Steam (Homecoming Hearts #4)(3)

“Are you guys going to get married?”

“What do you say to the rumors it’s actually Reyse Hickson’s?”

Trent snorted inwardly. His former bandmate fathering any babies would be news indeed. But it wasn’t true. Trent knew that for a fact.

“Will you petition for custody?”

“TJ? TJ!”

This was stupid. If he didn’t answer them, the truth would come out eventually, and the story would die out in a week. Because Trent would know for damn sure if he was the father of a baby. He’d never be that reckless. But it still grated that he couldn’t defend himself.

“Don’t you feel bad letting Elsie go through this all alone? Don’t you feel you should be responsible, TJ?”

Trent risked a quick glance up to identify one of his most loathed regular stalkers. Scraggly goatee, navy baseball cap and thick black glasses. Dez Starr, self-proclaimed seeker of truth and justice. He’d say about anything to get a rise out of a famous face, then sell the photos to the highest bidder. Trent definitely needed to keep his mouth shut.

“TJ, look this way!”

“Did you plan on knocking her up, TJ?”

“Is the baby an accident?”

“Will you fight Hicks in court if he claims the baby as his?”

“Are you a homewrecker, TJ?” Dez called out.

The coffeeshop was in sight. Trent was so tempted to give these guys the double finger once he got there. But he’d only have to face them once he came out again to walk home. His manager had all but threatened him with castration if he caused any more trouble before they officially signed the contract for Fixer 2.

So he’d be a good boy for once and just keep walking. He already had enough on his mind that night. Once his coffee had straightened out his hangover, he fully intended on washing away any remaining thoughts with a serious amount of whiskey.

But of course, Dez wasn’t going to let that happen.

“What would your mom say if she knew you’d knocked up a girl, TJ?” Dez asked. There was a nasty glint in his eyes. “Probably a good thing she’s dead. Otherwise, the shame might kill her all over again.”

Trent didn’t even hesitate. It was like he disconnected from his body. He had no power to stop the fist that came flying up and punched Dez Starr right between the eyes, snapping his glasses in two, knocking his hat off and sending him crashing to the ground.

The camera flashes became a wall of light as Trent blinked back to his senses. He couldn’t decipher a single question out of the dozens of voices now bellowing at him. He looked down at Dez who had plastered the perfect look of shock and horror onto his face.

“He hit me!” he cried, fumbling for his camera and his wayward baseball cap.

His voice sounded close to cracking as he pointed at Trent with a shaking hand. Then he scrambled backward, as if Trent was at risk of kicking him while he was still sprawled on the sidewalk. The other guys loved that. They were taking as many photos of Dez as they were Trent now. Trent, who was famous for portraying barbarians and hitmen and quarterbacks. And Dez, who looked like he’d weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.

Trent had messed up, big-time. He needed to get out of there right away. But before he could make his feet move, the blip of a police siren alerted them to a squad car pulling up to the curb.

No, no, this couldn’t be happening.

“Dez,” one of the paps cried. “Are you going to press charges?”

“Is your nose broken, Dez?”

“TJ, do you hit Elsie like that?”

“Do you like to hit women, TJ?”

“What would you mom say about that, TJ?”

Trent grit his teeth, forcing down the rage that threatened to spill out. If he didn’t behave, he would lose everything. That bastard had known what the date was and asked that question about his mom on purpose. Lashing out any further would only give him what he wanted.

So Trent just had to swallow it when the two cops got out of the car and the paps parted to let them through to cuff him. He closed his eyes as they read him his Miranda rights, cursing his stupidity.

How the fuck was he going to get out of this one?





2





Ashby





Ashby no longer knew what time zone he was in, other than he had apparently been awake for half of his life.

He groaned and tried to stretch his long legs in the confines of the premium economy seat and cursed his past self. Why did he always do this? There was nothing noble about opting out of first class. Yes, he was convinced it was a ridiculous amount of money to waste on a flight he was probably going to sleep through. But then whenever he was actually on that flight, he remembered he was more giraffe than human and ended up too miserable to sleep.

Still, at least this was the last leg of his journey. The real hardship had been traveling from London to Chicago. His layover at O’Hare had been mercifully short and now he just had to get through a couple more hours until they landed at Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

The name didn’t exactly inspire confidence. But Ashby pulled at his slender fingers and reminded himself that this wasn’t some luxury getaway. The whole point was to disappear from the world for a while, and he could hardly do that at a popular resort during the ski season, even if it was the tail end.

If he’d wanted hot guys and parties he would have taken himself off to Aspen or the Alps. He would probably have flown first class while he was at it. But the whole point of booking last minute was to slip away somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one would think to come looking for him.