Page 93 of Protect Your Queen

He wiped his face. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Oh, kid… why didn’t you just tell me? I would have protected you, no matter what.”

“Because…” I swallowed the growing lump in my throat. “I don’t know…”

Because I didn’t want you to leave like Papa did.

“All these years, I thought that you were the most delicate little thing in the world because… but here you are, standing up to one of the most powerful men in music.” He laughed again. “Oh, Jasmine was right. She’ll never let me live that down.”

I heard the squeal of tires as a car came to a halt in the driveway. An angry slam of a door and the rough steps of boots on the gravel announced Jasmine’s entrance.

“Speak of the Devil,” my brother laughed, as the door swung open.

“Check this shit out!” My sister’s loud voice echoed through the halls, giving me a throbbing headache. “Mrs. Dryden and that actor guy are a couple, and our Jestiny is a hero for saving her from her disgusting husband.” She paused when she saw me, almost dropping the newspapers in her hand. “Oh! You’re awake!”

I nodded, as she looked at me with a pained expression.

Then she shook her head, her long straight hair teasing her shoulders before she snapped the newspapers open.

“Take a look at this,” Jazz shook her head as she came over, dumping newspapers on top of my blanket. “Pictures of thepretty boyare all over. They’re calling him the ‘body-hunk’. It’s not a good nickname, but they’re running with it.”

I looked down at the newspaper. A photo of Chris walking out of a glass building was printed on the front, his sunglasses firmly on his face as he buttoned a sport coat. He could have been the next James Bond.

“You didn’t tell us that pretty boy was a musician,” Jazz said, crossing her arms in front of her. “Apparently, he almost got a music scholarship before he joined the Army. There are videos of him when he was young, playing recitals. It’s all over social media. He’s actually good.”

Of course, he was good. I knew that. He wasstillgood, despite the scarred hand.

Jareth grabbed a newspaper and unfurled it, reading the lines quickly.

“So, thehelphas talent, does he?” Jareth said as if it was almost an insult. “I still don’t like him.”

“But I do,” I said, quietly. “Please, bring him back.”

“No,” Jareth said, looking at me with cold, red-rimmed eyes. Gone was the laughter from earlier, and now he was back to being… himself. “No, I don’t think I will. You need to ride this press to your next album. I don’t want you distracted.”

“Please, I need him!”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes!”

“Do the concert at the Black Bird, even if it’s just an EP. I promise you, that if he’s worthy, he’ll be there.”

I didn’t believe him. Chris would find someone else.

“You don’t think anyone is worthy,” I grumbled. “You won’t let anyone close enough to give them a chance! He’s just going to disappear. He’ll be gone, just like Papa, and I’ll be alone again.”

“I keep men away from you because they are scum!” Jareth bellowed, the sound of it bouncing off the gold-colored Spanish tiles.

Silence descended over us. Jazz reached out and touched my hand, her long fingers circling mine. “When you were twelve —”

“Jazz!” Jareth turned, his eyes fuming as he glared at our sister.

“She deserves to know!” Jazz snapped back. “It’s not under control. Look at her! You can’t just push her up on stage and think that she’ll perform and be happy about it!”

Jareth’s fist clenched, his knuckles shaking with the tension. But he stayed silent. That was… surprising.

“It was one thing when she was a fucking teen and wouldn’t understand, but she’s a grown woman, now!” Jazz said, a little quieter. Still, she didn’t apologize for her outburst. “She put a bullet in Dryden. Shedeservesto understand.”

Jareth huffed, looking away, taking another drink. How drunk was he, exactly? I couldn't be sure. But he was in sweatpants and his hair was disheveled. Compared to how he normally was… he may be obliterated.

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