Singleton

My phone clatters to the table. I can’t look at that video again. It’s not that I don’t want to see myself, although I do come off like a petulant little bitch in it when I demand my guitar back. I’ve had more embarrassing moments. No, with all the yelling, the kid crying, the cops barking orders, all I can see is the look on Kinley’s face.

Her expression struggles to be blank, but it falters when she looks in my direction, and the betrayal reflected in that split second of a glance tears my heart out. She’s been so kind to me. I had a great time with her today and while the kiss probably wasn’t the best idea, it was the best of my life.

I felt something. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about her, about the way we are together that just works and I know how rare that is. And none of it matters because my current situation is so precarious. I should stay away from her. I know I should. At least until the next few months pass, and even then, how could I ever explain? She’d just feel betrayed and lied to all over again, and with good reason.

Fucking Sully. He put that doubt in my head when I called him to tell him I was about to raise hell over my missing guitar. As soon as he heard where I was, he told me it was probably a plan. Get me away from Foxhaven for a day so someone could steal some random items. It wouldn’t be the first time a celebrity’s underwear showed up on Ebay.

It’s my stupid fault for believing he could be right. If I had given it any thought at all instead of giving in to my panic over losing the most important thing in my life—my guitar—I would’ve known better. Kinley is so worried about being professional, about maintaining and building the reputation of Foxhaven that even if she were aware of such a scheme, she’d never allow it. She sure as hell didn’t want to end up plastered all over the tabloids and gossip sites again.

Her cold, distant attitude toward me when I tried to apologize was justified. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try again. She deserves an apology, and I can’t stand the strange, hollow feeling that’s settled in my chest since she walked away from me in the hallway. It could be guilt or regret, or just shame, because right now, I feel all three.

Maybe I should take Sully up on his offer to change hotels, but being around Kinley has been the only bright spot in the last few weeks, and I don’t want to give it up. As if he hears me thinking of him, my phone rings with a call from Sully.

I don’t give him a chance to speak before I do. “I don’t want to hear your shit, Sully, because this wasn’t my fault. That little bitch broke into my room. And Kinley had nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard. You got your stuff back, right?” he says, as if I’m beating a dead horse still talking about it. It happened a whole hour ago.

“Yes.”

“Good, so it’s not a problem. What is a problem are these pictures of you and little miss perky tits all over each other.”

“Don’t fucking call her that. Her name is Kinley.”

I can’t tell if he sighs or blows into the phone. “I don’t give a blind fuck about her name. Do you think fans want to see you making goo goo eyes at some nobody on the beach? Riding around on a jet ski? Christ, should I expect pictures of you sharing a milkshake with two straws next?”

Anger heats my face. “I didn’t leave Foxhaven. We stayed on the property. It shouldn’t matter what I do.”

“It does. You know it does. And you know about the rider in your contract. You’re Marcus Singleton, for fuck’s sake. You get trashed, party every night, and fuck supermodels. You have a damned reputation to uphold. A brand to uphold. If you want to fuck the hotel owner, have at it, but no more high school dates with this chick, you understand?”

“Yes,” I reply through gritted teeth. “I got it.”

He pauses for a second, and I can picture the oily smile he always gets when he has an idea. “Maybe I’m looking at this wrong. Alicia Leath is going to lose her shit.”

“You know that’s all fake! And she knows what’s up.”

“Sure, but it makes her look stupid, like she’s staying with a cheater. This may work in our favor after all, add some drama to get people talking.” He’s talking more to himself as he considers his options when he murmurs, “If we shove Alicia in the hotel owner’s path, maybe we could get a catfight for the cameras. Women fighting over you? It doesn’t get much better than that.”

Rage tightens my chest, and the words that spill out of me next are purely impulsive, but I mean every syllable. “No. You leave her out of this. If you get Kinley hurt in any way with your bullshit, I’ll expose everything. I’ll go to every media source who will listen. Then I’ll beat the shit out of you. Just fucking try me, Sully.”

Judging by the silence on the other end of the phone, my outburst must take him by surprise, which makes sense since I generally do what he tells me. Finally, he laughs. “Relax, I was just joking. Look, I’ll even put some security on her for the next few weeks to make sure the paparazzi can’t get too close, okay? Just chill the fuck out.” When I don’t reply, he takes the opportunity to change the subject. “And don’t press charges on the Day girls. They deserve it, but it’ll look like a dick move to the public. They’re out of your way now.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He hangs up on me, and I stand there with my phone in my hand for a few seconds, resisting the urge to throw it. Finally, I set it down and head for the bedroom. Stripping down to underwear, I fall into bed, still speckled with sand and smelling like the lake. The housekeeper isn’t going to like me tomorrow.

She can join the crowd.

I’m up early, but coming to the studio today was pointless since I’ve gotten no work done. In this mood it just isn’t going to happen. Part of the problem is that I tossed and turned all night, so I’m tired and grouchy, but my lack of progress today is mainly because I can’t stop thinking about Kinley and how pissed she is. I need to apologize to her. Even if she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I need her to understand why I suspected her, and why I was so crazy over the theft in the first place.

Screw it. I’m going back to Foxhaven.

As usual, a crowd of paparazzi and fans crowd around the gates, and I do my best to ignore their shouts as we slowly make our way through them. Some are Zya Day fans, cursing me over the video, and a few seem to be pissed I’m cheating on Alicia, but it’s mostly the same old “I want to fuck you.” routine.

Kinley isn’t anywhere to be seen in the lobby, so I head to her office. I’ve never been in there before, but I know where it is. Her office door stands open, and she’s typing on her laptop when I step inside.

Her eyebrows jump up, and I watch as she slams those walls into place in the form of a forced, fake smile. “Mr. Singleton. Is there a problem?”

“Yes, I’m an idiot.”

She blinks a few times, then goes back to her computer. “If you’re waiting for me to argue, it’s going to be a long day, and I have an appointment. Clark and Harriet are both on duty if you require something.”

She doesn’t look up when I walk closer to her desk. “What I require is a chance to talk to you. To explain.”

“There’s no explanation needed, Mr. Singleton. You were the victim of a crime, and it’s been handled.”

My hand runs through my hair as I try to tamp down my frustration. “Will you stop with the customer service shit? I’m trying to talk to you. I want to apologize and explain why—”

A tap on the door makes us both look up. Tessa, the front desk clerk, gives a sheepish smile. “I apologize for the intrusion, but your four o’clock is here to interview for the assistant manager position.”

“Send her in, Tess, thanks.”

Kinley gets to her feet and finally looks at me, but it’s blank. “As you can see, I’m busy. There’s no need for us to talk anyway.”

“There is. Just let me explain and I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

A tall woman in a blue business suit approaches, and Kinley sighs, “Fine. I’ll meet you in the hotel bar at eight. Now, if you don’t mind.”

Relief rushes through me. God knows why I care so much about this woman hating me, but I do. “See you tonight.”

I make my exit before she can change her mind.

Kinley isn’t in the bar when I get there, but I’m a few minutes early. Luckily, there aren’t many people who want to drink on a Thursday night, and the place is nearly empty. I take a seat at a table tucked into the corner, as private as I’m going to get in this place. At least I don’t have to worry about people taking pictures or asking for autographs here.

Kinley hesitates in the doorway, looking around until she spots me. I hate the look on her face. It’s full of resignation and shadowed with dread, like she’s preparing herself to take some nasty medicine. A far cry from how she smiled and laughed for me before.

When the waitress notices the owner and who she’s meeting, she rushes over to take our order before Kinley is even seated.

Once she walks away, Kinley sighs. “I’m here, Mr. Singleton, now what is so important?”

I hold up a finger. “First, it’s Holt, and I just want to talk for a few minutes, okay? I don’t want you to think…” I hesitate for a moment, trying to choose my words. “I never should’ve accused you of having anything to do with the break in. I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“Now, you know it.”

The waitress drops off our drinks, and I take a swallow. “I shouldn’t have listened to Sully. He was my first call and he told me it was a typical scam, and I just…didn’t think about it. All I could think about was Samilla.”

Her forehead creases. “Who is Samilla?”

“My guitar.”

“You named your guitar?”

“All musicians do.”

She takes a drink. “So, because you were upset over your missing guitar, I shouldn’t take it personal that you suspected me of spending time with you just so I could lure you away from your room.”

I drain my drink. “When you say it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

“Okay, say it so it doesn’t sound ridiculous. You’re filthy rich. Would the guitar have been that hard to replace?”

“It can’t be replaced. My mother gave it to me before she died.”

Kinley blinks and sits back, signaling for two more drinks from the waitress. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know your mother had passed.”

“It’s not something I like to talk about. She died just before my sixteenth birthday.” The waitress delivers our drinks, and I pause to take a swallow of mine.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“Yeah, I do. I want you to understand. Because I know you think I’m some spoiled asshole who turned on you the second something went wrong. And that’s not it. So just listen, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I grew up poor. My mother tried hard when I was little, worked two jobs to make sure I had food and shelter, but by the time I was nine, she was a raging alcoholic. She jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend, mostly other drunks like her, and we lived with whoever would let us at the time. The alcohol took over. It was all that mattered, and I’m sure most of the time she forgot I existed.”

She draws her lip between her teeth, and I shake my head. “Don’t pity me. That’s not what this is about. I just want you to understand why Samilla is special to me.”

“It’s not pity, Holt, but I’m sorry to hear you went through that.” At least we’re back to Holt and not Mr. Singleton.

“I learned not to ask for anything and I started working here and there to earn my own money when I was fourteen. I couldn’t hold a job long because we’d always move again, and saving money was impossible because she took whatever I couldn’t hide well enough. And a bank account would need her signature and she’d have access, so I couldn’t do that because she’d just take out whatever I put in.”

Kinley looks like she might cry, and that was not my intention. I’m not trying to appear pathetic enough that she’ll spend time with me.

“Anyway, when I was fifteen, she got beat up by a guy she was seeing, and we ended up in a homeless shelter. They found us a motel that would take us at a discount, got her signed up for welfare payments to cover the cost of the room, and then got her into an outpatient rehab program.”

“For a while, she was better. She spent her days in the grubby motel watching T.V. or lying by the tiny pool while I went to school. I found a job at a fast food place and things were starting to look up. In the evenings, we’d talk about how she was going to find a job and we’d get back into our own place. And she did find a job as a clerk at a video store. It didn’t pay much, but between the two of us, we kept our heads above water.”

“There was this pawn shop across the street from the motel and we’d go browse there sometimes. They had a guitar on display, and I wanted it like I’ve never wanted anything in my life, before or since. The guy would always let me play it in the store, and I’d get a small crowd of people encouraging me, but I couldn’t afford it, so it’d always go back on the shelf.”

“We were struggling to save to move, or that’s what I thought until I came home from school to find her drunk and passed out on the tiny sofa in our room.”

The story has been pouring out of me, and Kinley’s soft exclamation of “Oh, no.” jerks me back to reality.

“Yeah, things started going back downhill again. She lost her job, and I was so mad, I wouldn’t even speak to her. Weeks went by, and I never said a word. I went to school, went to work, and went to the pawn shop to play the guitar. My sixteenth birthday was approaching, and I didn’t hide the fact I was going to file for emancipation. I was taking care of myself, and she was only holding me back.”

A knot forms in my throat, and I stop for a minute to take a drink. I’ve never told this story to anyone. It was so long ago, I thought I was over it, but apparently, it can still hurt me.

Kinley reaches over the table and takes my hand. “You don’t have to tell me anymore, Holt. It’s okay.”

“I think…I need to tell someone,” I murmur.

She squeezes my hand and nods, waiting for me to continue. “A few days before I turned sixteen, I came home to find the guitar I wanted more than anything in the world lying on my bed. At first, Kinley, I swear, I thought she stole it. But a receipt lay on the table next to a birthday card.”

My heart races at the next part I have to tell. It still haunts my nightmares. “I was so happy. And definitely ready to forgive her. My naïve mind thought we could try again, she could go back to rehab, whatever, but she had other plans. Inside the card was more than happy birthday wishes. She left me a letter. It was short, but it included information that shocked the hell out of me. She always claimed she didn’t know who my father was, but in the letter was his name and address. It was a goodbye letter. She said she was done. She wasn’t coming back, and I should go to my father’s house.”

“She left you?” Kinley says, an edge of anger to her voice.

“She killed herself. Jumped off an interstate bridge into the path of a car.”

A tear spills down her cheek as she says, “Jesus, Holt, I’m sorry.”

“I waited three days in the motel before I realized she really wasn’t coming back and did as she asked. My father is a good guy, he just never knew about me, and I found out I had a brother. Dad filed a missing person report and that’s how we found out about the Jane Doe in the local morgue.”

My voice cracks, and I rub my palms over my face. “I’m getting off the subject. What I was trying to say is that Samilla is the last thing my mother gave me. Her last thought was to give me something that would make me happy before she died. So, yeah, it’s irreplaceable. And I panicked when it was taken and lashed out at you when you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry.”

Kinley squeezes my hand again. “It’s okay, really. I understand, and I forgive you.”

I have that strange disconnected feeling you sometimes get when you’ve been reading or playing a video game, so immersed in another world that the one around you temporarily seems foreign. The bar has filled up a bit while I was talking.

“Shit. I really didn’t mean to tell you all that. I just wanted you to know why Samilla is important, and not something money can replace.”

“I’m glad you told me,” she says. “Was Samilla your mother’s name?”

“No.” I grin at her. “It was the name of the pawn shop where she got it, where I went to play every day.”

She smiles at me, a real one this time, that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. “From playing in a pawn shop for a few people to stadiums in front of thousands. Your mother would be very proud of you.”

She’s tearing my heart out and she doesn’t realize it. This is wrong. So, so wrong.

Clark interrupts us, and the look on his face makes it clear he isn’t thrilled she’s with me. Fair enough, I wouldn’t like me either if I were in his place. “There’s some kind of mix up of reservations, Kinley, and Tessa needs help.”

“I’m on my way,” she tells him, and he nods, walking away.

I give her a smile when she turns to me. “Go do your thing. We’re good, right?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” She gets to her feet and hesitates for a moment, like there’s something else she needs to say. Finally, she adds, “Good night, Holt.”

“Good night, Kinley.”

As soon as she leaves, I head back to my room. I don’t know where my head is at right now. I only planned to tell her the guitar was a present from my mother, not my damned life story. What is wrong with me?