Page 39 of Dissonance

I’m still shaking my head when the phone buzzes again. Only, it’s not Olive with another inappropriate text, it’s worse, and the notification makes my blood chill.

Dad

Told you so. Drop the kid and come back home.

Now that off-kilter sensation feels a lot like nausea.

Chapter Seventeen

Lockie

The building’s alive with the controlled chaos of a music video shoot. Crew members dart around, moving lights, rearranging props around Cooper, who’s already immersed in the scene, laughing with the team somewhere near the back of the set, offering suggestions, clearly in his element.

The hired security are fine, adequate even. But they’re not reading the room the way I am—tracking the dancers running their routine in the far corner, Tyler back in the makeup chair, the director arguing with someone about camera angles—finishing on Thea.

She’s standing just off set, frowning at her tablet with that sharp, focused attention she gets when she’s working. Her hair’s pulled back, glasses high on her nose, but there are shadows under her eyes that weren’t there the last time I properly saw her over a month ago.

Anyone who works as many hours as she does without delegating any responsibility would be tired, but this is…different. The kind of exhaustion that’s settled into her bones, the kind that doesn’t shake off with sleep.

I don’t move toward her, just adjust my position, catalogue everyone between her and the exit, and stay where I am. If she’s worn down, she’s more exposed. And I don’t like that. Not one fucking bit.

Cooper wanders over, head down over his phone, smile firmly on his face when he looks up.

“My mom sent me a video,” he says, angling the screen toward me. “Ziggy’s found his feet.”

Warmth cuts through my chest as I watch the wee lad. Declan’s got him on his knee, both hands braced under his arms, Ziggy pushing down hard with his legs like he’s trying to launch himself off his dad.

“There’s my future hockey star,” Declan says through the speaker as their son turns, toothlessly beaming at the camera, dribble coating his chin as he bounces on the spot, squealing in delight as Holly laughs off camera.

“Won’t be long until he’s walking,” I say.

“I know, right. Dec says as soon as he can stand on his own, he’s getting a pair of skates.” He watches the clip loop, smiling to himself. “God, I miss him.”

The director calls for a reset, and Cooper sighs, handing me his phone to bound back toward the makeshift club set, everyone falling into place as the camera swings around. The second the music kicks in, Reign Cooper is in full control. Guitar slung low on his hips, fingers dragging over the strings, mouthing along with the lyrics as his eyes lock onto the lens.

There’s a reason he sells out stadiums, why every track he releases turns platinum. The entire room stills, attention pulled toward the man smoldering for the camera, bodies edging closer to get a better look.

This is why his security never gets easier, regardless of how controlled the environment. He seems to have his own gravity, and attention can’t help but fall in.

“What the fuck, man?”

The shout comes from somewhere outside, not loud enough to reach the set, but enough to reach me. And Thea. Her head snaps to the open door at the same time mine does. She’s off in a heartbeat, tablet handed to the nearest assistant, her pace a little too fast for the heels she’s wearing. I’m right behind her, the voices getting louder as we near the corridor outside.

“You’re not meant to be here,” Tyler says, frustration clear in his voice.

“And why the fuck not?” Zane shouts. “You hang out with Reign Cooper, and suddenly you’re too good for your own family?”

“That’s not what this is.”

I round the corner and clock Zane before I’ve fully processed the words. Same read as the Grammys—loud, loose, no regard for anyone around him. But there’s an edge today that wasn’t there before. Wound too tight, eyes too bright, already past the point of being talked down.

Thea steps between them at the top of the stairs, hands out placatingly.

“Zane,” she says with a level of authority he recoils at. “This isn’t the place. You need to leave.”

His laugh is ugly as he sneers and turns back to Tyler. “Look at that. Your little boss bitch thinks she can boss me around too.”

“Don’t,” Tyler warns, stepping forward. “Go home.”