The three of us glance at each other.
“Oh, no, thank you, though, that’s so nice.”
“Huge day tomorrow.”
“That’s extremely illegal.”
Everyone turns to look at Jon, and the two guys hesitate, their expressions unreadable. I wave a hand at them in the hopes it’ll diffuse any tension. “You two go on ahead,” I say with a forced smile, and they disappear into the bathroom, pulling the door closed firmly behind them. My guess is they were initially aiming for the surface of the wooden stand beside us. If I ever have the inclination to snort a line of coke, I wouldn’t want to do it under the judgmental eyes of Jon, either, though, so I don’t blame them.
Angel waltzes back over, holding hands with the pretty long-haired girl. “We’re going to the roof,” he says.
“The roof?” Zach asks. “It’s freezing.”
“It’s fine. We’re going to say hi to the fans!”
“From the roof?” I repeat.
“Yes. Lina wants to greet them.” He mimes waving like the queen, pursing his lips together, and the girl, who I assume is Lina, bursts into too-loud laughter. “And our window doesn’t look down upon the crowd, Ruben, my love.”
“We’ll come,” Zach says, giving me a meaningful look. “We can all say hi together.”
“No offense, Zachy, but I don’t need a third wheel.” Angel pinches Jon’s cheek, then mine. “Or a fourth. Or a fifth. I’ll be back in a minute, get a drink, have some fun, for god’s sake. It’s not like we get many fucking opportunities.”
Before we can protest further, Angel steers Lina past us and out the door.
The three of us stand in a group, uncertainly, staring after him. I steal a glance at Zach. He’s biting his lower lip so hard it’s disappeared.
“They aren’t going onto the roof, are they?” I ask.
Zach shakes his head slowly. Jon looks confused, then comprehension dawns. “Oh, no.”
By the time we burst into the hallway, Angel and Lina are nowhere to be seen.
“Let’s get Keegan and Pauline,” Jon says.
Zach looks over his shoulder, alarmed. “But he’ll get in so much shit!”
“Um, not as bad as they will if they get into an accident because they’re high off their faces.”
They turn to look at me as one. Oh. I guess it’s my call. “Come on,” I say, already moving. “If we can catch them now, no one has to know. We’ll call the team if we need to.”
It takes us longer than it should to find the fire escape in our panic. Which, to me, seems like the sort of thing they should account for when providing directions to an emergency escape door, but I digress. We could try the elevator, but we’ll only lose time trying to figure out where the fire escape opens into. Not to mention if we take the elevator we’ll have to pass the throngs of fans gathered by the main entrance, as well as our Berlin guards stationed in the lobby.
“Should we check the roof first?” Jon asks as we file in. We pause. It probably does make sense to check there first before we go running into the night. But if we go all the way up, we’ll lose any hope of finding Angel if he has left the hotel.
“No time,” I say. “Zach, spam his phone. See if you can get him to pick up. If he is on the roof, he won’t ignore you for long.”
We take the stairs at a run, which isn’t an easy feat, given we started at level forty-one. Thank god for our oppressive workout schedule.
Zach peeks out the door at the bottom to check where we are before we tumble out. Luckily, the door emerges into a parking lot. Enclosed enough we won’t be spotted by the crowd camping out in front of the hotel, but open enough we can already spot a way to get onto the street.
The air rakes at our faces with icy fingers, and the wind blows with enough force to snatch words away, carrying frigid raindrops that slam into every bit of exposed skin. I’m wearing a crew-neck cashmere sweater—fine for a hotel party, less fine for these sorts of conditions. I wish to hell I’d had time to grab a coat. We run along the paved concrete, close to the row of towering masonry buildings, and my heart skips a beat every time a car passes. Will someone recognize us? Then what?
“Angel!” Zach calls, looking desperately around the streets. The only people nearby are an older couple huddled under an umbrella, and they don’t even glance back at us.
“Don’t call his name,” I whisper. With the amount of fans camped out at the hotel, being overheard is more of a when than an if. And Angel isn’t exactly a subtle name.