Page 115 of Broken Strings
“Come on then, for crying out loud!”
Ramming Jesse’s phone into my pocket, I jog to the waiting car to unceremoniously bark an address in Tribeca at my unfortunate driver as Ford slides into the front passenger seat.
He presses his lips together apologetically before shrugging. “Don’t mind my asshole friend. He’s had one too many cocktails of late.Tequila Sunriseis theworst!”
His flippancy almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
As the car eats the distance between Teterboro and Tribeca, questions rampage through my brain more quickly than I can register them. Does she miss me as much as I’ve missed her? Is there a chance for us? Or has she moved on?
How long has she known Vaughn fucking Burton? Clearly, she’s known him since before she came back, considering our son knows him too!
Fuck!
I focus on my breathing, trying to keep my inner asshole at bay until I get to the bottom of things.
After about fifteen minutes of effort, I have an epiphany.
I’ll just text her and ask her outright!
The idea eases my trepidation, but when I pull out my phone, it won’t power on. I swear internally—which is a feat in and of itself at this point—before tossing the worthless device onto the seat beside me. All hope is not lost when I suddenly remember Jesse’s phone in my pocket.
Unlocking the screen, I exit the tracker app, find his text messages, and type out my question.
Jesse
Where are you now?
“Would you like me to park right outside, Mr North?”
My driver's voice shifts my attention from the phone in my hand, and I glance up to realise we’re already in Tribeca.
The streetlights are bright, and we appear to be on a street heavy with both pedestrians and car traffic. The infamous Rogue is lit up in red on my left, a low and steady beat pumping from within.
“You can park here. We’ll be back shortly.”
Jesse’s phone chimes, drawing my attention.
Mom
I’m at work, baby. Can you have your dad call me as soon as he can?
I grit my teeth, and my nostrils flare as I realise her meaning. If she’s at workhere, does that mean she’s a goddamnperformer? Or worse?
Isthathow she met Burton?
“Deep breaths, Cade.”
Raising my eyes, I find Ford has shifted around in the passenger seat and is watching me with concern.
“I’mfine.” As I pocket the phone, I force my unusually stern face to soften slightly. “Come on. I need to get this done.”
I slide from the car onto the cobblestone street as a group of women in the shortest short skirts imaginable saunter past, whispering between one another as they shoot unconcealed glances in my direction.
Shit!
The main downside of notoriety is the sheer lack of freedom.
