Page 88 of On the Run
“That’s what I said,” Jonquil agreed. “But of course he actuallydoescare, he just doesn’t want us to worry about him. Still, I think it was wise that Big Rafe is sending Gage to fetch him back here, whether he performs or not. He needs to be surrounded by people who care about him.”
My heart pounded double-time. “Back up, back up. Big Rafe has talked to Jayd Rollins? Gage iswithJayd Rollins?”
“They’re family friends, Trey. You know that.” She hesitated. “Don’t you?”
“No, yes, I knew they were friends. I knew about Rafe and Aimee.”
“Right,” Jonquil said, sounding relieved.
“But I didn’t know they knew where Jayd wasnow.” I licked my lips, and the taste of peanut butter was kinda sickening. I wanted to ask where the hell Jayd was and if maybe Jonquil had a phone number so I could call him, but instead what popped out of my mouth was, “God, how does Young Rafe feel about him coming back to the Key? It must be hard.”
Because apparently I was a person who thought of others first now? Bizarre.
“Maybe so, but Young Rafe was the one who suggested that Gage should go and fetch him… after Beale gave him a stiff talking-to, of course, as you know.”
A giant ball of something like pride filled the empty spots in my chest. Ihadn’tknown that, but fuck I wished I had. I wished I’d been there when Beale gave Rafe a talking-to.
“…but I’m not sure anyone can convince Jayd to do the concert, which is why we need the flyers sooner than later.”
I frowned and tried to focus. “You’re still going to do the fundraiser, then, for sure?”
“Heck, yes. We still need a bridge! And if you care about something, you don’t give up, you fight harder. Isn’t that what you and Beale did all these years?”
I opened my mouth and shut it again. Once again, the answer was no. Once again, I wished it wasn’t.
“That’s… a great way to put it,” I said, feeling absurdly choky about the whole thing. Apparently Jonquil read chocolate wrappers, too.
“Oh, I can’t take credit. It was something I read in Aunt Hagatha this morning. ’Course, she was talking about cats, but that’s the thing with Hagatha, I find. You gotta know how to interpret her. Not so different from Beale with his horoscopes, in a way. All depends on how you think the Universe is tryna talk to you, and what you’re finally ready to hear, don’t you think?” Jonquil chuckled lightly. “Some of us need to hear things a dozen times before it penetrates. So, we’ll fight hard, even though it seems hopeless.”
I blinked, my mouth hanging open.
“Anywho, about this flyer…”
“Email me the rendering,” I said quickly. “In fact, email me everything you have. I’m going to send it to a graphic designer I know, and then I’ll talk to a lawyer, just like I promised. But right now… I have something I have to do.” Immediately. Before I overthought it and stopped myself.
“Oh! Alright, then, honey. But first, send me your address. I’ve got a care package for you. Just a few baked goods from Lety and a little something the Mahjong folks painted for you. Don’t worry—nothing too risqué. We held Lorenna back.”
I gave her my address—hell, I’d have given her anything she wanted—then I booted up my laptop.
I couldn’t do anything about the Jayd situation or the paparazzi right then, but maybe… maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe I could figure that out in time, and maybe it was just an excuse I was giving myself about why I couldn’t take a stand for Beale—forus—and apologize, and fight to fix things.
Even though they seemed hopeless.
Maybe nothing I could do would change things between us, and maybe it would, but maybe the outcome didn’t matter either. Maybe Beale just needed to know that he was worth fighting for. Maybe I just needed to know that I could stop running and fight.
And sweet Tom Daley in a teeny-tiny Speedo, maybe it was time to take my own advice, because it was a sad day when the Universe had to parrot chocolate-wrapper truisms to you a billion times before you could hear the actual truth of them.
Hagatha was me—not a persona, not someone I pretended to be—and it had taken Beale to show me that, but that didn’t mean I had all the answers. Far from it. Sometimes I was sad and lost. Sometimes it was okay for me to ask for help and to admit I’d fucked up. To take things in a whole new direction.
Dear, Jeannie—
I wanna make a change to Thursday’s column. I think you’ll find the new one is neither boring nor flat, even if it’s a tiny bit off-brand. Remember you said you’d work with me?
—T.
18
Beale
