Grown(14)

“Yo, where you going?” he asks.

Without the dizzy lights and music, I can hear the slur in his voice and smell the whiskey on his tongue.

“Just leave me alone,” I hiss, slapping his grabby hands away.

“Chill, Chant! Why are you being like that?”

The elevator dings on my floor.

“Night, Creighton,” I say hard while exiting.

He stumbles behind me.

“Yo, stop following me!”

“I’m not, but I mean, can we talk?”

“Go back to the party! We’ll ‘talk’ later or whatever.”

I take another step, he does too.

“Boy, I’m not playing with you! Leave me alone!”

“But . . . can . . . can we just talk?”

I sprint down the hall, hoping he’s drunk enough to lose him, and step inside my room. But he pushes himself in, slamming the door behind him.

“Yo, stop playing with me!” he barks. “I said I wanna talk!”

In that moment, my heart hits the panic button. I’m alone with this drunk asshole. Did anyone see us leave the party? Does anyone even know we’re up here? What if Shea comes looking for me?

He looks at the bed then back at me. My blood stiffens.

“Creighton . . .” I quiver. “Don’t.”

He tries to curl around me, kissing my neck.

“I ain’t trying to do nothing. I just wanna talk.”

Standing bone straight, I make my voice like steel as something unfurls inside me. I won’t let this asshole attack me. I won’t let my little sister see this.

“If you don’t get the fuck out of here, I will scream.”

Creighton’s head jerks back, his eyes widening.

“No. No, don’t scream!”

“Then GET OUT!”

Realization coats his face. He reels back, biting his fist.

“Shit. Shitshitshitshit. Are you . . . um, gonna tell?”

“OUT!”

Creighton mumbles more apologies before leaving. I check the peephole, watch him walk away, and take my first real breath.

“Shit,” I exhale.

All the fear I should have felt comes flooding into the room in a current too fast for me to handle. I swim to my phone. It’s late. Gab is probably with Jay and won’t answer. Shea is downstairs and I don’t want to ruin her first party, plus Mom would drive all the way here to grab us then light the building on fire.

So I call him.

“Bright Eyes,” Korey sings. “I was just thinking about you.”

“You were? Really?”

“Hey, what’s wrong with your voice?”

“Nothing.”

“Are . . . are you crying?”

“No, I . . .”

“Don’t lie to me.”

I sniffle then laugh. “It’s stupid. Kid stuff.”

“Nothing you tell me is stupid. Where are you?”

“In Jersey City. At a Marriott.”

“I’m at the W Hotel. I’m sending Tony to come pick you up. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Why?”

“You know, I got to keep my location on the low. Remember, baby, I’m not your average dude.”





Chapter 16


What’s Your Emergency?


NOW





Dispatch: 9-1-1, what’s your emergency?

Caller X: Hello? Yes, I think someone is screaming next door.

Dispatch: You hear screaming?

Caller X: I was in the hallway when I heard it. A man screaming. But not normal screams, like . . . screaming for his life.

Dispatch: OK. Sir, are you able to provide a location for first responders?

Caller X: I knocked on the door. No one answered.

Dispatch: Sir, I need to you step away from the door.

Caller X: I share a floor with Korey Fields. The singer. It sounded like him!

Caller X: Sir, I need an address to send first responders.





Chapter 17


Save Me


THEN



I shouldn’t have listened to him. I shouldn’t have been so eager to sneak out the back of the hotel into a Suburban, with the same security guard I saw with him the night we met. I should have at least changed out of my party dress. Mind on autopilot, body numb.

Until I reach room 1015.

Korey snatches the door back as if he has been waiting near it since our call. His face softens as he pulls me in.

“Damn. Are you OK?”

He yokes me into a hug. Not just any hug, the type of hug that feels like metal and magnets slamming together, desperate for each other.

“What are you doing in Jersey?” It’s the only thing I can think to ask.

“You’re in shock,” he says, leading me to the sofa. “Come. Sit. Drink this.”

He eases a glass of clear liquid into my hand that doesn’t smell a thing like water. I don’t resist, even though I know I shouldn’t be drinking. But there are lots of things I shouldn’t be doing right now.

I take a sip, then another.

“Thanks,” I mumble, glancing around.

His suite is massive. A giant, plush cream living room with a balcony facing the New York skyline across the Hudson River.