“I don’t scare easily,” I tell him. “But I definitely did not realize you were being serious about Reed.”
His laughter is deep as if it’s holding secrets within it. “Reed is our chaos maker. He can be a lot, but he’s a great kid, and wears his heart on his sleeve most days. He does get into trouble, though. It used to be much worse; however, the married life has at least tamed the whore in him.”
I can’t contain my snort, and James goes on.
“There was this guy a few years ago who came at the venue with a gun because he said Reed had fucked his wife.”
“Oh shit,” I laugh. “Had he?”
“Probably,” he says. “He never asked those kinds of questions about his partners. Nowadays, it just seems like there’s always a group of fanatics waiting for them rather than angry partners. Always some kind of threat outside the venue that I try not to bother them with—whether it’s the religious groups, groupies willing to go a little too far… Some of the venue security will let anyone in the back, and I can’t always catch every person. None of that ever mattered to me, though. It was my job to protect them, not monitor who they were having relations with.” He sighs and crosses his leg over his knee. “They can each be shits when they want to, but they’re good kids.”
Pain rests in his eyes that makes me squint. “So, why are you leaving?”
He sighs and settles back in the seat. “It’s personal,” he replies. “I wouldn’t be leaving if I had a choice. This weekend should be a good intro to how they work. Normally, they’re pretty safe at festivals, so they shouldn’t give you much trouble for the next couple of days. Mads and Reed will wander tomorrow, so make sure to have someone tail them. Don’t hover or interfere unless it’s serious. Reed likes to sign autographs and talk to fans. Zeb doesn’t do crowds much. He’ll likely hang backstage with some of the other bands.”
“And Bonnie?” I ask.
“With Andi and Wren here, Bonnie will likely stick with them unless Zeb drags her to something different. Usually when Andi is involved, Bonnie is partial to her. They’re good friends. I spoke with Andi last night, and she and Bonnie want to take Wren into the pit for the Take the Orbitor set tomorrow night.”
My brows lift. “Really?”
“Yeah. Just stick somewhere close. Make sure Bon doesn’t get into a fight with some drunk jackass ruining the pits for everyone, because she will,” James says.
I smile because I’ve seen her deck a guy for hitting on one of her friends, and with these little defense classes she’s been taking, I can only imagine the fight ready to unleash within her.
I finish the last swallow of water and crinkle the bottle in my hands. “You mentioned her having a stalker?” I ask. “You’re not worried about that with this crowd?”
“I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. “From what I understand, whoever it is doesn’t mean to hurt her, unless their motives have changed. Keep an extra eye out for anyone wearing a hoodie or watching her around the area.”
“You don’t sound too threatened by them,” I say, and I don’t know why it irks me.
He sighs. “It’s not that. It’s more like… I keep waiting for this person to do something that actually scares her, puts her indanger, or goes over a line. I know the texts freak Bon out, and I hear that. But a harmless stalker who seems to only want to keep her safe is less of a worry than one who has bad intentions—like the ones Reed was dealing with last year.”
“What makes you think her stalker is some sort of vigilante?”
“It’s the way she talks about her,” he replies.
“What do you mean?”
He sighs as if he’s collecting his thoughts. “When her stalker came back this year, she told me about it. I asked her about the previous incidents, and she opened up about a couple of the larger incidents that not even the rest of the band knows about,” he says.
My blood feels like it’s slowing.
“There’s the usual—text messages. Pictures of her out and about. Nothing alarming as far as her safety being compromised—”
It’s concerning that he’s considering the photos I’ve sent her from inside her apartment as “nothing alarming.” Especially the one from two weekends earlier when she hit two hundred and fifty Saturdays sober, and I took a picture of where she’d written it in the corner of her bathroom mirror, then sent it to her with the message:
Such a good little rockstar, keeping your promise after all these years…
I think you did miss me.
Unless she hasn’t told him about those.
I can only imagine he would have her apartment watched more closely were he aware—at least, I hope he would.
“—but then she told me about the incidents from the last time her stalker was hanging around. Before she got sober,” James goes on.
The world narrows in on him, his words, and I feel myself stiffen.
