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“Lennon, go away, I don’t want to see you or hear from you. Can you not understand that?”
“Oh, I got that message, babe, loud and fucking clear the last time you fucking told me, but I just wanted to make sure you knew the new guy you’re all fucking wrapped up in is no better than what you think I am.”
God, how could I have ever thought I loved this man? The venom in his words sting, but not because of what he is saying but rather because I wish I’d never let him be a part of me. “Jett is so much better than you and nothing you tell me can make me change my mind.”
His laugh is full of sarcasm when he replies, “Well, maybe you should check the news, baby, because it seems your man has gone off the rails. Turns out he’s a pig who doesn’t respect women and likes to punch people. So much better than me.”
I don’t give him another moment of my time. Ending the call, I grab my iPad and search for the news he’s talking about.
“Lead Singer of Crave Goes On An Alcohol Fuelled Bender – Assaults Reporter”
“Jett Vaughn’s Hatred of Women”
“Jett & West Take Whatever They Want From Women Around The World”
My hand flies to my mouth in shock. Where is this all coming from?
Scrambling for my phone, I dial Jett’s number again, and am frustrated when I can’t get through to him, again.
I hate being so far away from him.
I have no idea what’s happened, but I suspect most of these allegations are rubbish.
And then I decide.
I can’t let Jett go through this alone.
13
Jett
“How the fuck did you manage to cause such a shit storm in such a short amount of time?”
I stare at the rep from our band’s label and wonder the same fucking thing. Shaking my head, I answer, “I have no fucking idea.” The news has gone crazy with stories from yesterday; stories that mostly aren’t true. And I don?
??t know how the hell we are going to even begin to fix all this.
The rep is pacing my hotel room, anger clearly written all over his body. He seems as flabbergasted as I am. Turning to me, he orders, “You have to find a way to sort this out, and fast, because we don’t want to push the release date of your album.”
He leaves and I sit on the bed.
Fuck.
My head is heavy from the hangover I have after drinking all yesterday afternoon and last night, and I’m having trouble concentrating on anything. Besides causing the band all this grief, I haven’t spoken to Presley since I hung up on her yesterday. There are numerous messages from her on my phone, and I’ve tried to call her back but I can’t get hold of her. We’re playing fucking tag team here with messages and it’s driving me crazy. I have a band meeting in ten minutes so I leave her another message, hoping she will call back soon.
I get my shit together and leave for the meeting, which we’re having over lunch in the restaurant downstairs. The hotel has barred all reporters from entering, and Tom’s assigned security to be with us at all times. He came to my room at eight this morning and laid down the law, and I’m fairly sure he’s going to lay it down again at our meeting.
West lifts his chin as I approach the table. Everyone’s here already and the rest greet me in a similar manner, even Van.
I pull out the remaining chair and drop into it, signalling to the waitress that I’d love a coffee.
As she pours me one, West asks, “You’ve seen the news?”
I grimace and look at him with regret. “Yeah, man, I’m sorry.” Not much of the news is true but my behaviour has certainly stirred it all up.
He shrugs. “I know, and fuck ‘em. We know it’s all bullshit and we can all sleep at night,” he pauses and gives me a smile, “and that, my friend, is all the fuck that matters.”
I shake my head. “No, West, that’s not all the fuck that matters. I’ve really screwed shit up here for the band. How can you be so calm about it?”
