Page 121 of The Rogues

The energy is so intense, so heady, that I feel a bit dizzy. “You’re making my head spin.”

He chuckles. “I am? I am holding onto my wits over here by a thread.”

“By a thread, you say?” I give him a teasing look, my hand playing with the sleeve of his gown.

“Careful, little vicious,” he says, mirroring his words from months ago. “Or I might just ignore the doctor’s orders and keep you in this bed with me until tonight.”

I laugh and everything feels right in the world again.

FORTY

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

I jolt awake, a sharp shock to my system as I look around for what pulled me from my slumber. My phone dings rapidly, tiny sounds echoing in the air like the square tech can’t keep up with the information being sent to it. I must have forgotten to silence it yesterday, and being a celebrity means you should always silence your phone.

I groan, wiping my eyes and grabbing it. I’m submerged into quiet once more when I flick the sound off, the hotel room eerily silent as I come to.

With squinted eyes, I look around and notice the absence of all of my scent matches, who were definitely in this bed with me when I fell asleep last night. I can still smell all of their scents, the aromas lingering together in one big hearty sensation that causes relaxation to settle into my bones. I peer to the end table, where a handwritten note sits, a pretty scrawl that could only have been from my beta’s hand.

New York Show Fittings. We will see you later.

Love you, x Jamie

I smile, the gesture simple but effective. I’m glad Lennon is starting to feel better and that his team—now privy to his condition—are starting to provide the necessary accommodations for his health. He had to sit out the last few shows due to his intense flare-up a few days ago. They used a proxy drummer, which he had mixed feelings about, but he knew it was the best thing for his well-being. His team has promised less drastic measures in the future, though, promising him less studio and rehearsal time, and providing him with the best medication for his joint pain.

He may have been unhappy about missing the past few concerts, but with these new amenities, I think he’s going to see so much improvement that he won’t have to consider missing more concerts in the future.

Plus, I think he’s relieved that they’re not going to replace him completely. Apparently, according to Cyrus, their label said he is indispensable. Just like me, Lennon shed a few tears after hearing that sentiment from the usually heartless execs.

Of course, nothing is linear and flare-ups can be unpredictable, but I’m glad they are finally going to help him manage this hand that life has given him. Just like me, music and performing are his life, and he deserves this dream as much as anyone else.

I shake my head of the thoughts, coming back to the empty bedroom. My arms come up and out as I stretch, and then I get up to start my day.

I decide to enjoy the quiet, even though I wish at least one of my mates were here, but it’s a blessing in disguise as I take a shower and get dressed. Then it’s a nuisance when I’m trying to figure out the fancy coffee maker in the kitchen. I’m worried about breaking the damn thing when it starts to work, water trickling out onto the cloth to mix the elixir that my body is desperately craving.

My phone vibrates on the counter as I sit to drink my coffee. I realize the badgering amount of messages I was getting this morning had nothing to do with our usual social media blowing up or getting comments, but because of a post that has gone viral from ZMT. The gossip blog is known for its brutal harassment of stars, constantly waiting for them outside of gigs and parties to film them without permission, all legally under the scope of “journalism,” when really it’s just fucking bullying. They even publish articles announcing celebrity deaths before their families can be contacted. They’re just all-around bad guys.

Normally, I would ignore it, but the texts I’m getting are all freaking out, words blurring together to alert me of the post. There are thousands and thousands of mentions and comments on my social media, a lot more than usual, the blatant disrespect so abhorred that I flinch.

viciousrogue5678: that boyfriend stealing wh*re

therogueishfan_: this is the wildest thing i’ve ever heard. aren’t they supposed to be best friends? who fucking does that?

osewoodlover98: I don’t think we’re getting the whole story here. Josie is the least problematic of the entire group. Things don’t add up

punknrogue202: lol cyrus just goes around doing whatever he wants, doesn’t he? wicked

xxxrockangel: I guess we all know who Rosewood is about now lol

When more expletives start to show up and less speculation, I gulp and pull up the ZMT website. When I click the link, a video pops up; Cleo stands there in the night hours, illuminated by the light of the cameras as the pap says, “Cleo, what do you think about your best friend stealing your boyfriend? Have they been fucking under your nose this entire time?”

I choke, coffee spewing all over the counter. My lungs constrict at the movement, willing me to expel the liquid that just got lodged as I cough to reverse my mistake. The moment gets taken over by my complete shock, and when I’m finally able to take steady breaths again, I look back at my phone that I paused in a knee-jerk reaction.

What the hell? Cleo hates paparazzi, especially ZMT.

I clean up my mess, thoroughly making sure there are no leftover stains from my coffee incident, but if I’m honest, it’s a stalling tactic. When everything is clean—and probably more spotless than it was before—I sit back down and stare at my phone where the still image of Cleo on the city streets is paused mid-frame, showing her red eyes and tilted smile. I take a deep breath and press play, knowing I need to watch whatever is waiting for me on the video.

Cleo laughs at the pap, shrugging her shoulders. “It is what it is. I guess some people aren’t meant to be your friends forever.”