Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

2. behind your eyes

[ 2 ]

BEHIND YOUR EYES

LENNON

“SHOOT YOUR GUN” BY 22-20S

“ L ennon!” Paige calls through the door of her main-floor bathroom that I’ve locked myself in. “We have to get going. Are you ready?”

I give myself one last look over. My chestnut-brown hair falls just past my shoulders, styled in a blowout to give it some volume, and my makeup is natural-looking with a light layer of blush and some mascara. I swipe a fresh layer of gloss over my lips to finish off the look, rubbing my lips together as I twist the lid back on. Then I pull open the door, finding my stressed-out sister waiting on the other side, her hip cocked and her arms crossed.

“Are you ready?” I ask, a hint of attitude in my tone. Because of course I’m not ready for today. No amount of time could prepare me for what’s about to occur. I’ll just be happy once it’s all said and done.

That is, assuming it goes the way we’re all hoping it will.

Paige lets out a sigh, her arms falling to her sides. “No,” she says softly, tears beginning to well in her eyes .

My shoulders drop as I take a step forward, wrapping my arms around her. She returns my hug, squeezing tightly before releasing me. She swipes a finger under her eye as she pulls away. Knowing it would likely be an emotional day, my usually glammed-up sister opted for a light layer of waterproof mascara and no base, so thankfully her makeup isn’t running. If the fact that she’s crying before we’ve even left the house is any indication, that was a smart decision on her part.

I rub my hands over her biceps, unable to find the right words to comfort her. What is the best thing to say to your sister who’s grieving your parents when you’re part of the reason they’re dead?

“We should get going,” she tells me, and I nod, smiling sadly. I link my arm in hers as we turn toward where Trevor, Paige’s husband, Dylan, and Emma, his wife, are waiting by the front door.

Paige breaks away from me and steps into Trevor’s arms as Dylan opens the front door, and I lead the way to the idling car on the boulevard.

I pull my beige peacoat around myself tightly as I make my way down the cobblestone path to where Anderson, our family’s driver, waits with the car door open.

Anderson primarily worked for my parents—I’ve only ever used him for family outings, and I don’t think my siblings use him all that much either. But even with our parents gone, we continue to pay him. He’s been part of the family since we were little, and it’s not like we don’t have the money.

I still hardly use the service, even though I hate driving in the city. Using it alone feels weird, like another reminder that my parents are gone, so I usually Uber or walk if I can.

Today, though, I don’t have that option.

“Lennon.” He nods at me as I approach.

I return with a small nod of my own as I bend down, securing myself inside. My siblings and their spouses follow closely behind me .

Once we’re all safely inside, Anderson slams the door shut.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Dylan grumbles as Anderson makes his way around the car to take us to the courthouse.

We’re all ready for this day to be done.

“All rise,” an officer shouts from the front of the courtroom.

Everyone does as he says as the judge takes her position on the stand.

I’m in the aisle seat of one of the many polished, wooden benches that fill the gallery, with Paige to my left and Trevor to hers. Dylan sits behind me, with Emma next to him. We sit directly behind the wooden bar that divides the gallery from the rest of the courtroom, but on the opposite side of the room from the asshole seated in the defendant’s chair.

The asshole who is responsible for the deaths of our parents.

Logan Jameson.

His name has been burned into my mind since the moment the officer spoke it that day in the hospital. It seems crazy to me that I had never heard his name before all this.

Now, I’m never going to forget it.

Today is his first appearance since the accident. It’s his chance to enter a plea deal so the justice system can figure out if he’s going to need a trial—which we’re all hoping he won’t.

As a result, this old courtroom with panelled walls is filled to the brim. From members of the board of Revolution Records to artists who are signed to the label, everyone is here, ready and waiting to witness his downfall.

“You may be seated,” the judge tells the crowd, and everyone sits back down. Reading off the document in front of her, she begins, “In the case of Thorne v. Jameson , the defendant is being charged with one count of driving under the influence and two counts of impaired driving causing death.” The judge turns to look at Logan, an unimpressed look on her face. Not one to beat around the bush, she jumps straight to the reason we’re all here. “Mr. Jameson, how do you plead?”

The room is silent for a moment, everyone waiting patiently to hear what he has to say. He takes his time, looking around at all the faces praying for his demise.

When he smirks toward the back of the gallery, I furrow my brows, my jaw clenched as I glance behind me to see who he’s looking at. It’s no use, though—the benches are way too packed to tell. That’s what happens when the trial is for a man who killed Canada’s most beloved celebrities.

I look back to the front, keeping my eyes trained on Logan while I ring my hands in my lap. Another second passes before the words not guilty echo through the room like a gunshot.

The room erupts in chaos around me, but I’m frozen. Time stands still as the weight of his words settles over the room. I barely notice when Paige lets out a wail beside me or the judge shouting, “Order! Order!” through the uproar. Every sound is muffled as I clench my jaw, focusing all my attention on the shitty excuse for a human who sits at the front, laughing at the mess he’s caused. He scans the room with a smirk on his face until his dark-brown eyes burn holes in my hazel ones.

My nails dig into the palms of my hands. He killed Thorned Roses, for fuck’s sake. Because on top of being parents, that’s who they were—the world’s most famous rock and roll duo of the past forty years. There’s no way he’ll get away with this, and the fact he even thinks he has a chance disgusts me.

If I didn’t already hate the man for ruining my life, I sure as hell would now. I hope he rots .

My entire body is locked tight as I keep my gaze latched on his, hoping like hell the look on my face is enough to convey just how much I wish it were him who died that day instead.

But then he winks. And that’s all it takes to break the spell .

I stand rapidly, forcing myself to keep my feet glued to the floor. Anger courses through my blood, lighting every nerve on fire.

“Fuck you!” My voice is raspy as I shout at the coward at the front of the room. “You killed my fucking parents. It should’ve been you who died. You’re not going to get away with this. Fuck you , Logan Jameson.”

His smirk grows as a court officer approaches him. “Oh, wouldn’t you love that, baby?”

I grit my teeth, my hands wrapped tightly around the wooden bar in front of me. If it weren’t for Dylan gripping my shoulders, my hands would be wrapped around Logan’s throat instead.

As an officer drags Logan away, Dylan pushes me into the aisle. He pulls me out of the courtroom with Emma, Trevor, and a sobbing Paige in tow. It’s probably for the best—the last thing anyone needs right now is for me to end up on the news for making a scene in court, of all places.

The courtroom door slams shut behind us, and I keep moving through the lobby toward the late-January air.

“Lennon!” Dylan yells after me, but I keep moving. I’m on the verge of a panic attack I desperately don’t want witnesses for.

“I’m fine, Dylan,” I call back as I approach the front doors. “I’ll see you later.”

Pushing them open, I appreciate the way the negative-twenty-degree air instantly cools every inch of my body. I wrap my peacoat around me and tie it shut before heading down the street in search of something to clear my mind of this horrible day.