“God, I don’t know why I messaged you back. I wouldn’t change it for the world, though. Not even after how things fell apart. You are the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Could he hear me? I tested it.
Can you hear me, vato?
No response.
Fuck.
“Hayden, Papi…”
God, I’ve missed hearing you call me that.
“I have this sinking feeling that when you wake up, you’re going to send me packing, but I couldn’tnotcome. You’ve gotta get better, Papi.”
A deep breath filled my lungs as I tried to speak, but nothing would come out.
Fuck, I hope I’m not stuck like this.
Trying again, I dragged in a deep, deep breath… nothing.
1
MARCIE
Music pumped through the venue like blood through a vein. It pulsed and throbbed, making me feel alive in ways nothing ever had. I’d loved music from my earliest memory, but had zero talent. I couldn’t dance.
And I damn sure couldn’t sing.
I mean, Idid, with noise-canceling headphones on and the music blaring, and only where others couldn’t hear me. I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Hell, I didn’t even know where to find the bucket. Subjecting someone to my singing was probably punishable by law and carried a mandatory sentence of life in prison or death by firing squad.
So what’s a girl who loves music but has no talent supposed to do? I don’t know about anyone else, but I did what I was good at. Organizing, coordinating, and ensuring that what others wanted and needed were handled so they didn’t have to. That was my specialty.
That’s how I came to work for Katie Carter, the latest darlin’ in country music. She was a phenom in the making. After only two years in the business, she was selling out mid-sized venues and being tossed onto arena stages with the big names.
We met when Katie opened for the tour I was working on. I wasn’t a PA then, at least not in terms of pay or title, but the artist’s PA was lazy, so I took on her job and mine as well. I was dashing around like a chicken without its head when I happened across Katie wedged in a corner behind a bunch of road crates, having a mild panic attack. She’d made the mistake many newbies make before their first big arena performance—she looked out at the crowd before her set. I talked her off the cliff.
After her set, she latched onto me and demanded I replace the assistant she couldn’t stand. That should’ve been a red flag, but it wasn’t. I knew the assistant the label hired for her. I wouldn’t have let that woman lick dog poo from the soles of my shoes. She was a hag and a self-righteous, entitled Karen of a woman who lived to make others feel bad.
“Marcie?”
I looked up, and Danny, Katie’s head of security, stood there with that look on his face that made me want to slap him. He gave me the heebie jeebies. I caught him staring at my backside several times. Once, I was sure he adjusted himself while licking his lips.
“Yeah?”
“Craft services are setting up.”
No shit, Sherlock.
I smiled and nodded, biting my tongue—yet another record label hire. I was not. If the label trusted him enough to protect the hottest ticket in country music, he had to have some clout with the label, and I needed this job.
“Thanks, Danny.”
“Don’t you need to supervise or something?”
No, you idiot. The people I hire can put food on a folding table without my help.
“I’ll double-check things in a bit. I appreciate you letting me know they’re here, though.”
