Mallory and I have spoken on the phone every single night. Everything’s fine between us. She would’ve told me if she’d gone out with Andrew. No, scratch that, I know Mallory. She wouldn’t go out with Andrew at all. She sure as fuck wouldn’t get on the back of his bike.
“Bullshit. I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing, Pamela.” Yet, for some reason, I don’t hang up the phone.
“It’s true. He came to visit her on set. I can put you in touch with a dozen people who saw them together. And I heard her making plans to go over to his house tonight.”
No. No fucking way. Pamela’s always had some weird, petty jealousy thing going with Mallory. For fuck’s sake, she’s eyeballed me like a black widow spider stalking her next sperm donor too many times to count. I don’t trust a word out of her mouth.
“You’re full of shit, Pamela.” Part of me can’t stop wondering why Pamela’s doing this. Why today? Why now? She and Andrew broke up weeks ago. She should be over it.
“Okay,” she sings. “Don’t believe me.” Her voice lowers to a pouty, mocking tone. “Mallory’s such an, innocent, inexperienced little lamb. And you know what kind of guy Andrew is. Even if I’m wrong, do you really want them spending time alone together?”
I slam the phone down and stare at it, considering Pamela’s words. Innocent and inexperienced keep repeating over and over. Same words my father used.
It doesn’t mean anything.
“What’s going on? Why didn’t you let me talk to her?” Jacob whines.
“She called for me.” I push myself out of the chair and pace to the other side of the room.
Alvin frowns and sits up. “Everything okay, Chaser?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
“Let’s get back to work!” Mark claps his hands like the world’s most annoying kindergarten teacher as he enters the room. “Chaser. You give any more thought to that riff you were working on for ‘In Your Hands’?”
“What? No.”
He scowls at me and I scowl right back.
We get back to work but that phone call keeps playing in my head on an endless loop.
I don’t believe a word Pamela said.
Do I?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chaser
We managed to finish one more song this afternoon. I’m too distracted to enjoy it and don’t even want to celebrate with the guys.
“Innocent, inexperienced little lamb.” Pamela’s stupid words echoed in my head all afternoon.
I’m edgy, eager to get back to the house after we leave the studio.
“You’re not gonna grab dinner with us?” Alvin asks.
“Nah, I want to work on a few things and get to bed early.”
He glances over at Garrett and Jacob. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks in a lower voice. “You’ve been weird since Pamela called.” He cocks his head. “Why did she call you, anyway?”
“Who the fuck knows.”
“Look, she’s a nice girl. It was a real shitty thing Andrew did to her—”
“But?”
“She and Andrew have that whole dysfunctional, swirl of chaotic energy around them. Don’t let her suck you into their vortex of crazy.”
Wise advice.
“She’s been cozying up to Jacob for weeks,” he continues. “Calling you when you’re with Mallory. It’s not right.”
Should I confess what Pamela said? Let him tell me what I already know—that it’s garbage? No, because then I’d probably end up blabbing about my father’s warning after Mallory and I got engaged. I don’t want to say any of it out loud to anyone. It’s bullshit.
I force a laugh. “I’m going home to call Mallory right now, bro. Just didn’t feel like listening to everyone bust my balls for being pussy-whipped.”
He frowns. “When have you ever given a shit what anyone thinks of you?”
“Never.” I pat his shoulder. “Don’t stay out too late. I have a feeling Mark plans to push us hard tomorrow.”
There’s more he wants to say, his dissatisfaction with my answers is clear. But Garrett and Jacob start whining for him to hurry up. I use the distraction as my opportunity to escape.
Mallory and I usually wait until eleven—when long-distance rates are cheaper—for our nightly call. But there have been plenty of nights where one of us called earlier.
I dial the house and wait.
My voice on the answering machine greets me. “You’ve reached Chaser and Mallory—”
“Fuck.” I slam the phone down.
I prowl through the house, convincing myself everything’s fine. She works late on the set all the time.
I try her again.
And again.
Finally, at ten she answers.
“Where’ve you been?” I try to force my voice into something casual, but the question comes out harsher than I intended.
“Did you