Apollo hasn’t said a word since I finished my story. Well, she did say “Don’t,” when I tried to hold her hands as we got off the plane. When we got in the car after we landed at Teterboro, she pulled her phone out. She sent a few texts, then put it away. She didn’t even look at me. Her face is toward the window.

“Apollo, please. Say something. Anything,” I say, my nerves on edge. I’ve got two disasters on my hands, and one of them is sitting less than ten feet from me killing. I can’t take the silence.

She turns her head slowly. Her eyes are so flat that I flinch. “I need to use the bathroom.” She turns to face the driver and in a much warmer tone, says, “Can we stop at the McDonald’s, please?” she asks.

“We’re so close to your house.” That’s the last thing I expected her to say. We’ve just exited the West Side Highway at 125th Street. Her apartment is only eight blocks away.

“I can’t hold it,” she says blankly and then turns back to the window. He pulls into the McDonald’s on our right, and she starts to open the door. “Apollo, talk to me,” I ask her with as much control as I can muster.

“Later. I promise,” she says, and for the first time since we left Florida, she looks me in the eye.

I pull out my phone and send Amber a text to tell her we’re here. I text Dean and ask him to call me. I scroll through some emails from Darren.

Five minutes go by, and I look up at the driver.

“Hey, she hasn’t come out, has she?” I ask him.

“Nope,” he says, but his eyes are on his phone, and I know he has no clue what he’s talking about.

I climb out and walk over to the McDonald’s. Just as I reach for the handle of the door, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s with a terrible foreboding that I pull it out my pocket and open the text from Apollo.

“I’m going to find her. I’m going to kill her.”

“Then, I’m going to kill you. Dead.”

My stomach churns. She’d listened intently as I told her all of the sordid details. When I told her why I’d really gone to LA, she had looked at her lap and hadn’t looked at me again. I knew she was angry. I just wasn’t sure which of my offenses she had considered the most egregious.

My phone rings again. This time, Dean’s name pops up, and I answer immediately.

“Man, you have got to stop keeping secrets from me. This shit is very, very bad.” Dean is the most unflappable man I’ve ever met. The only time he looks like his blood isn’t actually ice water is when he’s talking to or about his wife. He sounds shaken, and that makes my stomach churn.

“You’re my agent. Why would I tell you what my old job used to be?” I say defensively.

“I’m not just your agent,” he chides. “I’m your fucking fixer. You have got to trust me, or I can’t work with you. In every single aspect of your career, you pay me to negotiate, pitch, and act for you. How can I do that when I only know what you want to tell me? If I had known about this, I would have pushed back on the morality clauses in your fucking contracts.”

“I didn’t think she would be crazy enough to do this. I was paying her every month to keep her quiet.” I cover my face with my elbow and lean back in the cab.

“It isn’t your fucking job to calculate risks like that. It’s why you pay me a retainer and percentage. I make those decisions. Your life isn’t your own. You are a brand. If you didn’t understand that before, you’re about to understand it intimately.”

My stomach drops. What the fuck is happening? I groan but can’t think of a thing to say in my defense.

“It’s too fucking bad that you didn’t realize that fucking Voltic didn’t pay you a hundred million dollars because they liked your smile. They liked your brand. Loves his mama, loves his ladies. A bad boy with the charms of a Southern gentleman. That is what they’re paying for. They will not pay if your entire existence doesn’t align with that brand. And, I hate to break it to you, but not even the loosest definitions of ladies’ man include fucking half of the married women in Hollywood for five grand a pop.”

“I know.” I flinch. I can hear the hurt in his voice and I’d rather he was angry. I hate knowing that I’ve disappointed him. His esteem will be a bitter loss. But, it’s nothing compared to what it will mean if I can’t make things right with Apollo.

“Graham, why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you. You’ve got so much potential. You’re squandering it.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my potential. I give a fuck that my woman is going to see that and know that I’m not the man she thinks I am.”

“Oh, she knows who you are already. Do you think that doing what you did so that you could take care of your mother makes you a bad person? There are people all over the world who are trading sex for money so that their kids can go to school. Those strippers in those clubs you and your friends used to visit, do you think they’re doing that because they like it? I fucking get it. For the people we love, we would do anything. But, you don’t keep people who you care about in the dark because you’re more worried about looking bad than you are about violating their trust.”

I’m stunned listening to him bat away the fact that I slept with women for money like it’s a bothersome fly.

“We need to bring Jenn in on this, and we need to meet right away. Where are you?”

“Going to Apollo’s place.”

“No, you’re not. We still have a couple of offices in our old suite in midtown. Go there. I’ll call ahead so they’ll let you up.”

“I need to talk to Apollo.”

“No, you need to talk to me. Believe me, if you don’t get out in front of this now, it won’t matter if Apollo forgives you or not. Prostitution is illegal. I want to check statutes of limitations. I want to make sure there aren’t any charges being filed and warrants being issued.”

My blood runs cold.

“Oh, fuck,” I say under my breath.

“Exactly,” he snaps. “Now, turn off your phone. Come to my office and call me from the desk in suite 1502. My cell is on the second speed dial button,” he says.

“Excuse me, can we go to 300 Madison Avenue, please?”

“Sure thing.” The cab driver hits the meter to start it over and books a U-turn on Forty-Second Street without missing a beat.

I can hear papers rustling on Dean’s end of the phone. “Don’t talk to anyone. Especially not Nanette.” And then he hangs up.

I stare at it and then remember Dean’s words. I text a quick, “I’ll call soon. Please don’t do anything,” to Apollo and then power my phone down.

We pull up to Dean’s office. As I approach the rotating doors, a security guard unlocks it, and it starts to swing.

As soon as I step into the lobby, he starts walking toward the bank of elevators. “Mr. O just called, said to get you upstairs without delay. The elevator’s waiting. It’ll take you the fifteenth floor. Their suite is unlocked.” I step into the elevator and once again, marvel at Dean’s well-oiled operation. He has the most efficient and discreet team in this business. This whole debacle wouldn’t have happened if I’d just told him and Apollo from the beginning, but I thought they’d be disgusted. Not want to work with me. Touch me. And, I wanted to forget it. Telling them, I’d thought, had meant giving it life. But, it was already there, and my fear and silence have fed it and turned it into a monster that I can’t destroy without destroying myself.

Anxiety sends my stomach into a series of flips that threaten to send the paltry contents of my stomach up. I step into the suite, turn the light on, and call Dean.

“The show doesn’t want you back for the special, and they’re not airing the two recorded seasons. You can keep your signing bonus, but they’re done,” he says as soon as he answers.

My knees buckle, and I sit back in the chair.

“Are you fucking serious?” I ask and put my face in my hands.

“Yes. And this is just the beginning. It’s going to get rough, kid. It’ll be worse, but it will get better. And you’re not going to jail. The statute of limitations for—”

“It’s okay, Dean. For prostitution. And I already know this,” I say wearily.

“Yeah, it’s one year. You’re good. She’s not. What a bitch. I found out they paid two and half million for that interview.”

I whistle low. “Two and half million? Damn.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve spent the last two years making you one of the most sought-after celebrities in the world. News like that? They’ll pay for it.”

“I just don’t know how she got wind of this.”

“I’m trying to catch the last Acela from Union Station. We’ll work while I ride up. And I’ll get Cristal to book you a hotel. Any questions before I add Jenn?”

“No,” I say and try to take comfort that this man is working for me.

“You need to not worry about being embarrassed. She and I both signed nondisclosures. You just need to tell us anything else she or anyone else might have to add to what she’s already said. And then we’ll strategize.” I hear a car door slam and the beeps of a car coming to life.

“Okay. And Dean … Thanks.”

“You’re a good man. I know it, and so does everyone else who knows you. I know this sucks. But that’s why you’ve got me. Hold on, adding her now.”

Thirty minutes into our call, Dean asks us to hold. It’s the first break in the conversation I’ve had since this started.

I run a hand through my hair and wish I could pull it out strand by strand. Who cares about my fucking endorsement deals? Why the fuck am I here when my woman is out there somewhere looking for me? I didn’t get her back just to lose her because I’m worried about contracts. I’m not a brand. I’m a man, and right now I want to check on the people I love. My woman. My fucking friends.

I’m done with this.

“Hey, Amanda … You guys go wi—”

“You and your crazy girlfriend are going to owe me a vacation in Bora Bora by the time this week is over.” Dean reconnects to the call with a bone-weary sigh.

“Apollo?” Alarms burst in my chest like a grenade and I shoot to my feet. I hit the power button on my phone. “What do you mean?”

“She’s been arrested,” he deadpans.

The world stops.

“Be serious,” I say. There is no way that’s right.

“Do you think I would make a joke right now? She’s at the ninth precinct. She was arrested for malicious destruction of property and third-degree assault.”

My knees buckle. I fall back into my chair. This can’t be happening.

“She just got back to New York City. How the hell was she arrested for that in the last hour?” I ask dazedly.

“Well, apparently it’s all on video. She and another woman went to Nanette’s hotel. With a fucking baseball bat,” he says.

My stomach plummets to my toes and then shoots back up, and I bend at the waist, my head between my knees.

Amanda gasps. “Oh, dear Lord, what happened?”

“Well, Apollo smashed a table or ten chasing Nanette all over the hotel’s restaurant. The friend broke Nanette’s nose. With her fist.”

Amanda gasps again. I can’t seem to catch my breath.

Dean rolls right on. “I don’t know how they knew where she was. But those charges are serious. They all carry minimum sentences that include jail time. I’ve sent a criminal lawyer over. He’s one of the best. I’ll make sure he sends you the bill.”

“Over where?”

“Huh?”

“You said you sent a lawyer over there. Where?” I demand, my impatience peaking.

“They’re at the ninth precinct. Being booked. Graham, I know you’re going to want to go there. I advise you very strongly not to. The lawyer will see them through arraignment and booking. They’ll get bail. You should just sit tight until she’s out. If you go there now, it will turn into a media circus. Your usual baseball cap and casual clothes disguise won’t be enough. People will be looking for you. Please. Just trust me to handle this and get Apollo out as quickly and safely as possible.”

“Noted.” I stand up and look at my phone while I stand and wait for the elevator.

My notifications are going crazy. I ignore all of them and call home.

By the time I get out of the elevator, I’ve pulled my hair up and tucked into my jacket. I book it to the Duane Reed on Madison Avenue at Forty-Second and grab what I need off the shelves and duck into their bathroom.

When I’m done, I stop to pay for the things I bought and dump the shopping bags full of my hair into the trash.

When I step out into the street, no one spares me a second glance. I hail a cab and give it the precinct’s East Village address and start reading my texts.

I open the texts from the unknown number next.

“This is Lucas. Apollo has gone crazy. She’s trying to kill Nanette.”

His next text is less than five minutes later.

“Apollo is being handcuffed. Hope you’re happy.”

I shake my head. “Jesus.”

I’m about to open Dave’s text when Omar calls.

“Hey.”

“Yooooooooo,” he says with a very amused chuckle.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit. So, if you’re calling to laugh at me, just fuck off.”

“I get why you’re in a bad mood. Your shit just blew up. But, I gotta laugh. You got paid to fuck all of those hot bitches you were training. Damn, man, teach me your ways, Yoda.”

I can’t believe this fucker.

“Omar, believe me when I tell you that you don’t want to have to do what I did. And right now, you’re wasting my time. I’m trying to get to Apollo.”

“Well, good luck with that since she’s locked up. I just watched the video and damnnnn—”

“You have the video? Send it to me!”

“You haven’t seen it? Your woman is like a fucking assassin. And her friend, who’s that? She’s even crazier than Apollo. You think you can hook—”

“Omar will you please shut the fuck up and send me the video?”

“Shit, sorry, my bad. I’m sending it now. Good luck with shit. I’m out of town, but I’m heading back in the morning. I’ll hit you up.”

“Yup, thanks. Bye.”

I stare at my phone, and after the longest thirty seconds of my life, Omar’s text with the video attached shows up.

My finger is shaking as I press play. It starts with a blur of movement that I can’t quite make out and a lot of background noise. Then suddenly, the camera is pointed at a table in the center of the restaurant, and the background makes it hard to hear, but I can see very clearly. The shot catches them in profile. Apollo is standing across from a seated Nanette and Lucas. What the hell is he doing with Nanette?

Her friend Reena is standing to her right. Dressed in—of all things—a baseball uniform. And she’s holding a baseball bat. Apollo is wearing the dress she had on when I last saw her. Her shoes are dangling from the fingers of her left hand. I can hear her raised voice but can’t make out what she’s saying. Her hands are waving around her wildly as she yells at Nanette. One of her shoes goes flying off to the left.

The cameraman’s, “Oh, shit!” is gleeful.

Dean’s call interrupts the video, and I send it to voice mail and resume watching.

Apollo turns to Reena to say something and then holds out her hand. Reena hands her the bat without hesitation. Lucas stands up and backs away from the table. Nanette leans closer to Apollo, and from the expression of cool disdain on her face, I can tell that she’s being snide and vengeful.

Apollo raises the bat, and without pausing, brings it down hard and fast onto the table. The glass under the white tablecloth shatters and Nanette’s face freezes before her eyes widen with terror. She starts to scream so loud that I can hear it over the screams of the rest of the patrons.

This time, the cameraman’s “Oh. shit!” is full of alarm and is muffled by the rest of the noise. Apollo raises her bat, and Nanette jumps up out of her chair a few seconds before Apollo’s bat lands in the spot where she’d been sitting. Nanette turns to run, and Apollo jumps over the pile of glass like an Olympic hurdler, the bat raised in the air like it’s a sword.

I am struck dumb.

Nanette moves from table to table, hiding behind the innocent diners whose tables are immediately obliterated by Apollo’s indiscriminate vengeance.

This goes on for another thirty seconds before someone wearing a waitstaff uniform tackles Apollo from the side, sending her bat flying and both of them to the ground.

“Oh my God,” the cameraman says, and he lingers on Apollo and her assailant. She’s fighting like she’s possessed and he’s straining to stay on top of her. I feel sick as I watch him try to trap her in a bear hug. Watching her, I’m reminded of the way she’d been fighting the water when I’d found her. She looks just as desperate. Except now, she’s crying angry tears. Her eyes are trained on Nanette, and her free hand reaches for the bat.

Reena runs to Apollo’s side and squats down beside her. She’s petting her shoulder soothingly, but Apollo won’t be consoled.

Nanette starts toward Apollo, her hands clutching either side of her waist; her gait is more of a hobble than a prowl. Her face is full of smug contempt as she kicks the bat farther away from Apollo’s reach.

In a burst of speed that in any other circumstance, I would have found impressive, Reena launches herself at Nanette. The camera pans over to them just long enough for me to see her straddling Nanette.

“The fucking police are here, thank God,” the cameraman says.

The camera moves so it’s facing the dark hardwood floor. “That was like a fucking movie. I’m putting this shit on Facebook.” The camera’s view changes and I catch a glimpse of his pale, stubbled double chin before the recording ends.

I watch it one more time before we get to the precinct. The second time, it’s even more surreal to see Apollo running around barefoot in a restaurant waving her bat like she’s the reincarnation of Atilla the Hun.

The outside of the precinct looks fairly calm, and no one gives me a sideways glance as I walk in. I wait for the desk officer to finish his call and look around wide-eyed. It’s like a hive of misery. People yell at each other over the tops of cubicles. The seating area is full of haggard, tired men and women. By the time he hangs up, I’m imagining the worst.

“Can I help you?” I turn to face the man the brusque voice belongs to. His badge identifies him as F. Campbell.

“Hi, I’m trying to find someone. She was brought here after her arrest.”

“Name?”

“Apollo.”

He looks up at me over the rim of his reading glasses. “Full name?”

“Apollo Havaa Locklear.”

“Do you have her arrest number?”

“No, but I think her lawyer might already be here.”

“Hold on.” He types something and then spins the scrolling wheel on his mouse while he peers at his screen.

“Ah. Yeah, here. I found her. She’s still here,” he harrumphs and shakes his head and pulls his glasses off and grins up at me.

“You the boyfriend?” he asks.

“Whose boyfriend?” I ask, confused by his sudden amusement.

“Apollo Locklear?” He looks at me like he thinks I’m a dumbass.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. I am.”

I hope.

“Why?”

“Because her lawyer got her a Desk Appearance Ticket about thirty minutes ago. And then she told the desk sergeant that if she got out of here, she’d just be back again because she was going to go back and finish trying to kill that woman and … how did she say it?” He snaps his fingers and stares at the ceiling for a second. Then he looks over his shoulder and calls, “Hey Ochao, what did the girl we brought in call her boyfriend?”

A man with a bald head and thin mustache stood up from behind a cubicle and said, “She called him a lying, shit for brains motherfucker of a boyfriend.”

And they both burst out laughing. I stand there, feeling the blood drain from my face, and wondering how these men could find anything to laugh about.

“Sorry to interrupt your fun, but could you actually help me here?” I ask when they both continue laughing.

“Oh, sorry. Man, it was funny as hell because she’s little and cute, but they said she’d chased someone down in a restaurant with a baseball bat. Took two of us to get her in cuffs.” He wipes his eyes.

“They put her in a cell?” I ask in horror. “With other prisoners?” I imagine Apollo in a cell with a bunch of violent offenders.

“Nah, she’s down by herself. Her lawyer asked us to let her cool down. She’s got a couple of hours before we take everyone who’s being held to central booking.”

The officer named Ochao stands up and says, “Yeah, so you’ve still got time to get out of the city before she’s free.”

Campbell burst out laughing so hard that he has to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

“Okay,” I say, ignoring his laughter. “Can I see her?”

“You wanna die?” He chuckles, and it’s the end of my patience. I put both hands on his desk and lean forward.

“Listen, I get this shit is funny to you. But that woman is my whole life. The entirety of it. And I need to see her,” I teeth out, barely holding to my control. The last thing I need is to get arrested, too.

His laughter subsides, even though he’s still smiling as he picks up the phone.

“Campbell here. Send arrestee M17628 up to conference room four. Her pussy whipped boyfriend’s up here about to cry.”

I groan under my breath, but I don’t even care what he says, as long as he sends her to me.

He hangs up and looks up at me and grins. “Just busting your balls, son. Head down that hallway and let them know you’ve visiting someone in holding. Show your ID and give her name and they’ll take you down. And if you don’t make it, I call dibs on that watch.” He tries to stifle his laughter for all of half a second before he beats his palm on the desk and laughs at his joke.

I walk away, his laughter ringing in my ear. I’ve never been more scared in my entire life as I step into the room and wait for Apollo to be brought in.