Page 34 of Extended Bridge (Passionate Beats #2)

Chapter Eighteen

T ristan and Pierce never returned to the band meeting. Coop and Río ended up leaving around five, while Luke stuck around another half hour before almost crashing and Bennett forced him to go to bed. In his own room.

When the door closes behind him, Bennett notes, “Alone at last. But I’m more tired than Luke looked. Let’s go to bed and sleep, Sweetheart. Things will look better in the morning.”

I don’t remind him that it’s already morning. My chest swells with hope he’s right, but I doubt it.

Together, we walk into the bedroom, shedding our clothes along the way. I’m too tired to brush my teeth or take off any remaining makeup, and I just crash next to Bennett. With a kiss goodnight, I escape into anxiety dreams.

On a gasp, I jolt up in bed after bobbing and weaving away from a man with a machete. When the phantom attacker recedes, my gaze lands on a sleeping Bennett. He looks much younger in repose. All the weight of his world is off his shoulders—and apparently transferred to mine.

The bedside clock says it’s now ten, meaning I’ve gotten a little more than four hours of sleep. But I know my body. Once awake, I’ll never get back to sleep.

I slip out of bed, careful not to wake the hot rock star. Making a trip to the bathroom, I put on my leggings and another tunic, and escape to the kitchen to heat water for tea. It’s time to calm down and face reality.

On the sofa, I call Ma. It rings straight through. Where the heck can she be at this time of the morning? Well, I guess it is almost midday. I leave her a message and call Court.

She doesn’t say hello or anything, simply dives in with “How are you holding up?”

“Better than I thought possible,” I reply. “Bennett’s been wonderful, as has the band. Well, all except Pierce.”

“He’s still not your biggest cheerleader, huh?”

“Not by a long shot. The guys are going to make a statement at tonight’s concert about Lissa and all the media surrounding my return. It’ll mainly be accurate, with a couple of omissions to protect Bennett and me.” I dunk my tea bag. “Well, Pierce is the wildcard.”

“That’s all you can hope for, right?”

“Yeah. If Pierce doesn’t join in, it’ll fall flat. I can’t imagine he’ll say anything to support me.” I sigh. “He still blames me for what happened to Darren.”

“That’s bullshit.”

I love how she always defends me. Needing to get out of my own head, I say, “Okay, enough about me. What’s going on with you?”

She fills me in about her love life, which is as full as always. Court’s never lacked for male attention, lucky her. But she’s also never had anyone special. “Then there’s the clinic.”

Her change of subject seems ominous. “What’s happening?”

“Well, aside from the media circus surrounding you running off with a rock star.” Her laugh sounds forced.

“Things were dying down lately. No more reporters were camping out, since they’ve all come to realize you’re with UC.

Most of the patients rescheduled their appointments, and the pace of new ones was returning to normal.

However, we have had a couple of incidents.

” She takes a breath. “Nothing major at all. I’ve been able to handle everything. ”

“Incidents?” I repeat the word that’s been rattling around my brain since she dropped it. “What’s going on?”

“First of all, I’ve asked Felipe, and he said nothing’s happening at his clinic, so they’re centered around this one.”

Abandoning my teacup, I yank on my ponytail. I repeat, “What’s going on?”

“There have been some threats.”

Threats? “To the clinic?”

“Yes. Someone’s been leaving messages on our machine that we shouldn’t be able to keep our license since the owner is off gallivanting with a rock band. However, it was the graffiti on the clinic wall that raised more alarms.”

“Graffiti?” The timbre of my voice raises on each syllable. I glance toward the bedroom and lower it. “Was anyone hurt?”

“This is why I love you, Jenna. You don’t care about your physical property, only about your patients and employees.”

“Court, skip the niceties. Is everyone all right?”

“Yes. Whoever it was did it after hours, so there was only property damage. I didn’t bother with insurance, so as soon as the police give their go-ahead, I’ll have the wall repainted.”

My eyes close, absorbing everything. “Thanks. This is how I know you’re the absolute best person to be in charge.” I squeeze the teabag and, needing to get out some of this nervous energy, I walk across the room and throw it away. “Tell me about the graffiti.”

“Oh, you know what graffiti’s like.”

Her vague answer sets off even more alarm bells. I try a different tact. “Do you have photos? You must—text one to me.”

“It’s nothing really.”

Abandoning my tea, her evasiveness is what makes me pace around the room. “I’m sure. But it is my building, so I’d like to see what we’re dealing with. Do you think it’s kids or something more serious? ”

“The police didn’t say it was gang related, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“So, it’s more directed?” As in specifically aimed at me.

“No. I mean yes. That is to say, it’s nothing. Really.”

My stomach churns at how she’s failing at being evasive. “Court, send me a picture.”

“I never could keep things from you. Fine.” Tapping tones reach my ears. “Sent. Just keep it together when you see it.”

“When am I ever off-kilter?” All the time since Bennett . I’m not even “with” Bennett. I mean, I haven’t been with him yet. But he’s given me how many orgasms already? Great, now you’re arguing with yourself .

My fingers open the text she sent and I collapse into a chair. “This can’t be happening.”

On the side of my building is a massive black spider with the words, “Don’t leave your health 2 a Black Widow.” I drop my phone into my lap, screen facing upward.

This is more than graffiti. Graffiti is some random letters and symbols. This is a message. God, I hate the Black Widow nickname. I didn’t cause Darren’s overdose. I’m not hurting UC now, either. Well, they do have this mess to deal with because I’m here. But it’s the media’s fault, not mine.

From far away, I hear, “Jenna. Jenna. Are you still with me?”

Swiping tears off my cheek, I retrieve my cell and press the speaker. I don’t even have the energy to hold the phone to my ear. “Sorry, yes. I’m here.”

“Painters will be here tomorrow, or as soon as the police give me the go-ahead.”

Wonderful. Aroostook gets days to take in this “graffiti.” “Which wall is this?”

Please don’t say the one facing the road. With any luck, they put this on the side—or better still, the back.

“It’s next to the front door.”

“Of course it is. ”

“Of course what is?” A sleepy, sexy Bennett enters the living room area, wearing only a pair of shorts hanging low around his hips.

I can’t. I just can’t. First the band has to deal with the article and now my business does too. It’s too much. My head shakes with all the pent-up rage.

His expression morphs into concern. “Jenna,” he slides on the couch next to me. “Talk to me. We can handle whatever this is. Together.”

From the speaker, Court yells, “Take care of my girl!”

His eyebrows pull together. He reaches over and plucks my cell out of my hand. His distinctive tenor voice rings out through the suite. “Hello?”

“Bennett?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Courtney. Remember me, from the clinic? I’m taking care of things here while Jenna’s working with you.”

My gaze doesn’t stray from his as I remember their scant interactions. “Right. You’re her manager at the clinic I got my PT from in Aroostook.”

“You got it. I was catching our girl up on what’s been happening out here.”

Without lifting my head, I instruct, “Tell him the rest.”

Court continues, “Well, I had to send her a photo of graffiti that was drawn on our wall. The police already are involved. No one was hurt and this will be painted over as soon as I get the go-ahead from the police.”

“You said you sent a photo to Jenna?”

Even as she responds in the affirmative, he’s in my texts and opening the most recent one from “Court.” I don’t move as he takes in the spider and words. “Fuck.”

“I’m handling this. It’s just one stupid prank.”

I finally find my voice. “It’s not a prank and you know it, Court.”

“Okay, fine. It isn’t. But there’s nothing you can do from Kentucky or wherever you are right now. I’m handling it. ”

“You shouldn’t have to do this. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t gone with UC on their tour, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Bennett’s head snaps toward me. “This isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine. If I didn’t need physical therapy, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, things have taken on a life of their own. The media’s dubbed me the Black Widow, and now some freak in Aroostook is running with it.” I stand. “I should leave.”

From the phone, Court yells, “No. Stay!”

Bennett gets to his feet as well. “If you go now, the media will have won. That you actually are a black widow. Do you really want that?”

I whisper, “No.”

Court questions, “What would you do if you came back here anyway?”

“I would deal with the cops and get the wall repainted.”

“Done and done. Next?”

Sliding down onto the chair, I come up empty. Me, the person who’s always in control, is subject to the whims of the media and now, apparently, a graffiti artist. “What about our patients?”

“Like I told you before, we’re almost back to the levels we were at before the whole Bennett thing happened.”

Next to me, Bennett sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he says to me as well as Court. “I didn’t mean to ruin your business.” He sits and rubs his right thigh. “I only wanted to get help, stay under the radar.”

“Which you did,” Court says. “Speaking of which, how’s your therapy coming along?”

“Good. I’m about eighty-five percent now.” His posture straightens. “Jenna’s moving me on to the most advanced exercises and I’m down to one session a day.”

“Great to hear. Keep up with those exercises, and you’ll be better than normal by the time she’s done with you.”

“I will,” Bennett promises.

Something about the graffiti’s been bothering me, though, so I grab the phone from Bennett and stare at the photo again. The graffiti wall mocks me. “Hey, Court. Does anything about this graffiti strike you as odd?”

“Odd? No, not really. Other than how much time they took in drawing all the details of the spider.”

There’s something about the spider. I just can’t put my finger on it.

Bennett jokes, “Maybe the artist has a pet spider?”

Or maybe the artist is an actual artist. Or someone who tried, and failed, to become one.

“I think I know who did it!” On my feet again, I speedwalk from the television to the fridge.

Years of growing up together, watching her draw everything from rabbits to tractors to men.

Thaine. My high school boyfriend who she stole with a drawing. Well, and by opening her legs.

Her name expels from my body with venom. “Michelle.”

From the phone, Court asks, “Who?”

For his part, Bennett’s mouth drops open as he watches me from the chair

“Michelle did the graffiti. I’m sure of it.” I resume pacing. “She always was great at art, even went to college for it. I remember her trying to make a splash in the New York City art scene when we were in school. Her failure brought her back to Aroostook?—”

Court completes my sentence. “Where she’s the receptionist for a doctor.”

“Your mother mentioned something about this to me.” Bennett runs his hand through his hair. “Shit. She’s crazier than I had pegged her.”

Nerves inside my body chase each other. How can we leverage this truth against her? “Too bad we can’t do the same against her.”

“She’s not the owner of her business,” Court reminds me.

“I know.” Think, Jenna, there has to be a way to trap her . . . I have to get her back somehow. “Hey, Court, do the police have any leads? ”

“No. I handed over our alarm footage, but whoever did this—I mean, Michelle—was careful to stay out of the camera’s range.”

Bennett asks, “How about the graffiti itself?”

His question forces me to bring up the ugly photo again. Sitting next to him, we both examine every square inch. “It would’ve been too easy,” he chuckles, “If she put her initials by the spider, huh?”

Both Court and I laugh. Bennett managed to break the tense standoff from a few minutes ago. Grin still across my cheeks, I face the man in front of me. I mouth, “Thank you.”

He blows me a kiss.

“Oh rats,” Court says. “The police are coming up the walk. I better run. I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better.” The line goes dead.

Green eyes bore into me. “I don’t want you doing that again.”

“What? Talking with Court?”

He waves his hand. “No, of course you have to keep on top of your business. I mean, don’t ever leave me alone in my bed. I turned over to find your side cold and empty.” He crosses his arms.

“I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.” Honestly, I didn’t try. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.”

“You know what didn’t look peaceful?” His finger circles his face. “Waking up solo.”

My head tilts. “So you’d want me to stay in bed, while fully awake mind you, so that you don’t wake up alone? You know that makes you sound like a child. Or a serial killer.”

“Or someone desperately in love with a woman who seems to be slipping through my fingers.”

“Oh.”

He hooks his fingers into my waistband and drags me against his bare chest. My heart screams at me to admit how I’m feeling, but I can’t quiet my thoughts about how Lissa’s trying to torpedo Bennett’s career. And Michelle’s putting a wrecking ball to my business.

Into my neck, Bennett says, “I have to do my PT before meeting with the band to hammer out the details about our speech to tonight’s audience.”

“During your meeting, I need to work up a press release for At Your Service PT.” My fingers run down his back. “I’m ready to start when you are.”

“Sweetheart, I’m always ready to start.”

I giggle. “I meant your physical therapy, Rock Star.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying!”

I smack his chest, enjoying the banter. Still, my worries about Michelle and Lissa are never far from my mind.