Epic (Fierce) Read online

  Though she tried to stop me, I headed back out to the store. I bought a couple of containers of juice, some bottled water, cleaning supplies and paper goods, including toilet paper. If she didn’t need it now, she would eventually.

  That became my mantra as I shopped.

  I got cold cereal and hot cereal, cans of soup, crackers, canned meats, canned veggies and beans, boxes of rice and other foods that could be prepared without a microwave, as she didn’t have one. I thought about buying her one, but that was a little more extravagant than the clothes she obviously needed.

  The car was loaded when I finally stopped in front of her house in the waning light of day. My heart sank when I realized there was a pickup truck in the driveway. I got the feeling I was about to meet Sonny, and I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted to yet. I couldn’t shake the flashback I got of Shane, which nearly had me loading up on every package of cookies, candy and baked goods I passed in the store.

  Instead I got her some muffins, figuring that was the healthier alternative to the dozen donuts I suddenly wanted to tear into.

  I took a deep breath as I turned off the engine and got out of the car. I juggled five bags as I walked to the opened door. Maya saw me approach and tried to struggle to her feet, but I shook my head as I walked through the door. I was surprised to find Sonny sitting in the opposite chair, feet up, enjoying a beer.

  He didn’t move an inch as I struggled through the door and headed back into the kitchen. Maya tried to follow but I scolded her that she didn’t need to be moving around if she didn’t feel well. I sent her back to her chair as I walked back out to the car for the other bags.

  On the third trip, Sonny finally ambled out to the car to offer his help on the last three bags. “That’s quite a haul,” he commented as he glanced me over. He held out a hand. “Sonny Quintero.”

  I rearranged the broom, mop and bucket in my arms to shake his hand. “Jordi Hemphill,” I supplied dutifully. Perhaps I was being unfair, but I could compare him to Shane from his receding hairline all the way down to his beer guilt. His dark eyes glittered as he glanced over the thinner, younger version of the woman whose house he shared. It immediately struck a nerve and I dodged him to head back into the house.

  Things got worse when he walked into the tiny kitchen, which barely had enough room for me, much less another person. He brushed against me as he placed the bags on the floor, which was the only space in the entire room to place anything.

  He lingered even though I turned my back on him to start putting away the groceries. When I opened the door to the fridge, he gave me an amused smirk. “Would you like a beer?” he asked as he reached past me to grab one for himself.

  “I’m nineteen,” I told him flatly.

  He chuckled as he popped open the bottle, using the edge of the counter to do it. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Everything,” I responded as I shut the refrigerator door.

  He held up his hands. “Sorry,” he offered. “I figured you for more of a party girl after all I read about you on PING.”

  My gut tightened. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “I guess I’ll get out of your way then,” he said, before he returned to his chair in the living room.

  It took me two hours to clean the kitchen enough to cook, and another half hour beyond that to prepare the meal. Maya was thankful and overjoyed as I presented a balanced meal on her brand new dishes. They were nothing fancy, but colorful and certainly more cheerful than a bunch of Styrofoam boxes.

  “Oh, Jordana, you didn’t have to do this.”

  “I wanted to,” I told her as I set her plate on the coffee table, and then pulled the table within her reach. When I straightened, I noticed that Sonny was looking at me from where he sat, reclining in his chair. I assumed he was waiting for me to wait on him too, just like I had Maya. Though he didn’t look disabled, I decided to extend the olive branch and bring him a plate anyway, just to be nice.

  He smiled as he took the plate, and just when I turned to make myself one, he called out, “Could you bring me a beer, too?” It flew all over me, but I grit my teeth together and brought him a beer anyway. “Thanks, doll,” he said with a smile I knew immediately I couldn’t trust.

  By the time I returned to the living room, I realized that Sonny had arrested control of the remote control. Maya ate quietly, speaking to me only in whispers during commercials. It was yet another red flag. Here was a woman who couldn’t physically survive without this man, and he had to know it. So she accepted his behavior as part of the package. When I was working with my therapist to figure out my relationship with Eddie, I realized that this kind of behavior was codependent. He was taking advantage because he knew he could get away with it. If she pushed too hard for what she wanted or needed, he could walk out the door and she’d be sunk.

  It was the exact same situation Marianne found herself in with Shane all those years ago.

  I had even more sympathy for Diego, figuring he was way more aware of his mother’s situation at sixteen than I had been at six. No wonder he didn’t like Sonny. He recognized him for the opportunist that he was.

  After dinner, I stayed only long enough to clean up. Mercifully Sonny had to “drain the main vein,” so I was able to slip out of the house without bidding him goodbye. If what I had seen so far was any indication, he would not be slighted by my lack of manners.

  Instead I went back to the safety and privacy of my hotel suite. I called Jace to let him know how the day went, though I found myself skirting around the details. I told myself it was because I didn’t want him to worry, but the honest truth was I didn’t want him to come drag me home. I was still trying to figure everything out, and I needed time to do it. I was up until way past midnight, scouring the Internet for anything I could find on Diego’s band, Catastrophe Rising. Fortunately they had followed the footsteps of many indie bands and had a significant web presence, allowing me to learn more about Diego even though we hadn’t yet met.

  They recorded performance videos and used social media to spread the word about their music and where they would be performing. They had a gig the following night, which would explain why Diego was M.I.A. at home.

  Yet I couldn’t shake the feelings I had toward Sonny. It was so eerily and painfully familiar. It even inspired a rare Shane nightmare. I woke up in a cold sweat just after three o’clock in the morning. Worse, I couldn’t allow myself to go back to sleep because I knew he was lurking there in my psyche for me, just like my own personal Bogeyman.

  I perused the web, I took a long bath, and when those didn’t work I found myself looking over the room service menu.

  An hour later I placed the cart with the empty plates into the hall, put a “Do Not Disturb” tag on the doorknob and headed back to bed in a blissful sugar coma.

  The next day I got to Maya’s before noon. I didn’t want to run into Sonny after my dream, but I also wanted a little extra time to help clean her house. I could have hired a housekeeping service to do it, but I figured the fewer people who knew about this particular branch of my family tree the better. I was still trying to figure out much I could trust these new people. I needed some time to work it out in my own head before I added the likes of PING, who would no doubt spin it to make me look even worse than I already did.

  I insisted that Maya nap while I cleaned rather than attempt in her own feeble way to help. I was on my last bag of garbage when I finally ran into my half-sibling, Diego Palermo. He was coming in the front door while I was coming in the back door. We both stopped immediately, staring at each other like the strangers we were.

  He was tall and lanky, a trait he obviously didn’t get from Maya or me. His long hair was jet black, and obscured about two-thirds of his face. He wore ripped jeans and a band T-shirt, with a requisite hoodie topping off the ensemble. He looked like every Goth kid I’d ever known, either in Iowa or in Hollywood. The only difference was I cou
ld see fleeting hints of my own features when he tossed his hair back over his shoulder.

  From the way he looked me over I got the impression that he knew who I was. The resentment Maya hinted around was evident as he walked silently into the room and tossing his backpack onto the sofa.

  I cleared my throat as I brushed my hands against my jeans and approached him with a tentative smile. “Hi. You must be Diego. I’m Jordi. I mean… Jordana.”

  He glared at me. “I know who you are,” he snapped. “I just don’t know why you’re here.” He looked around at the tidy house. “Or who you are trying to impress.”

  His hostility took me off guard. “I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m just trying to lend a hand.”

  “Yeah, you’re about twenty years too late,” he sneered as he pushed past me and disappeared into the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

  I sighed as I slumped into Maya’s recliner. I don’t know why I had hoped for more from an obviously sullen teenager, but it cut me to the quick that he considered anything I was doing as insincere. I was just trying to help however I could.

  I got the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t accept my help even if I offered it.

  Nevertheless, I headed back into the kitchen to prepare that evening’s meal. I had no intention of sharing this meal with Maya and Diego, since that would probably involve Sonny, who could drive up at any moment.

  Instead I prepared a plate for her and left the rest in the pans in the kitchen for the boys of the house to find when they got around to eating.

  I was out the door by four o’clock that afternoon.

  I checked my email the instant I got back to my suite, hoping that my investigator had verified Maya’s story so that I could do a little more than just clean the house or buy her food. The more her life unfolded in front of me, the more I wanted to fix it. She was stuck with a guy like Sonny, dealing with a sullen teenager like Diego, and no one in her life was looking out for her best interests. I got the feeling this was a running theme for her. As someone who understood exactly what that felt like, the more I got to know her the more I wanted to help, simply because I could.

  Why did this have to be a bad thing? Why did it have to be anything other than just one human, who had means, helping out another, who clearly had none?

  There was no email from my investigator, which prolonged my Las Vegas visit – and tied my hands – by at least one more day. There was, however, a surprise email from Griffin. Usually he handled all his business with me through his management company, so I was taken aback to find direct communication.

  Likely it was an ass-chewing for not showing up for our session that afternoon. I dropped him an email to let him know, just as a courtesy. But he might have missed the email and showed up anyway, peeved that I was sucking even more time away from all his adoring companions.

  I saved that email for last.

  Instead I answered an email from Iris and then tootled around on the Internet, which wasn’t any better than opening a possibly upsetting email. Coy Goddard was scattered all over the Internet thanks to a candid interview. He blasted the current administration’s healthcare reform, the growing acceptance of same-sex marriage and his favorite nail to slam, how the country was going to hell in a hand basket thanks to immoral celebrities who never had any accountability whenever they ran over innocent people, like his precious daughter, Shelby.

  “These aren’t heroes,” he told the interviewer. “The men and women who are fighting overseas, putting themselves in harm’s way to preserve our principles… they are the heroes. Just because someone can gyrate around on stage doesn’t make them a demigod. And I guarantee that I will shift the focus back to the traditional family unit and good, wholesome, American ideals.”

  “How is your daughter?” the TV host asked.

  “She’s on the road to recovery,” Coy answered. “But it hasn’t been easy on her. She’s learned a very hard lesson on who to trust. It was a blessing in disguise, because that’s what finally brought her home to us. She’s now focusing on her church membership, our campaign and of course, her new relationship with a boy her mother and I approve of wholeheartedly.”

  Just as I was about to turn off the video, the interviewer asked if she had any plans to go back into music. “There’s been some interest,” Coy answered. “But if she were to go back, I would have to have total control over her career. There cannot be a repeat of what happened in Los Angeles. The strongest contender would be an East Coast label.”

  I felt vomit rise in my throat. The only East Coast label that could rival Graham was Jasper Carrington. I already knew what kind of crook he was thanks to Vanni’s experiences with him. I immediately texted him to let him know what was going on, but I knew that he was balls deep in the next season of Fierce. He had other priorities.

  I thought about texting Graham, but there was no way Coy would ever take any advice from him, despite Graham’s reputation to be honest and fair with his clientele.

  All Jasper could promise was a lot of muscle behind her name, but I suspected that could come at a cost.

  Maybe it was time for me to head east and visit Corey, to dig a little deeper through Iris’s connections.

  If Jace could hear my thoughts he would have called me a white knight with that teasing grin of his. Then he would gently remind me that it was not my job to fix the world. “In the end,” he’d say, “you can only fix Jordi.”

  But what if fixing things for Shelby and for Maya was exactly how to fix me?

  If I even knew who I was anymore. I fluctuated somewhere between Jordi, a rising superstar, and Jordana, an orphan who just realized that the only family she had left in the world was in such desperate need.

  I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do something.

  Without reading Griffin’s email, I closed my laptop and headed out to see Catastrophe Rising.

  The venue was small, in a seedier part of town. There was no sign to let me know I found the right place. The only indicator I had to go by were all the groupies milling around the front door, smoking their cigarettes, and other things, as they talked about the bands playing that night.

  Fortunately the gig was 18+, or else I would have never gotten past the bouncer, a fine gentleman that likely moonlighted as a Hell’s Angel. He stamped my hand to indicate I was underage before grunting that I should move along out of his way.

  I was only too happy to do so.

  The venue was essentially a dive bar. There was a dinky stage, an even more constricted dance floor and a bar that served the basics. I ordered a soft drink before slinking away to a dark table in the corner.

  More patrons entered the bar, and some even sat with me at my table. They didn’t bother introducing themselves, and frankly neither did I. I was invisible in the inky darkness just beyond the stage. I sipped my drink slowly as I waited for Diego’s band to play.

  They were second in the lineup, warming the crowd up for the headline act. None of the bands I knew, nor the music, but they were surprising well prepared for a live audience. I was even more impressed with Catastrophe Rising, whose anarchist lyrics and hard, driving guitar licks immediately got the fans on their feet, milling around the stage.

  All of the band members looked like Diego. They were heavy metal Goth with a chip on their collective shoulders. It was hard to distinguish one or the other, but quite honestly I didn’t even try. I was too focused on Diego, who communicated his particular brand of angst through the music, using his guitar to keep anyone who could hurt him safely at arm’s length.

  It reminded me of how I felt behind a microphone. There was a fearlessness to him, one of pure self-expression. He didn’t sing much, he didn’t really talk much. Instead, the guitar spoke for him. I watched his fingers move across the fret board in a blur during his solo. The girls all went crazy for him though he barely paid them any attention at all.

  He was a good looking kid, but more than that he was the sensitive bad boy hidde
n inside a hard rocking exterior. How strange it was staring into his face and seeing a popular, more talented, better looking version of myself in a whole other gender. Even stranger, he shared some of my mannerisms. Had I not known who he was, I likely would have been able to figure it out, just by watching him play.

  The only time he even realized that there was an audience in front of him was at the end, when they all took their bow. His eyes fell on my face, which caused his jaw to clench.

  I knew from the expression on his face that I was unwelcome there. So I slid easily from the bar stool and headed toward the door.

  I had taken precisely ten steps from the front door when Diego trotted out to meet me. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded as he wrenched me around.

  What could I say? “I heard you were in a band. I wanted to see you play.”

  “Why? You want to fix that, too?”

  Maybe. “I just wanted to see you play, Diego,” I said with a sigh. “I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

  “I’ll tell you what upsets me, Sis. That you think you can show up and use my mom to polish your tarnished image for the press.”

  My eyes flew wide. “Is that really what you think?”

  He shrugged. “Isn’t that what you famous people do? Didn’t that fruit Carnevale do the same damn thing after he nearly killed a hooker? You make all these stupid ass mistakes and expect to make up for it using us little people. Well, I’m not going to let you. If you really wanted to help, you would have found us long before now. But I guess we weren’t ‘TV ready’ enough for you.”

  “I didn’t know about you both until now,” I tried to explain.

  “Sure you didn’t.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He was determined to hate me. “I’m here now,” I told him. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “Yeah, you’ll do some good deeds. That’s the point. It’s all a little too convenient. But tell me, Jordana. What happens when you don’t need us for your press kit anymore? Where does that leave Mama then? I’ll tell you where. Sicker and poorer… and brokenhearted. She can’t survive another disappointment, lady. You were the one thing in her life she could feel good about. What do you think will happen when you take that away?”