I don’t want to be the friend that automatically worries about a relapse every time something goes wrong, but Jesse has been acting strangely lately. He’s been more flighty and distracted than usual. Over the weekend before he disappeared Sunday evening, he seemed on edge, like he was nervous about something. Even during our press conference and interviews about the incident at the other hotel, he was off in another world. Then he went and requested his own penthouse suite, which felt really odd for him. He’s kept to himself more since getting out of rehab, but we always share a suite and basically live together on the road.
His absence sits heavy, but it feels like more than that. Will has been behaving strangely since Sunday night, too. Or rather, Monday morning. Because, like the codependent sap I am, I came crawling into his bed with my tail between my legs after nearly being mobbed in the hotel bar that night. The state I woke up in the next morning seems to have set us back on the weeks of progress I thought we’d made. He’s barely talking to me or making eye contact.
Naz is being weird, too. But I’m pretty sure it has everything to do with worrying over his best friend while assuring us that Jesse is fine, even if his calls aren’t being answered either.
“All I know is that he invited some guy over,” Naz tells us. “He met him at the concert in New York or something.”
“Why didn’t he just say that?” I ask. Naz is Jesse’s best friend, but we’re all close. Or at least we were before Jesse got backfrom rehab. Things have been admittedly different, no less loving and supportive, but different than they were before.
“Is that why he ran off stage so fast?” Will asks.
“Or why he had that goofy grin on his face when he finally made it to the meet and greet with the whole fucking football team he insisted on inviting?” I add.
Naz shrugs. “Guess so.”
“Still doesn’t explain why he’s not answering anyone’s calls,” I say. “Doesn’t he realize we’ll worry about him?”
“Maybe it’s not fair to put that on him,” Naz answers. “I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Yeah, me too. I just can’t help but worry. What could he be doing in there for over two damn days without coming up for air?”
“Probably fucking. It’s been a while for him.”
“It’s been a while for me, too, but I’d still check in and let y’all know I wasn’t lying in a tub full of ice after having my organs harvested or something.”
“That’s… explicit.” Will cuts his eyes at me as if I’m the one to be concerned about.
At least he’s acknowledging me.
“Cory and Tad both confirmed brief sightings during food deliveries. He’s there, alive, and so is his guest, as far as we’re aware,” Blake says blankly as he walks through the kitchen. He’s been on a tirade about Jesse’s absence all morning. He’s had his assistant Emmy calling Jesse non-stop and even sent him to knock on Jesse’s door several times.
“Myra’s ready for you,” he tells Will, snapping him into action.
Will hurries over to our lead stylist and drops his robe. It takes everything in me not to stare at every inch of skin on display in nothing but a tight pair of black boxer briefs.
Blake barely has time to frown down at the selection of bagels before Emmy is there, handing him a freshly toasted everything bagel, lightly smeared with cream cheese. He holds it up to Blake casually, as if he’d been asked for it. Blake accepts the plate with a muttered thanks, and before he opens his mouth again, Emmy produces a cup of something steaming and holds it up to him, too.
I watch with quiet amusement while Blake processes what just happened, narrowing his eyes at Emmy. You’d think he’d praise his employee for seemingly being able to read his mind, but instead he frowns down at the smaller man.
“Go check on Jesse,” he orders.
Emmy hesitates. “I… did. Just a minute ago. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Again,” he adds sheepishly.
Blake stares at him. “Were youassertive?”
“Assertive?”
“Did you knock politely, or did you knock like you mean business?”
“Well, I—” Poor Emmy doesn’t even get a chance to apologize for his great sin of being polite.
“Timidity will get you nowhere, Emerson. You have to be direct if you want something.”
Emmy turns bright pink.
Everyone, except maybe Blake himself, knows that Emmy is basically in love with him. Or at least he’s very, very attracted to him. He’s an absolute sweetheart and can be shy, but he can barely so much as speak in Blake’s presence.
I lean in closer to Emmy and murmur, “You gonna be alright?” He nods and turns away, trying to hide his deep blush.
