Obviously, she doesn’t want to talk about it. For some reason, I can’t let it go. “Still in the top five percent?” I toss her a grin. It’s an academic question. Pun intended. She was always top of her year at school, without even trying.
“Mm-hm.” She sounds like she’s swallowed a frog. “Maybe notquitethe top five percent.”
“Tough course, huh?”
“You could say that.”
What isn’t she telling me?
What the fuck am I thinking? If she doesn’t want to talk about Uni, it’s none of my business. Besides, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask her for ages, but never got the chance. “Are you still doing your art?”
Funny, before she took the Oxford route, I thought she’d do something with her art, even though it was always an unspoken given in her family that she’d follow in her late mother’s academic footsteps.
“Not really. It’s just a hobby, and I don’t get a lot of free time now.”
“But there’s always time to party, right?” I sling her a smile, but her answering one is strained, as though the party scene isn’t as great as she’s always made out.
“Definitely,” she says, but it’s like it’s an automatic reflex, the expected answer to a question she’s been asked countless times over the last couple of years.
Am I losing it, or what?Why am I analyzing every bloody thing she says? She loves partying. Her first year seemed to consist of nothingbut.
I can’t shift the feeling that I’m missing something obvious, though.
It’s not far from Notting Hill to the top London hospital where Jake and the boys are being treated. It’s a different one than was “accidentally” leaked to the press, so there are no panic-struck fans around, and after I park we make our way to the entrance. Mac’s scrolling through Atomic Fire’s social feed on her phone. “Bloody hell. It says here Jake’s throat is crushed.” She looks at me. “I thought he broke his leg.”
“I wouldn’t believe anything that’s online.”
“I guess.” She sounds doubtful. “But it makes sense if Jake thinks his career’s over, though, doesn’t it?”
“Baz isn’t an idiot.” Baz is their manager, and he’s well on the ball. “If it was that bad he would’ve called their insurers, not Lucas.”
“True,” she concedes. “I just can’t help thinking there must be something we don’t know, for Jake to be in such a state.”
I hold open the entrance door for her. Although her concern makes me question if Lucas forgot to tell me something vital, the urge to make her smile is strong. “Maybe he just wants to see you again.”
She gives a dramatic groan and shakes her head. “I can think of easier ways that don’t include having to break a major bone.”
“Yeah, well, you know Jake. He likes to make an impact.”
This time she smiles, and it’s damn hard not to bump my shoulder against hers the way I used to.Don’t push your luck, Will.
We make our way to the private wing, where a couple of beefy private security guards lurk. They take our details and attempt to confiscate our phones before muttering into their headsets, all the while eyeing us as though we’re a couple of spies for the paparazzi.
Baz appears halfway along the corridor, and we’re allowed through—phones, too. He gives Mac a hug and nods at me.
“How is everyone?” she says. “Lucas wasn’t very clear on the details.”
“The others were discharged this morning. So was Rafe, but he’s still trying to talk Jake round.”
“Not having much luck, then?” It’s rhetorical, since if Rafe had managed to change his younger brother’s mind, there would’ve been no need for Mac to turn up. She’s worked so hard on pulling this year’s fundraiser together, and securing Atomic Fire, just before their first single hit the top of the charts, was a stroke of genius. It can’t fall apart at this late stage.
Baz grunts. “He got it into his head he needs to see Mac. For Christ’s sake, just tell him he looks fucking fantastic, will you?”
“Hedidjust break a leg, didn’t he?” She sounds worried and I take a step toward her. Not sure why. I hope she didn’t notice.
“Yeah.” Baz opens a door, and we follow him into the room. Rafe’s standing with his back to the window, his bandaged arms folded across his chest, and he gives us a nod in greeting. Jake’s on the bed, his left leg plastered, and in a pulley, and—
Is that abath towelwrapped around his head?
