Page 43 of Animal Beats

Pushing down bile, I take photos. Río and his father shaking hands. Río hugging his stepmother. Well, more like an air hug, there’s so much room between their two bodies. She turns to me, motioning for more pictures. Sick to my stomach, I oblige, including one where all three men give the thumbs up.

A reporter from a local paper comes over and takes professional photos. Bradley volunteers he’s the CEO of some company, and I tune him out. All my focus zeros in on Río, who’s earlier joy has been eclipsed. Before my eyes, I can see he’s reverting to his boyhood role. One of acting out in order to gain any sort of attention.

The PR woman inside of me roars. How can I make this tolerable for the UC drummer? Or at least end this?

I pull out my phone and make a big production out of clicking on a text. My phone shows my sister tried to call me—I don’t have time to deal with that right now. Guilt pricks, but I ignore it.

“Oh!”

My shout garners the attention of everyone nearby. Exactly what I was aiming for. I shake my head, then look around the room, focusing on Río. I plaster on a smile, then approach the President. “I’m so sorry to have to cut this evening short, but I just received a text from UC’s manager. Río has to return to Spain sooner than anticipated.”

Concerned, the President asks, “Is everything okay?”

I wave. “It will all be fine, but the jet is already refueled. We have to leave now.” I grab Río’s arm and practically drag him out of the room.

Once we’re in the limo returning to our hotel, I let my head rest against the back of the seat. Emotions rage throughout my body. Guilt. Shame. Pride. Attraction. Embarrassment. Inadequacy. Determination. Excitement.

“Hayden, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I thought you needed to leave.”

The drummer stills. “You made up Luke’s text?”

I shrug.

He throws his head back and laughs.

13

RÍO

My laughter rings through the limo. Hayden, my babysitter, created a diversion to get me away from Pop and Stepwitch? I can’t believe it. Although, something inside me says I would’ve done the same thing for her.

She turns her head toward me. “It’s not that funny.”

“Babysitter, I’ve never had anyone pull such a stunt for me before. I’m the one usually doing shit like that.” I run through some drumming rudiments on my thigh. “I’ll give you a solid B for effort. You didn’t go over the top. If I had done it, I’d have said something like Bennett got stuck in some chick’s closet when her boyfriend came into the room and needed to be rescued—before Jenna, of course. Or maybe, 007 and Tris went rock climbing for real in Madrid and haven’t come back. But you did a good job.”

“Hey, I got you out of there, right?”

Not a minute too soon, either. When Pop’s hand closed around mine, I wanted to puke. Or break it. Or kick the nice drum kit the society offered me. Don’t even get me started on all the negative emotions flinging through my body when Stepwitch was being interviewed.

I look at Hayden again. She’s the reason I was there, to receive the award, which actually was cool. She’s also the reason why my father and his wife came. Which was not. If I’m being fair, though, she didn’t know about my family situation when she accepted the invitation for me.

The limo stops in front of the hotel, and I help Hayden onto the street. While I’d love to hit up a bar and down one or five Gold Rushes, I know she’d have a cow. Besides, this woman fascinates me. “Let’s go to the room.”

Crossing the lobby, we take the elevator up to the top floor and I open the door. This two-bedroom suite isn’t as spacious as the one in Barcelona, but it’s still nice with a great view of the City of Brotherly Love. I peer into the fridge. “Water, soda, or sparkling cider?” These options suck. Perhaps something innocuous would be okay with the babysitter? “Or, I can order something better? How about a wine or beer?”

“I’m good with sparkling cider.”

Of course she is. It’s not like I abuse alcohol, is it? Over the past few days, I have been considering that Luke might be onto something here. I certainly don’t want to end up like Darren, addicted and out of control. “Sparkling cider it is.”

I grab two flutes and pour our beverages, pretending it’s champagne. I bring our drinks over to the sofa. Raising my glass, I say, “To my devious babysitter. May she only get more so under my tutelage.”

She giggles. I like the sound. “You didn’t need to be around those awful people a moment longer.” Our glasses clink.

I take a long sip. “Well, it’s certainly not bubbly, but it doesn’t suck.”

“Maybe that can be your endorsement for the brand? ‘It doesn’t suck.’” She giggles again, then takes another swallow, and I track as it slides down her throat.