Page 78 of Tainted Tempos

“Isabel,” I murmur.

“She passed away years ago.” Dad watches me curiously before shaking his head. “I’ll tell you the story one day. But you need to go.”

“Right,” I agree, turning around and leaving his office.

Allegra’s waiting by the door, and we slip out together, hurrying through the cold into her car. We drive silently to the brownstone, listening to music, lost in our thoughts.

Security mills about when we pull up to the house, keeping reporters, paparazzi, and fans at bay. The head of security, Drew, knows us and immediately hustles us inside while Alfred takes the car keys to park Allegra’s ride.

We enter the front door, and the commotion unfolding inside greets us.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” Jameson bellows at a cluster of strangers.

“I need a cup of coffee,” comes from a voice I can’t place.

“This is a PR nightmare,” a woman—Kim? —deduces.

“Did you take anything this morning?” Derek asks.

There’s no response, and I step into the living room.

Many sets of eyes swing in my direction.

Jameson looks horrified. Levi, sympathetic. Derek’s frustrated, but his gaze is still trained on Mav.

Mav. He looks...like a trainwreck.

Messy blond hair sticks up in different directions. His eyes are bloodshot. His skin is sickly pale. He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of sweat-shorts.

“Fuck, you’re hot!” A man I don’t recognize stands from the couch.

Derek grasps him by the neck and forcibly pushes him back down. “Sit the fuck down,” he seethes.

“I just want to dance!” A woman sways in a corner, her arms reaching out overhead. She’s wearing a... bikini top? And cut-off shorts.

“Um, I’m here for her,” another woman says, pointing to the dancer.

“Get your friend and get out,” Levi barks.

Holy shit, the brownstone is trashed. I take in the scene before me and can hardly believe that this was—is—my home.

I grasp the back of a chair for support as my knees wobble.

My heartbeat thuds in my temples as a clamminess spreads through my limbs.

Allegra wraps an arm around my waist in solidarity.

Mav stares at me in awe. As if he can’t believe he’s seeing me. As if he doesn’t trust that this is real.

“Mckenna,” he rasps, his voice scratchy. “You’re here.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jameson mutters.

“Kenny, hey,” Aiden says, stepping into the living room with a mug of coffee.

“Christ, Mckenna, I miss you. You’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect,” Mav babbles as if we’re alone. As if this isn’t a messed-up situation. As if he isn’t coked out of his mind.

“I love you, Mckenna. I love you so much,” Mav says, right before his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps onto the couch.

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