Page 71 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“What? Why?”

She holds out the newspapers. “Because of this.”

Dave takes one in his hands but I can’t bear to look. His expression is enough for me to understand whatever it is, it’s not good.

“‘Carnal Lies? The metal band’s rise to stardom could be the worst sin of all.’” James reads softly, the paper crunching in his hands.

“This story isn’t out yet,” Izzy explains. “My friend from college—you know Henry? He works for theEast Bay Chroniclenow and called to give me the heads up. But this paper will be everywhere first thing tomorrow.”

“How can they print something that hasn’t even been proven true yet?” Becks asks.

Izzy rolls her eyes. “It’s theChronicle.You know all they print is trash. But because they don’t come right out and use accusatory language, they can get away with it. It’s bullshit.”

Al grabs a copy of the paper, then pulls his car keys from his pocket. “I need to head back to the office to try and deal with this. See if they can pull the article before it hits the streets.” He stops when he reaches me. “Joel, please see what you can get out of Key. I wish it was as easy as taking his word for it, but if this goes to court they’re going to want some kind of proof and . . . so will the public.”

I stand, shell-shocked, as he leaves through the front door.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Dave whispers.

“You don’t think this guy could be telling the truth, do you?” Becks asks.

James shakes his head. “No. No, there’s no way. We’ve all been in a studio with him. Key knows how to compose songs. I’ve watched him do it.”

“But what if he has no way to prove he wrote them?” Dave adds.

James turns to Dave with a frown. “Wait, you’re not actually thinking?—”

“No, definitely not,” Dave admits. “But in all that studio time, all those rehearsals . . . have you ever seen Key bring a piece of paper with him? Has he ever written down a song? Who does that?”

“Hedoes.”

I don’t even realize I said the words until the four of them turn to me.

“I know him,” I say. “Key’s brain works differently. You’re right though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him write down a composition.”

Dave steps toward me. “We need proof. If this Logan guy has something and we don’t? How will we ever be able to clear Key’s name?”

“I’ll talk to him,” I say. “It’ll all be okay, you’ll see.”

Four pairs of eyes watch me as I back out of the living room, and when I reach Key’s door, my legs are heavy.

How is this happening? There’s no way that bastard has proof and if he does, it’s obviously fake. There isn’t a lot that I’m certain of in this world, but one thing I know one hundred percent? It’s that Key is the furthest thing from a liar or a thief. It’s impossible. So I stretch out my hand and knock on the door.

“Key?”

“Fuck off, Thanger,” he shouts.

My guts turn. He never calls me by my last name. He must really be pissed. I grip the handle and turn it, thankful he didn’t lock me out. When I step inside, I spot him laid out on the bed, his face buried in the pillows.

“Hey man,” I start.

“I thought I told you to fuck off,” he mumbles into his sheets.

“You ought to know by now that I’m terrible at following instructions.”

“I have nothing to say that I haven’t already said.”

I cross the room and stand next to the bed. “You could talk to me. Like you always do.” There’s a grunt, and I roll my eyes before perching on his bed. “Or, you know, I could just beat the shit out of you until you spill it.”

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