“No, no,” Luke soothes me. “It was Zack’s fault.”
“I forgot you didn’t know,” Josh says into my hair, nuzzling the base of my neck. “He got into an… incident at the convention.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
Zack waves a dismissive hand. “It was nothing, really. Your ex was there. Danny What’s-his-name.”
I squint at him.
“Pritchard,” Luke supplies, watching me closely. “Donny Pritchard. Said he came to hear us talk, but I think he really wanted to see you.”
I stick out my tongue. “Gross. He is not my ex.”
“Damn straight,” Zack agrees cheerfully. “Anyway, I punched him in the face.”
“What?”
“He deserved it,” Zack says. “Are you mad?”
I snort. “No. Is there video?”
Zack grins. “Atta girl. Show her, Josh.”
Josh brings up YouTube on his phone and hands it to me. It’s a shaky video, taken by a fan a few rows back in the audience. I see Donny go up to the mic in a stupid baseball cap, smirking at the guys. There’s a few seconds of back-and-forth, and then my mouth falls open as Zack stands, jumps off the stage into the crowd, and smacks Donny right in the nose. There’s an awful cracking sound, and blood spills out of Donny’s nostrils as he falls to the ground and screams.
I’m entranced. When the video ends, I rewind it and watch it again. And then again. And again. I know it doesn’t make me a nice person to enjoy the sound of my ex-bully’s nose breaking — but hey, I never claimed to be nice. I want this video tattooed on the back of my eyelids.
Eventually, on the fifth rerun, Josh takes his phone back. “Okay. I think that’s enough.”
I turn to Zack, cuddling against his side. “Thank you.”
“You’re really not mad?” He mutters.
I shake my head, pressing my face into his neck and inhaling his warm honey-whiskey smell.
“It wasn’t the right thing to do, obviously. But I appreciate it. God knows he deserves it.” I twist to look back at Josh. “So, what happens now? You’re in trouble?”
Zack whistles. “Hoo, boy we are.”
“The convention is ‘looking into it’.” Luke says. “Zack and Donald both explained their sides of the story. I didn’t say anything about your time together in school,” he adds quickly, when I tense, “but I did say that he harassed you in a pub a few weeks ago. I hope that’s okay.”
I nod slowly. “And what did the staff say?”
“They’re sort of at a loss. I’m pretty sure they believe us. They’ve known Zack for years, and there’s no reason for him to risk his career by attacking a random audience member. And apparently Donny tried to flirt with the female security guard who questioned him, which didn’t exactly help his case. But without any proof that Zack was provoked, there’s not much they can do. We’ll probably be banned from future conventions and events.” He hesitates. “Our production company is talking about removing us from the roster.”
I sit up. “But that’s a big deal, right?!”
“It might mean going solo,” Josh admits. “No company to produce us or promote us or find us sponsors.”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”
Josh shakes his head. “It’ll be hard, but we can manage it. From the response we got from our livestream, we haven’t really lost many listeners. In fact, we’ve gained quite a lot.” His lip curls. “No one really gives a shit about one of our hosts punching a creep.”
“So you’ll be self-employed?”
“Finally,” Zack booms. “It’s not like we needed those twats at BuzzTone tellin’ us what to do and taking half our royalties.”
Luke nods. “There will be a lot of benefits, actually. We’ll be able to pick our own sponsors, organise our own events. Say what we want.”
I pat his shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll show you how to pay your taxes. I am a font of small-business knowledge, after all.” He smiles, pressing a kiss into my hair, and I turn back to Josh’s phone. “What about Donny? Is he running his mouth on social media?” I bet he’s milking this for all it’s worth. He always was a greasy little attention-addict.
Josh snorts. “Oh, yeah. He’s already tagged us in about fifty tweets. And he’s threatening to press charges. Zack might end up in court unless we can convince him to drop it. Which is kind of unlikely.”
“What?” I’m horrified. “But you could go to jail!”
“Aye. I’m already pickin’ out my prison tats.” Zack sighs. “I miss bein’ on the team, man. Back then, if I got rowdy with some drunk fan, the club would just pay the guy off.” He slides his hand up my arm. “We could blackmail him, I guess. Or kidnap him. Set up a bear trap outside his house, then drag him here and hold him hostage until he promises to drop charges.”
An idea dings in the back of my mind. “Is it blackmail if he deserves it?” I say slowly.
“Yes, Layla,” Luke sighs, sounding exhausted.
I stretch out my legs, considering my glittery pink toenail polish. “I don’t think I care,” I decide.
“Wait,” Josh says. “What’s going on?”
I lean my head back, lolling against his broad shoulder. “Want to come to my high school reunion with me? I bet he’ll be there.”
“Me?” Josh asks, looking confused. “I mean, of course I will, if you want. But if you’re going to confront Donny, shouldn’t you be taking Zack?”
“I will.” I reach across and take both Zack and Luke’s hands, tugging them into my lap. “I want all three of you to come.”
“As moral support?” Luke asks. “Amy will be there, too. The headteacher always attends reunions. It could be awkward if I turn up.”
I smile, connecting our fingers. Now I’ve made up my mind, I know there’s no going back. “You’re coming as my boyfriends.”
There’s a few seconds of silence.
“Well,” Luke says eventually. “This should be interesting.”
EIGHTY
LAYLA
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Luke breathes in my ear, as we stand, shivering, in the cold car park.
I look up at him. The grey sky over his head is stroking highlights into his silvery hair, a light breeze brushing a curl into his eyes. He looks calm, but I can see the tension in his jaw. He doesn’t like being here any more than I do.
I nod firmly. “Yes.”
On my other side, Josh squeezes my clammy fingers. “You’ve got this,” he says. At my back, Zack gives a rumble of agreement. I nod, straightening my spine and turning towards the set of open doors.
We’re standing outside the front entrance of Emery High School. It’s a drizzly, dreary day, and all I really want to do is go home and cuddle up in one of the guys’ beds.
In the past two weeks, I’ve pretty much moved into the guys’ flat. We’ve been inseparable. And it’s been heaven. We could be wrapped up in bedsheets right now, leisurely making out, watching TV, ordering takeout — our usual lazy day routine.
But, of course, I live for the drama, so here we are, freezing to death in the parking lot of my old school. Emery High has barely changed at all in the last ten years. It’s still the same depressing brick building, with prison-style wire-glass windows and graffitied walls. Someone has tried to liven up the entrance with some coloured balloons stapled around the doorway. They’re already saggy and deflated.
I shiver again. My clothes are way too skimpy for the gross weather. Under the jacket of my trouser suit, I’m wearing a lacy bodysuit from my upcoming collection. It’s supposed to be a delicate, pretty piece, but right now, the silvery fabric feels like armour as it gleams against my skin.
In fact…
I shrug off my blazer jacket and hand it to Josh. “Can you hold this, please?”
He stares silently at the bared skin of my chest for a few seconds, his hot eyes travelling over the plunging neckline.
In his defence, it’s very low. “Wow,” he says quietly. “You look incredible.”
“You might get dress-coded,” Luke says. I snort, but he doesn’t laugh. It takes me a second to realise he’s not joking.
“What?” I sputter. “They can’t dress-code me, can they?! I’m not even a student!”