All Areas Accessed - Sequel to Access All Areas

Chapter Twenty

Okay, I'm worried.

Like bat shit crazy worried.

Clara hasn't got back to me.

I've done the photo shoot, now I'm en route to the, The Tonight Show.

"Everything okay?" Cameron is looking sideways at me, noticing how my nervous hands and eyes are completely preoccupied with my, all too quiet, cell phone.

"Everything is fine." I gruffly tell him, sounding anything but fine.

"Nothing's happened with Maci, has it?" Shifting a little in his seat beside me in the car, Cam's eyes become full of sudden concern. Not because he cares about my sister, he just cares that nothing tarnishes all of his hard work regarding my recent tour.

With low shoulders and an even lower chin, I quickly reassure him. "She's fine. She's exactly where she should be." I really want to message Clara again, but I don't really want to do it in front of Cam. Since the whole 'Clara thing' we've been pretty cool with each other. Our relationship has become all about him being my Publicist. It's that and that alone.

"Is your mom and Don still breaking your balls?" His lips slightly lift into a casual smile, seemingly trying to be actually nice.

Cam really does have shit timing. I have a lot of things on my mind right now, and I certainly don't want to discuss those things with him. "They'll get over it." My reply is altogether clipped, evasive even.

"Listen, Rhys, about Clara."

Being stuck with Cam in the back of the car, is not what I need right now—especially when he wants to raise the subject of Clara. "There's nothing to talk about, Cam." That's his cue to stay quiet. To not talk about my girl. I just can't deal with it at this very moment. She's not getting back to me, so I have no idea of what the hell is going on with her.

"I think there is, Rhys." Is Cam's undeterred reply.

So my own reply is one that's anchored with so much dislike. "There really isn't." I say, sounding disdainfully deeper now.

Cameron shifts again beside me, staring out at the space in front of him with a loud exhalation of breath. "You got the girl, Rhys." Yet another exhalation, only this one is exhaled with pure frustration. "I'll be happy for you, just as long as you keep her happy."

Stiffening to his words, words that are said with honesty, protectiveness and reluctant defeat; I don't know what to actually say back to him. I only know that I'm feeling tense and agitated, because of the chivalrous way in which Cameron is still so damn protective over Clara. My Clara. Needing to remain completely calm, I speak through a jaw that's so tight with suppression. "I'll keep her happy. You just do your job." It's a statement. A promise. A warning. All stoically rolled into one.

"I will." Is Cam's cool-headed answer. It's an answer that is equally a statement. Equally a promise. And maybe even a little warning of his own?

"Good." I eventually say, staring down at my cell phone for like the trillionth time. Bringing it possessively nearer to my face, I tilt it at an angle, so that Cam won't see what I'm so hastily now typing.

Jeez, I feel like I'm bothering you but I just need to know that you're okay. Whether WE are okay?

At this point, I honestly don't know whether we are okay.

Something is definitely wrong.

Shit, what if she's hurt?

My thoughts soon take a much more sinister turn. I feel so damn helpless. So out of control. I hate it. I hate not being in control.

For the rest of the journey to the studio, myself and Cam just sit in an agreed silence. He has said all that he had to say. Just as I have said all that I had to say. All my energy is bound up tight with concern. Dangerously twisting more and more with each second that disconcertingly drags. All I want is for Clara to reply to me. It doesn't matter whether it's a text or an actual call, I just need to hear from her.

**

Now I'm totally pissed!

I honestly can't say how many texts I have sent or how many times I have tried to call Clara.

It's an embarrassing amount.

An humiliating amount.

I don't do this shit. Chase after a woman, begging to be contacted by her. But Clara Thorn, she has me doing all that shit. So I've been sulking. Sulking like a boy whose mature balls haven't yet dropped.

I've been so miserably wound up, wound up both before and after The Tonight Show, I even skipped having dinner with the guys. Not in the mood for company of any kind, I just retreated back to my hotel room. Once there, I had a few vodkas from the mini bar and am now sat here, silently stewing in my stagnant pit of agitation.

Why is Clara ignoring me?

What the hell is going on?

It's late, and the later it's getting, the less understanding I seem to have about it all. Then my mobile starts lighting up and vibrating against the table in front of me, hurrying to reach it because I think it's Clara, I grab it with my very impatient fingers. "Shit." Muttering, I contemplate not answering the call at all now, when I realise it's not who I thought it was, but then think that I may as well. "Don." My voice is flat, borderline rude.

Don is just as flat, just as rude. "Your mom is upset."

Sighing loudly, because I really want him to hear that sigh, I then say in a half-assed way. "I know she is." And I do know. I know all too well that she's upset with me. But mom needs to realise that I've been professionally busy and emotionally, otherwise engaged. "As soon as I can come and see her, I'll come and see her." Is my second reply, this time, it's a slightly more guiltily-clad one.

But Don isn't about to go easy on me, he is soon equipped with quick and scathing sarcasm. "Just as soon as you can come down off that pop star pedestal of yours, I'm sure your mom will be real grateful when you're ready to start being her son again."

I'm angry.

Tired and angry.

Tired and angry at Clara.

Tired and angry at mom.

Tired and angry at Don.

Tired and angry at just about everything.

I want to argue. I should be arguing. But I'm too emotionally expired to fight with Don. Yeah, he wants me to rise to his bait. And yeah, he wants me to throw some shit in his direction, just so he can throw it right back. It's what we do. What we've always done. But I just don't have it in me. Not tonight. So with a melancholic tone, I eventually say. "Whatever you say, Don."

Now there's only silence.

No acidic answer.

No caustic sarcasm.

No nothing.

So the silence continues, for just a little awkward while longer.

That is, until Don finally cuts through it with something that almost sounds like genuine concern. "Are you okay?" He quietly asks.

Again, I sigh. "Yeah, I am...just had a rough day." I admit, rubbing my gritty, tired eyes with the back of my free hand.

"Need to talk about it?"

Slightly puzzled by Don's lack of wanting to argue some more with me, my voice soon expresses the lilt of my confusion. "Uh, nope...I don't think I do."

"Right, if you say so." Now Don sounds curt, offended and curt. "Once you're back, you make sure you come and see your mom...you got it?"

Unaffected by his curtness, I find myself just agreeing right along with my stepfather...anything to just get him off this line! "Got it." Then I just hang up. I'm done with him. I'm done with everything—even Clara.