Page 14 of Eternal Light (Fated in the Stars #5)

The kids are no older than ten or twelve. Zef is pale, and Jay remembers from the bios that he has cystic fibrosis. He’s wearing a giant Long Road Home hoodie that swallows him whole, and despite his air of illness, his eyes are bright.

Beside him is Omni Fuller, a tiny slip of a thing, her head wrapped in a scarf the color of a summer sky.

She’s pale and a little fragile-looking—acute lymphoblastic leukemia, or ALL, has made chemo a constant in her life—but you wouldn’t know it from the way she beams up at him, pure joy radiating from every inch of her.

Then, like a rocket, she launches herself at him, and Jay barely has the wherewithal to catch her in time.

“Omni!” her mother admonishes. “You have to ask first. Consent is a thing.”

Omni freezes for half a second, then tilts her head up at him, eyes wide. “Is it okay?”

Jay chuckles, already hugging her back. “Of course. I don’t mind hugs from my friends.”

She grins. “Jay Rhodes! Can I call you Jay?”

“Yeah, Jay’s good. This is my—Gideon.”

“Oh, he’s cute,” she says, none too quietly, making Gideon blush.

Jay can’t help but laugh. “He really is. Why don’t we sit over there on the couch, and we can talk.”

The next hour flies by as Jay immerses himself in caring for his fans.

He learns that Zef wants to be a chef, and when the boy hears Gideon owns his own restaurant, he spends more time picking Gideon’s brain than Jay’s.

The dreaded guitar stays in its case, but Jay signs every album they bring, along with Zef’s sweatshirt, and they take numerous selfies and official photos.

It reminds Jay of one of the reasons he loves his career.

The kids are so bright—and brave—to face their illnesses with smiles and hope.

He’s sure they have hard days, but there’s nothing like a brave child to put your life in perspective.

“Hey all, I’m sorry to interrupt, but our interview segment is up in fifteen minutes.”

There’s a chorus of disappointed moans and groans (mostly from Gideon, who has never had a fan before).

“Can I see your restaurant if I come to Nashville, Chef?” Zef asks.

“You can! Just get your mom to call me.” Gideon pulls out his wallet and offers the boy a black business card with Quest on the front, and Gideon’s cell phone number on the reverse. “We’ll set something up—anytime you’re in Nashville.”

“Sick!” He waves the card at his mom.

Jay wishes he’d been holding a camera when Zef throws himself into Gideon’s arms for a hug. The normally stoic man gives the boy a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll see you in Nashville, then? I need another sous chef who knows the difference between julienne and batonnet.”

“I do! I know the difference,” Zef promises.

“Thank you for coming today,” Omni says to Jay, and she looks sad for a moment.

“You’re welcome, but what happened to your smile?”

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head, but the smile she tries to put on doesn’t quite stick. And that—fuck, that breaks his heart.

“Let me decide, yeah?”

“Well, Zef is going to see Gideon later, but…”

“How about I give your mom my number, and when you come to Nashville, she can call me too. Or, if I’m back in Clearwater, you can meet the rest of LRH?”

“Really? Yes!”

Melody taps the face of her smartwatch regretfully. “Okay, sorry to break things up, but we have air time. Thanks for coming today, guys.”

There’s another round of hugs, and then Jay and Gideon are on the other side of the door. Jay feels good, and he’s forgotten some of the sadness from the last few days. Maybe it’s just the simple act of giving something good.

As much as the visit with Omni and Zef had been for them, it had been for Jay—and maybe Gideon, too.

It puts Jay in a great mood for the interview, which goes off without a hitch.

Melody’s sharp—she doesn’t waste time with fluff.

They talk Phoenix Records’ expansion and new music.

It’s smooth. Easy. Maybe too easy. He’s so used to dodging landmines in interviews, he almost forgets what a good one feels like.

When their thirty minutes are up, Jay offers a demo for an ?unreleased song, to Melody’s utter delight.

“That’s Neon Ghost , Long Road Home’s next single. You heard it on WRBY, first! Now Ariel is up next for the heavy-hitting Metal Minute! But first, a word or two from Tourism Florida.”

Once the engineer gives them the all-clear, Melody jumps from her chair and does a quick victory dance, complete with air guitar—Luca would be proud.

“That was AWESOME! Holy shit! Thank you.”

Jay grins. He hadn’t intended to play it, and in the old days he’d have been in serious trouble, but now he’s his own fucking boss and can do what he wants. No regrets.

“You’re welcome! We should get going, but thanks for having me. I’ll get management to call when we’re all back in Clearwater so we can do the whole LRH thing next time.”

“Please do. Hey, do you think you’ll go out front for a few minutes? To wave and shit? They started gathering at 7:00 AM.”

The fans—the Roadies. As much as LRH plays for themselves, they do it for them, too.

“Can you give Gideon and me a minute?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Let’s vacate for Ariel, and then I can give you guys a few minutes. See if I can rally some security for a five-minute wave.”

She shows him back into the now-vacated conference room and closes the door after herself. Absent the kids’ excited voices, it’s just an empty room—and Jay’s gut twists with a jolt of dread.

“Are we doing this?” Gideon asks. “You’ll be exposed out there.”

They will be, and his stomach roils. He exhales—slow, steady. This is what they came here to do. He hates that there’s the potential for disaster, but this is why they’re out and around today.

“Yeah. It’s why we’re here. He won’t make a move in a crowd of fans, Gid.”

Or rather, it was unlikely.

“Then we’ll go eat at Clearwater Beach. See if he takes the bait.”

Because it’s certainly more likely he’ll make a play there.

Gideon’s gaze lingers, heavy with something Jay can’t quite read, before he gives a single, sharp nod—just in time, as Melody knocks.

“Security says they’ll spot you for crowd control. Then I’ll take you back through the building to your vehicle.”

“Sounds great. Let’s do it.”

Jay straightens his shoulders, squeezing Gideon’s arm as he follows Melody out.

The crowd is even larger than it had been when they’d arrived—news of Jay’s presence at the station reaching a wider audience than the posts on social media.

The swell of bodies presses up against the hastily erected barricades, straining the sidewalks, bleeding onto the road.

The crowd forces traffic down to a single lane, and it will be no time at all until the police are called in to deal with the interruption.

Melody introduces them to the security guard, who leads them out the glass doors in front of the building. The daylight is fading now, only the tops of the buildings catching the end-of-the-day rays.

The crowd roars when Jay exits with Gideon behind, and he waves, approaching the first Roadies holding phones and albums out for the chance at an autograph.

He hears his name called: “Jay Rhodes! Jay!” Over and over.

It’s easy to smile and take selfies, as Jay’s been doing this for most of his adult life, but after fifteen minutes, Jay waves goodbye, and they’re on their way to the car.

“Thank you for coming today. You made my day…maybe my life, even.”

Jay can’t help but smile, but takes her proffered hand. “We had a great time. See you next time, yeah?”

“I’d love that. Have a great rest of your day.” She waves as she heads back the way she came.

They push out into the late afternoon heat, and Gideon starts the Buick with the remote before they exit, so the interior will cool before they get in—and maybe to be sure there isn’t another car bomb. Fuck, what is his life right now?

The Buick is where they left it in the quiet lot behind WRBY, and the absence of sound makes the ringing in Jay’s ears from the loud crowds more noticeable. Something cold and sick coils in his gut as the familiar “Junior” catches his attention.

Jay may no longer recognize his father in that haggard face, but his voice is embedded into his psyche forever. His heart pounds in his chest, and where there should be relief that his father isn’t dead, he can only stand there—horrified.

James Rhodes Sr. looks like the walking dead.

Should be dead. Gray skin pulled taut over broad cheekbones, cracked lips curled back from blackened teeth—he’s more skeletal ghoul than the once-formidable boxing instructor he’d been.

Even his once-lustrous black hair is patchy, falling away in uneven tufts.

He’s a shadow of the man Jay once knew, and somehow, that’s worse than believing he died in the car bomb.

“Holy fucking shit,” Gideon growls.

“Junior,” James says again, and steps toward them.

Jay wants to take a step back—to move away from the grotesque mockery that was once his father—but he feels Gideon’s warmth behind him and can stand his ground.

“Fuck, Dad? I thought you were—”

“Dead?” James laughs bitterly. “He can’t kill me—he needs me.”

“But Mom? What about her?” Jay feels anger surge, and his scent surpasses his scent patch and blazes into a forest fire. “Whatever shit you got into, Dad? It got her killed.”

“Me? It’s you. She should have kept her mouth shut. She was trying to leave me at the golf club, you know? Decided to take you up on your offer of sanctuary. Can you believe that? After all we’d done for her.”

The disgust on his father’s face—even after thirty years of marriage—makes Jay sick.

His mother died trying to get away. She had decided to let Jay help her.

Fucking hell. He’d let that wound scab over—lulled by the happiness of the afternoon, the illusion of a good day.

And now this.

“What do you mean, James?” Gideon grates out. “Who is we?”