“It’s Helena.”
He doesn’t ask any questions, but I hear him swear under his breath. “I’m on my way.”
I click off.
Harper is staring at me, brows raised.
“He’s coming.”
“Ohgoodie. I’m sure the playboy idiot will know exactly how to deal with HelenaOver the Cuckoo’s NestPutnam.”
I look back at the cuckoo-bird in question. She hasn’t moved an inch. Swaying on her heels, the former model is transfixed by her own reflection, seemingly unable to look away from the sight of tears tracking down her beautiful face, leaving trails of watery mascara on each cheek before dripping into the sink. She isn’t making a sound, but I see her lips mouthing the same words over and over again, like a prayer. A chill of foreboding goes down my spine.
You’ll be sorry. You’ll be sorry. You’ll be sorry.
* * *
Grayson showsup within fifteen minutes, so he must’ve been close by when he got the call. He’s not alone when he steps inside the women’s restroom — he’s got an entourage of three heavily-muscled security guys who don’t do much besides grunt. Their taciturnity is balanced out by the last member of the group to step into the room, who I know from experience never, ever shuts up.
Ryder Woods.
“Kit-Kat!” the musician yells as soon as he spots me, sweeping me into a hug. “You look fucking gorgeous!”
I pat him awkwardly on the back. “Hi Ryder. I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
“Remember you? I friggenloveyou! You bought me a cheeseburger at three in the morning. You saved me from a bar fight. Face the facts — webonded, babe. No going back now.” He shakes my shoulders so hard, Masters takes a warning step in our direction. Ryder pays him no attention. “How the hell have you been?”
“Can’t complain.” I laugh, staring into Ryder’s unique eyes. One blue, one brown, both currently constricted to pinpricks, suggesting he’s been partaking in more than just alcohol tonight. Unsurprising — the first time I met him, he was snorting lines of cocaine off a table atBalthazar, the club where I used to work. “How about you?”
“Been busy, babe. Did you know I’m recording a single for theUnchartedsoundtrack? It’s total shit, of course. I didn’t write it, some studio-approved lyricist sent it over. I wouldn’t be doing it at all, if not for my boy.” He nods in Grayson’s direction.
I follow his gaze to my co-star and find he’s hovering a few feet away, his eyes on Helena, who we finally got to settle down on one of the plush chairs by the bank of mirrors a few moments before they arrived. Still lost in a stupor, her eyes are open but unseeing.
Grayson’s gaze flickers to mine when he feels the weight of my stare.
“Hey,” he says, lips tugging into a half smile.
“Hey.” I take a breath. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t know what else to do with her… I didn’t know who else to call…”
“I’m glad you called me. We’ll take care of her.” He looks back at Helena, takes a deep breath, and crosses to kneel in front of her. She flinches when he puts his hands on her kneecaps, stroking her soothingly through the fabric of her leather pants like you might a skittish horse. “Hey.Helena. It’s Grayson.” He shakes her lightly. “Helena, can you hear me?”
She lifts her limp head at the sound of his voice. Her eyes seem to regain some of their focus.
“Grayson?” She sounds like a lost little girl, woken from a bad dream in the middle of the night.
“Yeah.” Grayson expels a sharp breath. “It’s me.”
“You came.” She smiles, still crying. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“I knew you’d come for me.”
He runs a hand through his hair, looking distressed.
Ryder nudges me. “She isn’t looking great.”
“No.” I clear my throat. “She isn’t.”