we’ve had between us since we were kids falling apart. I’m not sure why
exactly. Because her boyfriend lived and mine didn’t? That’s not really a valid
explanation, but there’s nothing better I can think of right now. My mind’s
been taking a lot of trips to some parallel universe lately.
“Do you want to come over this week?” Jess
asks, rubbing my shoulder. “We can bake something.”
“I don’t feel like baking,” I confess. I don’t
feel like doing anything at all.
“We can watch some movies.”
“Yeah. Movies are better.” They don’t usually
require much thinking.
“Okay, so…do you want me to pick you up?”
“Text me tomorrow.” I turn to her and withdraw
my hand from hers.
“Sounds like a plan.” She nods.
We sit in silence for a little while until I
realize I haven’t mentioned my discovery to anyone. So I tell her, my voice
barely holding. “Did you know Joseph Miller has a Wikipedia page?”
“What?” She stares at me and looks
dumbfounded, along with some other strange expression I can’t read.
“He has his own Wikipedia page.”
Jess blinks rapidly at me but doesn’t say
anything.
“All you have to do to get your own Wikipedia
page is kill someone.” My mouth twists in disgust, and I can feel rage filling
every part of me from the inside. “Dakota doesn’t have one.”
“We can make him one,” Jess offers
placatingly.
“But that’s not right!” My tone is now angry
and high-pitched. “We shouldn’t have to make him one! Don’t you understand?”
“We’ll make him one, okay?” she repeats,
wrapping her arm around my shoulder.
I know it’s supposed to feel better when your
best friend hugs you, but it doesn’t anymore.
She
is a grieving mother. He is a spoiled rock idol. The only thing they have in
common is a flashy tabloid headline. Or so they think.
Running
away from her tragedies and the demise of her marriage, Hazel Alexander retreats
to a friend’s Lake Tahoe cabin with big plans to drown her memories in bottles
of wine. Being dragged into someone else’s messy, high-profile divorce is not
what she needs.
Especially
if that someone else is Justice Cross, the frontman of the popular rock band
The Deviant.
Born into a family of rock royalty, Justice lives his life fast and easy. When he comes across Hazel while at a local bar, his gallant attempt to get her home safely takes a complicated turn.
A PR nightmare forcing Justice and Hazel to spend time together triggers unexpected and intense feelings between the two.
With
the constant attention of fans, haters, and press, now it’s up to Hazel and
Justice whether they want to fight for their relationship or end it once and
for all.
The music
is suddenly too loud and too heavy, and I feel like someone just shoved a
hammer at me to crack my head open. I suck in a breath through my teeth and
glance at the crowd. The white clouds of fog spilling from the tiny stage mist
the floor. The bodies twitching to the drumbeat give the place a dark,
horror-movie-asylum feel. I like chaos, but not when it takes over my life
completely. Like when Chance died or like right now when my soon-to-be
ex-wife’s ongoing domestic abuse allegations are starting to become unnerving.
"You
alright, boss?" Tony yells at me from across the table. His voice drowns
in the music blasting through the bar.
"I’m
good." I nod, reaching for my phone in my pocket to text May back. When I
pull it out, a dozen messages are flashing at me from the screen.
May: Justice?
I’m preparing a press release. Tell me something.
Funny
thing, but at the beginning of my career, I practiced one simple rule when it
came to my personal life. No comment. After I married Nikki, everything
changed. Any gossip not contained in a timely manner turned into a fucking
abomination.
For a
second, I slip into a world of denial where ignoring the TMZ article seems like
the best option, but the lie gets under my skin. I’ve never hit a woman in my
life. Not unless she begged me to. If Nikki considers my spanking her in bed
those two times we tried to get overly creative a case of domestic abuse, then
I’m a fucking ballerina.
Justice: No
comment. Just do your magic.
May
responds with a thumbs-up emoji, which is her way of letting me know she’s
pissed because I don’t want to personalize the messages she posts for my fans.
Fuck it.
I don’t owe any explanation to anyone for something I didn’t do.
I put the
phone away and absently stare out at the hazy floor. A smile touches my lips as
my eyes take in the sight of the drunk, carefree crowd. They love the band. I
can see it written all over their faces, even through the cloud of fog and
lights. The frenzy. The desire to hear more. The longing of a release. Hale's
blood running through Jake’s veins is no coincidence. I’ve been doing this way
too long not to know when a set is a success. The ability to read people is a
gift, something every performer needs to possess. It’s a vital part of the
magic called making music.
That’s
when the streaks of gold enter my line of vision. She’s small and slender,
moving through the wall of fog and dancing LEDs, and her hair sparkles in the
thick club mist like a star from another galaxy. All I need is a fraction of a
second to determine she doesn’t belong here. It’s not even the funny-looking
sweater and the lack of heavy makeup. She has this strange, almost desperate
look on her face, but not desperate for a one-night stand or anything of that
sort. It’s the kind of desperate that says she doesn’t want to be here. And I
love the color of her eyes. Amber, like fire.
"If
you want to leave, boss, just let me know!" Tony yells at me, chewing on
his onion rings. I shift my gaze and give him a nod. Two seconds later when I
look back at the crowd, the woman with the golden hair is gone.
Rapture is also available on audio [Whispersynced]
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