The Revolution (26 page)

My phone rings and I go to turn it off, but it’s a number I don’t recognize. It might be a client, so I answer it. “Hello?”

“Lara Kessler?”

“Yes.”

“I’m David with
Caught Magazine
.” My heart starts to race as he continues, “The great missing prodigy has been discovered fighting for your honor. Do you have a comment?”

Great missing prodigy?
What?
“I think you have the wrong Lara Kessler.”

“You’re the right one. Designer to the stars. Mark Renner’s girlfriend. Oh, I’ll need to correct that. Are you and Kaz Fabian dating? Did you leave Mark for Kaz?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So no comment on leaving Mark Renner for Kazimir Petrowski?”

“No comment,” I mumble and quickly hang up.

Kazimir Petrowski.

Missing.

Kazimir Petrowski.

Prodigy.

Kazimir.

Kaz.

I run to my laptop and type the name into the search box. An image of Kaz hitting Mark at the awards banquet pops up as the most recent results. I scan down the page to a link to Kazimir Petrowski and click.

Kazimir Fabian Petrowski—world famous pianist. A prodigy at age fourteen who won the world over with his talent and playful, but dramatic style. At fifteen, Petrowski, descended from Russian royalty, was touring Europe and playing for sold-out crowds that included royalty anxious to see a legend in the making
.

In shock, I stare at a picture of a youthful Kaz. I’ve heard of the mysterious missing Petrowski, but I never put two and two together. No one did. Until now.
Oh no.
I did this. I’m responsible for this getting out. Kaz held this secret so tight that even his closest friends didn’t know and now because of me, the world knows who and where he is.
But how? How did this get out?
Surely Mark didn’t know about Kaz? The damn paparazzi. The punch that took him from the back of the stage to front and center spotlight is the downfall for my mysterious rocker. The paps are better than the CIA when it comes to digging up dirt.

Looking at the ceiling, I feel terrible for being the cause of this exposé, and exhale. When I look down again, I continue to read the article.
Petrowski skipped two concerts from reports of him being ill, but he finally showed in Luxembourg to another sold-out venue. The audience waited forty-five minutes for him to begin before the show was cancelled. He did his last interview after that performance in the dressing room. He reportedly said, “I played the entire show in my head. I just couldn’t get my fingers to cooperate.”

He left that night and disappeared. At age sixteen, his career was over. The greatest pianist of his time walked away from that stage determined to disappear into anonymity and he succeeded.

Rumors have spread with alleged sightings over the years, but with no photographic proof, the rumors have remained just that—rumors.

One of the greatest pianists of our time was hiding in plain sight, right under a spotlight. With the incident on the…

I take a minute to absorb the information before picking up my phone and calling him.

FUCK!

It was one punch.

Fine, two.

And then Derrick’s. But what a pussy for filing restraining orders against us. What a fucking coward.

My life is so fucked. My life was coming together. Finally. Did I really think no one would discover my secrets? No. I’m not naïve. But I had hoped. Life had been going great for the last ten years, and even better in the last few weeks.

Two punches.

That’s all it took to take down a baseball legend. Technically the first landed him on his ass. But now, I’m a wanted man—by the press. Correction: wanted even
more
by the paps and fans. My life took center stage overnight. Everything I’ve worked so hard to hide is now headline news because of the interest in the man who took down the baseball All-Star. Literally. It’s a lead topic on the news channel.

Missing Pianist Prodigy Found!

As I scroll through the headlines on my phone, Tommy cuts into my racing thoughts, “Why did you have to go after Renner’s girl? Lara Kessler is a hot piece of ass and sweet as pie, but, man, she wasn’t just taken, she was off limits.”

I shoot him a look. “Don’t call her that.”

“You’re awful touchy over a girl you barely know.”

“I know her.”

“Fuck me, Kaz. What are you talking about? Rochelle brought her around a few times and you’re acting like a love-sick groupie.”

The reference makes me smile. “I would be a groupie for her.”

He takes a turn sharply, jerking me to the side, and pulls over, stopping in front of a house. Shifting the car into park, Tommy’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “You’re knee-deep in a whole lot of media mess all because of a girl. You hitting Renner drew all the attention to you. Did you think they wouldn’t dig into your past?”

“I wasn’t thinking about me when I hit him.”

Sighing loudly, he says, “Truth. I need it. I need you to tell me everything, Kaz. I can help. I’ll cover. I’ll lie for you guys, but tell me what I’m dealing with.”

I rest my elbow on the door and lean against it, debating with myself. How much do I want the world to know? Tommy won’t tell, but I’m not sure I’m ready to share.

“With one blow to Renner’s face you became the target of the media. Once they show interest, they’ll dig every dark secret out of your past. So how the hell did we not know you were a pianist? By the way, that’s really fucking close to penis. What jerkoff thought that was a good name? And if you’re this so-called prodigy, why the fuck aren’t you on keys?”

Chuckling lightly, I sit up. I know he means well and is trying to make me feel better the only way he knows how. But I’m not in a good mood and his humor is lost right now. “You need to know I don’t like to talk about it, so I don’t. This isn’t easy having my skeletons scattered across gossip sites like there are no victims. There are. A whole slew of them. Myself included. I hide my life for a reason and now it is dragged out for entertainment purposes.” I would still hit that asshole even at the expense of my past being exposed.

“Is it worth it? This thing with Lara?”

“I don’t regret hitting him. Maybe I’m supposed to because of where it’s landed me, but I don’t. And I’d do it again.”

“You said he hurt her.”

“He beat the shit out of her two weeks ago. He’s six foot five. I don’t know if she reaches five foot four. He could’ve killed her. That sick fuck knew what he was doing. He slapped her across the face, but hurt her the most on her body so no one would see.”

“Shit.” His eyes close tight and he rubs the bridge of his nose. He finally looks back at me and asks, “Did you see?”

“She called me to pick her up after it happened.”

“And why would she call you, Kaz?”
Because she knew I would be there for her. Because she trusted me. Because I had given her my heart. Because she wanted to give me hers.

After a hard long stare, I just say it, “Because we love each other.”

The back of his head hits the headrest. “I was afraid of that.” He shifts the car into drive and says, “I’ll help take care of this, but you need to let me know what you want out there and what you don’t.”

“I want that fucker to pay for what he did, but I don’t want to hurt her in the process.”

“Are you willing to sacrifice yourself to save her?”

“Yes,” I reply instantly.

“Don’t answer me now. Think about this. Really think about it. Everything you’ve kept hidden for a reason is about to be exposed and on a large scale. If the information about Renner gets out, it will take the heat off you. No one’s going to attack her in the media. She’s the victim, but to be on the safe side, does she have proof?”

“There are photos.”

“She needs to file against him immediately.” He pulls up to Johnny Outlaw’s estate gate and punches in a code. We drive up the long driveway and park. Tommy looks over the hood at me when I get out. “This isn’t just about you. It’s about the band.”

“It’s about Lara. She’s the victim here. Everything I did I’ll own, but I won’t throw her under the bus to protect myself. I won’t.”

“Okay. Then I’ll stand by you. A band meeting has been called. Let’s go inside and figure out what to do next.”

“Thanks, man,” I say following him to the door.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m good, but I can’t work miracles.”

Grabbing his shoulder and giving it a squeeze, I say, “You’ve been known to pull off a few, so I rest my faith in you, Tommy.”

“
Fuuuck
. We’re going down with this ship then.”

I laugh and open the door. Inside the band isn’t around. Holli peeks around the corner from the kitchen and says, “They’re in the studio.”

“Thanks,” I reply. “All good with you?”

Tommy smiles and waves. “Hi, Holli, I’m heading downstairs.”

She smiles at him. “Okay.” When she looks at me the smile remains. “I’m good. How are you holding up?”

I lie. “Like I have no problems in the world.”

That makes her laugh as she comes around and leans on the corner of the wall and crosses her arms. “Hold on to that feeling, Mr. Petrowski.”

“Not you, too?”

“I can’t let the boys have all the fun.”

“Well, you could, but it’s fine. There are worse things to be called than your birth name.”

“Very true.”

“How’s Lara?”

“Worried about me.”

“Women tend to do that.”

“I’m worried about her.”

“Do you need to be?”

Such a simple question. I should be able to answer it easily, but when asked, I pause. “I want to protect her.”

Her smile is soft, sympathy seen in her eyes. “I have no doubt you will.” She takes a step forward and hugs me. We’ve known each other for a while, and Holli’s always treated me like I belong. She whispers, “Take care of yourself too. The band needs you.”

“I will.”

We part and she says, “The guys are waiting for you. I’ll bring some snacks down later.”

“Thanks, Holli.”

“You’re welcome.”

WHEN I ENTER
the recording studio, everyone is in their prospective places: Derrick on the far side, Dex on drums, Johnny in a chair up front, and Tommy off to the side. This is where we rehearse and record. Each section of the large soundproof room has designated space that we’ve taken over, staked claim as our area. “Hey,” I say dropping down into a large beanbag near my amp.

Johnny’s expression is tense, his eyes holding a million questions that his tongue holds on to. Tommy starts, “The label’s publicist is handling the media, but she wants to know if you’re willing to go on record with your story—the family drama.”

“Do I have to?”

“I think it will settle the rumors quicker and quiet a lot of the press,” Tommy answers.

I look to Johnny. He’s had to deal with a shit-ton of press—good and bad. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know your story, man.” He sits back. “We’re a band. That makes us family. We’ll do whatever you need us to do.”