Saving Landon Part 44

Trent Two Days Later I knew something was wrong the second that I stepped foot into my house. Compounding, rising dread twisted its way up in the back of my head, like smoke in the darkness.

I'd felt it from a mile away.

And I didn't like it.

"Angel?" I called out.

No answer.

Maybe she's asleep, I wondered. I couldn't bring myself to believe it, though. No...something was definitely wrong.

I dropped my things at the door, scouring for any signs of a break-in. The front door was unharmed, and I didn't spot any broken windows on my way to the stairs.

Hopping two at a time, I ascended up to my bedroom. Our bedroom. Flicking on the light, I peered around the room like a hunter sniffing for prey.

There was nothing out of place.

No signs of a struggle.

Except...

My heart sank as soon as I spotted the letter on the bed. Scrawled in girlish handwriting, I first spotted her signature at the bottom as I s.n.a.t.c.hed it up under the light.

Trent, I've enjoyed our time together. I really have. But it's time for me to let you be who you need to be. We both know this wasn't going to last... Please don't hate me. And don't look for me. You won't find me.

Angel My hand clenched, but I restrained myself from shredding the letter apart in the instant.

And there, on the pillow?

The tablet I had bought her while we had been on the bus. It was just sitting there, as if it weren't hers. She'd left it because she'd honestly thought it didn't really belong to her.

Fury built up inside.

Boiling, pulsating anger.

No, I snarled to myself.

You don't get to do this to me.

Irrationally, my mind boiling with pain and regret, I felt like I had just been stabbed right in the f.u.c.king heart. The knife twisted again and again as the letter fell to the bed from my lifeless fingers, and I fought the whipping storm of emotion that was threatening to tear me apart.

No, I repeated to myself with rising hostility.

This isn't happening.

This CAN'T be happening.

But something didn't add up.

Through the hatred and the anger, a small spark of rationality spoke through. Like a calming knife through the bubbling, snarling flesh of my fury, it cut through the bulls.h.i.+t and whispered something into my ear.

She wouldn't do this.

I paused, letting the thought continue on. It was calming, soothing, but most of all...it sounded like it was making sense.

This isn't Angel.

Not without interference.

Not without the right push.

Something had happened...and I was going to find out exactly what. But I didn't have to think long or hard before a single name popped into my head.

Steven.

He'd hated her from the start.

What was the word he'd used?

Liability.

I picked up the phone, forcing a friendly smile across my face. It was one of the hardest things I'd had to do.

"Steven! Are you around?"

"I'm kinda in the middle of something. Where are you?"

"I'm just picking up my car," I lied. "I should be home in about forty-five minutes. Think you can meet me there?"

"Now's not a good time, man."

He sounded apprehensive.

Which told me I was right.

"It's important. I think you're right about Angel she's a liability. Time I cut her loose. But you, being my PR guy and all...mind backing me up?"

"What? R-really? But she's...I mean, uh..."

"Steven, stop f.u.c.king babbling. She put herself up in a hotel and she's on her way to my place. Can you come straight over?"

"I'm not so sure this is a good time..."

"C'mon, Steven. You and I, we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Help me out here and I'll make it worth your while."

"...Alright. Half an hour?"

"Sounds good to me."

About thirty minutes later, there was a knock at my door. Through the peephole, I could see the lanky, condescending f.u.c.ker.

"Door's open!" I called out, m.u.f.fling my voice and taking a step out of the way.

The door popped open.

A moment later, Steven walked in.

"H-h.e.l.lo? Angel? Trent?"

I stepped forward from behind the door, slamming it shut. He barely had time to turn before I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and slammed him up into the wall, knocking a large photo frame down and shattering the gla.s.s.

"Trent buddy what the f.u.c.k are you?"

Roaring with anger, I threw him across the room. He hit the ground hard, trying to scramble to his feet as I rushed towards him.

"Back the f.u.c.k off" he started.

I landed a solid punch against his cheek, sending him sprawling into my sectional couch. As he struggled to climb back up, I jumped on him, landing a knee in his chest and knocking the breath from his lungs.

"Oof!" he cried painfully.

As I started to hit him repeatedly, Steven tried to dislodge me first by force, then by throwing weak punches, and finally by attempting to scratch me.

I finally climbed off of him, and he lunged forwards. But instead of reaching me, he slipped, hitting his head on my coffee table.

With my anger barely controlled, I pulled his sniffling, shaken form up from the ground. Half-expecting him to be whimpering, he was instead snarling broken but angry.

"You f.u.c.king piece of s.h.i.+t," he growled.

I held him by the shoulders, my enraged eyes matching his gaze with enough strength to apparently surprise him.

"What. The. f.u.c.k. Did. You. Do."

"What?" He snarled back.

"Don't make me ask again, you spineless, backstabbing, limp-d.i.c.ked son of a b.i.t.c.h."

Steven's furious sniffling began to settle, and he looked at me with a mixture of fear and absolute irritation.

I have to give it to him.

At least he doesn't back down.

Maybe he's less spineless than I thought.

"Angel, right?"

I nodded angrily.

His face curled into a s.h.i.+t-eating grin.

"You had me worried with your little phone call. Sorry Trent. Your lovebird is long gone by now."

Because I couldn't afford for him to lose consciousness on me, I delivered a strong punch to his gut. He crumpled to the ground, moaning and clutching his abs while I stood up and popped my neck.

"That's for not answering my question," I told Steven coldly.

I pulled him back up from the ground, half-supporting him on his knees in front of me.

"Let's try again. What. The f.u.c.k. Did you. Do?"

Steven's painful, defiant glance flipped up towards me. I could already see bruising and swelling starting to settle in.

He was going to look rough tomorrow.

"You know what I did," he mumbled. "She's a distraction. A ticking time bomb. That b.i.t.c.h is your motherf.u.c.king Courtney Love. You have other people depending on you. The rest of your band, the roadies, the label. Ever since you snuck her onto that bus, your performances have been s.h.i.+t. Critic opinions, not just mine. And then there's the paparazzi thing."

"What paparazzi thing?"

Steven laughed painfully.

"Have you not been on the Internet at all in the last couple of days? It's been all over the gossip sites."

I pulled him closer.

"Tell me. Now."

"I'll do you one better," he chuckled before wincing with pain. "I'll show you. Let me down."

Reluctantly, I relinquished my grip.

Once he'd pulled himself up off of the floor and fished his phone out of his pocket, he did just that. He showed me what had happened.

The article.

The pictures.

The interview.

I read carefully, twice over, before handing him the phone back.

"This is nothing. It's fixable."

"It's a little harder than that," he told me.

"No. No, it's not. This is your job. You run public relations for us. You manage us. Well, you're supposed to, but you're so f.u.c.king terrible at it that I can't believe we got stuck with you..."