Page 183 of The Comedown

There’s no way Bodee’s going to let Julian get away with this, and there’s even less of a chance his record label will either. He…

He did it knowing that. His actions leading up to this moment prove it, including him putting a figurative gun up to his head afterward. Julian just committed career suicide.

“It’d have to be the fuckup to end all fuckups,” he’d said when I asked if there was a way for him to get out of his record deal.

Did it have to be this fuckup? Those were not his secrets to tell. And in front of Holter no less.

I can’t believe Julian did this. And sending me six feet in the air beforehand? I never would’ve let him go after Bodee.

God, if what those women said is true though… If Bodee is drugging women…

I know Bodee orchestrated a sexual assault against me, but I have no way of knowing if he’s done the act himself. Him drugging women…whether it’s for Jack or himself, it doesn’t really matter. Julian’s right, Bodee should be in jail.

And I should’ve gone after Bodee myself a long time ago to ensure he was.

“Julez!”

Oh no.

The stage is mostly cloaked in shadows still, but one spot in particular is lit up well enough for me to make out Bodee tackle Julian from the side. The two men immediately fall to the floor, wrestling and throwing brutal punches at one another.

Bodee just attacked Julian—publicly. Not just publicly, but onstage at The Mousais. What is he thinking?

He’s not thinking. Bodee Keys is not thinking right now, which means he’s sloppy, more likely to make mistakes.

“Mom! What’s happening?” Holter yells, running over.

“Pull on my foot,” I tell him. The people responsible for helping me down during the performance are currently trying to break up Julian and Bodee’s fight, leaving me stranded while being pulled in two different directions.

Oh, the fucking irony.

“Is what Julian said true? Or what the others said? Did Dad do—”

“Holter, just help me get out of this, okay? One thing at a time.” I can’t confirm the other allegations revealed against Bodee tonight, but I can’t dismiss them either. As far as what Bodee did to me, now is not the place or time for a discussion I never even planned on having with my son.

With Holter’s help, my toes finally skim the floor, and together we manage to get one carabiner unhooked. As more bodies fill the stage, someone bumps into Holter’s shoulder, causing him to release his hold on me, and without my foot wedged under anything, I’m hoisted back up into the air, only one carabiner supporting my weight this time. Without the counteracting pull from having both straps attached, I’m now eight feet off the floor, dangling by one side of my hip.

Shit.

I survey the stage’s perimeter, searching for a ladder or anything tall enough for me to reach.

“I heard you were into knifeplay these days, but restraints, too?” I hear below me, and freeze. Oh God, no. He can’t be. I thought I saw a glimpse of him earlier, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

Except he is. Jack is standing directly beneath me, staring up at me as his gaze touches on my chest, then the rest of my torso, taking in the harness with a creepy leer that makes my skin crawl.

“Collette, you’ve really taken your addiction to a whole new level. Why don’t you come on down, so we can get you the help you so clearly need.”

My “sex addiction.” That’s the story he and Bodee are going to stick with and try to run into the ground along with my career.

Which is the furthest thing from my mind right now.

The beads of sweat building at my hairline aren’t for me or my career, they’re for Holter because Jack’s standing right next to my son, a place I’ve fought my ass off to make sure he’d never end up. Now that my worst nightmare’s come true, I’m tied up and helpless. I’m as useless now as I’ve ever been, otherwise, I would’ve done something before now to prevent this from happening.

“Holter, find Bare.”

“But, Mom.”

“Do it. Go.”