"Perhaps you should lie down," Kent told me.

With any other guy, I would have suspected him of ulterior motives, but with Kent I could completely believe that he just wanted me to feel better. Wanly I nodded, and he got up and helped me lie down in his bed. Without even asking me he left the room, then came back a moment later carrying a gla.s.s of water. He put it on the bedside table within easy reach, then circled the bed.

The mattress dipped with his weight as he crawled into the bed with me. I would have enjoyed it if I hadn't just talked to my s.h.i.tbag ex-boyfriend. Right now I just wanted to close my eyes and get over the nauseated feeling in my stomach.

But Kent didn't make a move. To my surprise, he just slid in next to me. I was lying on my side and he slotted his body into mine, spooning me. There was no expectation in his movements, only comfort and familiarity, though I have to admit that even the stomach upset caused by a brush with Jason wasn't entirely enough to squelch the little tremors of arousal Kent inspired. Even so, when one hand slipped down to my stomach I tensed.

"Shh," Kent murmured. "Relax, Rebecca. I'm not trying to seduce you. Sometimes something warm on the stomach feels good when you're feeling sick."

He was right. His large, warm hand on my belly did feel good. Soothing and sweet. I forced myself to relax and roll back into him, and he tucked himself around me, shielding me from the rest of the world.

I was suddenly very tired. The adrenaline that had been zipping through my bloodstream all morning was finally petering out, leaving me feeling weak and sore, as though I'd just run a marathon.

My eyes grew heavy and my body sank back further into Kent. For a while-I don't know how long-we floated together. I fought sleep, wanting to feel all of this, to revel in the feeling of safety in his arms. When a noise out on the street jerked me out of that twilight state I roused myself slightly and turned in his arms. He moved to accommodate me, and I hooked my leg over one of his, my arm twining over his chest and around his neck.

Kent tensed very slightly, and I looked up at him, frowning. "Whasrong?" I muttered.

He was wide awake, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something, but then he just shook his head.

"I was just thinking about how much... how much Jason took advantage of you," he said. "Making my blood boil."

"Stop thinking 'bout it, then," I said.

"I will," he said. But he didn't relax.

Troubled, but too tired to think about it, I burrowed back down until my head pillowed on his shoulder and I finally let myself sink towards sleep.

When I woke, it was mid-afternoon, and I was alone. A clacking noise came from outside the bedroom door.

Kent was sitting in the living room of the suite, typing on his laptop. I stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing my eyes.

"Hey," I said. "Whatcha doing?"

He barely registered my presence. "Working," he said.

He kept typing.

"Uh," I said. "Can I help?"

He shook his head. "This is all for the concert. This is going to take a miracle to pull off. I need to concentrate. Why don't you go downstairs and get something to eat?" His fingers flew across the keyboard, clicking and clacking away.

I watched him for a moment, but he didn't even look at me.

Hot and cold motherf.u.c.ker, I thought, but whatever. We'd talk later, after he was done. I left him to his work.

Unfortunately, it turns out that organizing a secret show takes a c.r.a.p ton of effort and energy, and I barely saw Kent for the next few days. He locked himself in the bathroom of his suite and worked around the clock, only stopping for mealtimes, which were always at some trendy place with both myself and Carter at least, and including Manny and Sonya as the mood struck them. I'd relocated to his bed, and when he came out of the bathroom late at night and collapsed next to me he went to sleep almost immediately.

Then he'd wake up the next day and do it all over again. We barely spoke.

It didn't take long for me to realize that he was actively avoiding me for some reason. The thought made me sick to my stomach, but I couldn't bring myself to ask him about it, just in case it was all in my head.

During the day I would tidy up until Carter or Manny dragged me out of the hotel and forced me to do something to take my mind off of things. They fed me drinks in the evening and sent me to bed, where I dozed until Kent fell down next to me.

In the late night hours, I would reach out and touch him, wondering if any of this was real. That Kent Hudson could be working so hard for a person like me... it went way beyond the weird animal attraction between us.

I kept telling myself I wasn't in love. I mean, obviously I wasn't. It was too soon to call any of this love.

But I couldn't deny that I wanted to be in love with Kent, and in the dark of the hotel room, after he ran himself ragged pulling together some sort of plan to destroy my ex before my ex destroyed me, I would reach out and run my fingers through his hair-like silk-and imagine that we were in love. I pretended that I was in love with his strength, and his determination. I pretended I was in love with his mouth, his arms, his eyes. I pretended that when he woke up in the morning, he would lean over me and kiss me awake, and then he would be in love with me, too.

Chapter Fifteen.

Friday. The day of the concert.

I hadn't known it was the day of the concert until about ten in the morning when Kent called me up on my cell and told me to go shopping.

"What?" I'd said. "Why?"

"For the concert tonight," he'd said as though it were obvious.

"I didn't know the concert was tonight."

"Did I not tell you?"

I rolled my eyes. "No."

"Well, go find something to wear. Something new."

"I thought this was all about... you know. The Lonely Kings and destroying Jason and whatnot." I'd had to lower my voice at the last part. I was sitting in a little bakery with Carter and Manny, drinking lattes and reading a book while Carter read scripts and Manny scribbled sketches of the patrons around us. I knew there were people probably watching us, and who knew if the person one table over was listening in or not. The whole infamy thing is enough to make you paranoid.

"It is, but I want you to have a good rock getup. Take Carter with you. He'll help you find something good."

A rock get-up. What the f.u.c.k was that? "Uh," I said, "why not Sonya?"

"Because she doesn't pick her own outfits. Her entourage does that. Now go buy something. Use the card. No limit." He hung up without saying goodbye. I sighed and disconnected, turning to Carter.

"Hey," I said. I was reluctant to tear him away from his scripts, but this seemed important. When he looked up at me, I continued. "Kent says I need a new outfit for tonight."

"Tonight?" Carter said. "What's tonight?"

I stared at him. "The concert?"

He blinked. "Oh," he said. "That's tonight? Okay. Well, let's go then."

He hadn't known? I wondered just how tired Kent was that he'd neglected to tell the members of the band that was supposed to be performing that they were meant to be performing tonight. Together we stood up, dragging Manny's attention from his sketchbook. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Concert's tonight," Carter said.

"Oh," Manny said. "Cool." He went back to drawing.

"Uh," I said. "Aren't you guys nervous or something?"

"What, us?" Carter said, steering me out of the cafe. "No way. This is old hat. We've been performing live for years. We'll be fine. Kent gave us the setlist ages ago, so we know what we're doing. All we need to do is show up, you know?"

I'd never performed live in front of hundreds of rabid fans. The very thought had me jumping out of my skin. Which brought me around to another thought. "Wait," I said, "I'm not part of the band. Why do I need a new outfit?"

At that, Carter looked down at me and grinned. For a moment, he looked very much like Kent and my heart did a weird little twist. "Don't worry about that," he said. "It's just for when you go onstage."

Me? Onstage? Suddenly I felt distinctly less relaxed and chipper. "Excuse me?" I said. "Excuse me?" The sweet little a.s.sortment of Danishes and m.u.f.fins I'd consumed at the cafe began to murmur with civil unrest. I was going to have myself a riot on my hands pretty soon.

Carter laughed, which I felt was not very kind under the circ.u.mstances. "Don't worry, Rebecca. It'll be fine."

"What will be fine?" I demanded as he took my arm and began to steer me down the street. "Going onstage is not fine. Not at all!"

"Yeah, but it will be fine. I promise."

"All those people hate me, Carter!" I hadn't been able to keep myself from peeking at some of the comments on the gossip blogs. Even the pictures of Kent and Carter and I together, laughing and having a good time here together in San Diego-well staged by Kent, I had to say-had about a thousand vicious comments on them, calling me a wh.o.r.e and a s.l.u.t and worse. There were people who defended me, but they were few and far between. I'd probably lost five pounds over the past few days by obsessing over this s.h.i.t, and it was not fun at all. Now I had to get up in front of all of these people who loved Kent and loved Carter and hated me? I was going to get eviscerated. My eyes unfocused as Carter propelled me across the street, imagining the boos that would come raining down on my head.

The civil unrest in my stomach began to burgeon into a pretty angry mob. I looked around for a trash can.

"Relax," Carter said. "I have a pretty decent story. Everyone will believe it. And Kent... I think he has something planned. So don't sweat it."

"What's your story?" I demanded as we stepped up onto the curb. "I need to know."

He grinned at me. "Really?" he said. "You don't want to be surprised?"

"I hate surprises," I said. "Please, Carter, give me some hint about what you're going to say."

To my shock, he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. "Don't you worry about it, Rebecca," he said. "We've got it handled. You don't trust me?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that no, I didn't trust him at all... but that wasn't true, and it would be a bad idea to say it out loud anyway. I looked up into Carter's eyes and saw nothing but glee and good nature there. It was my trust and my support that had helped him break out of his self-destructive spirals. If I really trusted him, I should demonstrate it. I took a deep breath.

"I do trust you," I told him. "I don't trust other people to believe what you tell them. We did a pretty good job making out last month."

"We did," he conceded, "but trust me, please. I know exactly what to say. It'll be fine."

"But why won't you tell me?" I asked as he opened the door to a shop. "I want to know!"

He laughed. "Oh come on, Rebecca, where's your sense of adventure?"

I wasn't sure I'd ever had a sense of adventure, to be honest, and I was about to say this when a familiar smell hit my nose. I finally stopped and took in my surroundings.

We were in a thrift shop.

"Here?" I said. "We're going to shop for a new rock get-up here?"

Carter grinned at me. "You'll be surprised at what you can find in a thrift shop," he said.

I shook my head. "I know exactly what I'll find in a thrift shop. Tons of stuff that looks hideous but that is mercifully not my size."

"Oh, come on," Carter said. "This will be fun."

I took a deep breath and turned to him. I didn't like this at all. I didn't like the idea of appearing on stage. I didn't like the thought of what would happen if whatever story Carter had concocted didn't go over well. In fact, my feet almost itched with the desire to run run run far away. There was no way I was going to be able to do this.

"Carter..." I started. I bit my lip, unsure how to tell him about my fears.

Then he put his hands on my shoulders and smiled down at me. My heart did a little flip. He was so sweet, so boyishly handsome. He was going to make some woman so happy someday, if he kept pulling himself together. He wasn't the guy for me, but I was so glad I'd met him. Even if I had to leave some day, if tonight didn't work, I was so glad to have met him. So glad to have met all of them. They were all so special to me, in different ways, a family away from my family...

"Rebecca," Carter said, pulling me back to the present, "stop worrying about it. Kent will take care of everything. I know you've been relying on yourself for a long time, getting screwed over and still standing up and soldiering on, but you don't have to do this s.h.i.t alone. Let us help you. Trust us."

I glared at him to hide the fact that I thought I might cry if anyone else were kind to me.

Then his warm hands on my shoulders pulled me in and he gave me the biggest bear hug I'd ever received. Warmth enveloped me, and I inhaled the sweet scent of his skin, soap and boy. Comforting. Tentatively, aware that someone else was probably watching us, I put my arms around him, too. We stood there for a long moment in the thrift shop, embracing, and when Carter finally let me go I had to take a few deep breaths to keep myself from breaking down.

"You're going to be fine, Rebecca," he said. "Not everyone is out to hurt you or use you. I promise."

Unable to speak, I just nodded, and Carter gave my shoulders a final squeeze before letting go. "Excellent," he said. "Now lets go find something for you to wear."

"What do you know about dressing girls up?" I asked him, struggling to put some emotional distance between us.

"You'd be surprised," he said. Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the aisles, and I resigned myself to a morning of shopping.

Friday. The night of. I hadn't seen Kent all day. My stomach was in knots, twisting and turning and filled with acid.

Despite my churning stomach, I looked pretty good. To my shock, Carter was something of a whiz at finding good thrift store clothes, and he'd thrown together an outfit for me out of a huge old silk blouse, a fat belt, a pair of my own skinny jeans, and high-heeled boots. Then he'd sent me into a salon and told me to get my hair cut and dyed, and an hour and a half later I emerged with a punky, fire-red haircut. Carter took me back to the hotel, told me to get dressed, and then artfully slashed my silk blouse with a pair of scissors he'd stolen from the front desk downstairs. Then he'd left me alone to go prepare for the concert tonight.

Being alone was not good for me. I did my make up at least three times, then I'd forced myself to eat a piece of toast for dinner, but that was it as far as food and I were going. If I hadn't gone for the toast I would have puked up the sugary treats I'd stupidly eaten that morning. When Carter knocked on the door to get me downstairs to the van, he'd frowned at my green face and asked me if I needed a drink.

Emphatically no.

Now I stood backstage at a place called the Snake Pit Lounge. It held about a thousand people and the notice had apparently gone out over the internet and airwaves yesterday that The Lonely Kings would be playing a concert there. The place had sold out in seconds.

It was weird being backstage. I'd been to the Snake Pit Lounge several times when Jason wanted to see a bigger name band. It was like a nice bar with a big ballroom floor and a stage. It sold alcohol and had a c.o.c.ktail lounge and it was a pretty decent venue, if a bit overcrowded during sold out shows.

Now I peeked out from behind the curtain and saw that tonight it was packed. People were already sloshed and ready to get grooving, impatient for the opening band to come out.

Ah. Yeah. Right. The opening band. Jason's band. Sweet Lobotomy.