Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
His low-key excitement brought me out of my funk and centered me. I let out a long breath and followed him inside. Perfectly timed too—the server brought out our food less than a minute later.
While Jake took photos of our food and included a napkin with the fish camp’s logo for a post on social, I placed one of my notebooks between us so I could go through the interview once more.
I smiled to myself as Jake neatly folded the napkin and tucked it into his drone bag.
He still collected napkins.
“Do you think Hayes has his own Seth who pushes him to do stuff for exposure?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Jake chuckled. “I searched for articles last night and didn’t find a whole lot. He rarely does interviews unless it’s related to his producing.”
Yeah, I’d gotten the impression from Zach that we were about to meet a grumpy recluse. One with a lot of history, and not all of it was sunshine and roses. Like many other rock stars of the eighties and nineties, he’d spent time in rehab. But most of all, ten years in prison for manslaughter. He’d been out a decade or so, during which he’d moved his family to the little town he’d grown up in, started a production company in Seattle, and produced a fuck-ton of award-winning music and film scores.
His wife Adeline had been with him back in the day too, and it was the death of her stepfather that’d put Lincoln behind bars in Michigan. I’d researched the case and the charges, and we’d decided not to ask any intrusive questions on the topic. Adeline’s stepdad had probably had it coming, was all I was gonna say.
Three children, the two eldest having been adopted by the couple. The middle kid had his own Wikipedia page, and he was none other than Abel Novak-Hayes, one of the best younger players the NHL had ever seen.
Last I’d heard, there’d been talks of him going from Pittsburgh to Vancouver. I didn’t know if that’d happened yet, but it would be a waste of his talent if you asked me.
Feeling well-prepared, I tucked away my notes again. The food was fantastic, so I could understand why Jake was putting extra effort into the Insta post he was working on. He even asked the bartender about some stuff, which was a dead giveaway to Jake’s thoughts on his seafood linguini.
“Nah, not too long—it was a bar before I bought the place,” the bartender said. Correction, the owner. “You some sort of reporters?” He eyed us, a bit guarded.
“We’re making a documentary series,” Jake replied. “One of the episodes will cover your town.”
“Ah.”
Something told me this man didn’t listen to podcasts or spend much time on social media.
Zach was right. Lincoln Hayes’s wife was extremely nice. The family lived on the mountainside north of the Downtown district, in a big, modern house literally built on the cliffs. We were given a tour of the place, and without room for a yard, they had a rooftop terrace with a pool, barbecue area, and a little garden.
During the tour, Lincoln was absent. Adeline said he was wrapping something up in the studio in the basement.
In the kitchen, Adeline poured us coffee and set out a basket of mini muffins on the island. For such a modern house, the kitchen was awfully French countryside, and I felt at home right away. Jake and I liked the homey feel of things.
“I’m sure he’ll be up any minute,” Adeline said apologetically.
We waved it off. We weren’t in a rush. Besides, the mini muffins were ridiculously delicious.
“Do you mind if I start filming around the downstairs?” Jake asked.
“No, no, go ahead—”
“Mom!” a guy yelled from upstairs. Had to be the hockey-playing son, right? “Have you seen my—never mind!”
I grinned at Adeline’s amused eye roll.
“Even when they’re adults, they’re babies when they come home.”
“Sounds like me and my brothers,” I chuckled.
Soon enough, a herd of rhinos stampeded down the stairs—or it was just a gorgeous young guy who graced magazine covers with his abs on display. Man, I felt old—and I was in the best shape of my life.
Abel walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a bed head. Jake nodded politely and passed him, and Abel came to a stop.
“I knew I’d forgotten something,” he said. “You’re the Off Topic guys. My buddy and I listen to your podcast all the time.”
I smiled. “We met Gray yesterday when we checked in at his mother’s inn.”
“Oh right! Duh. Of course.”
“They’re just waiting for Dad to finish up downstairs,” Adeline added.
“Oh.” Abel squinted in thought, then abruptly walked out into the hallway and opened a door to somewhere. I couldn’t see it from here. “Dad! We have company!”
“He can’t hear you from the studio, sweetie!” Adeline called.