I just have to hold the line, lean on the people who love me, and eventually this storm will pass. There will come a day whenIdecide how often my ex’s name is mentioned in conversation.
And it won’t be much, especially at first.
I’m actually getting pretty good at pretending my life started the second I woke up at my brother’s apartment last week…
I barely think of Kai or the band the rest of the day. It helps that when Charlotte and I get back to her place, I deliberately steer clear of the internet. My laptop stays in the guest room, andmy phone on “dummy” mode while we prep dinner and settle in to watch Nix’s game.
It’s a blowout, and my brother is a star, as usual.
Charlotte and I toast his success with a glass of sweet tea, taking a break to change into pajamas before settling back on the couch to zone out to a reality show about Spain that has me dying to book a flight. The band played two shows in Madrid during our last tour, but there wasn’t time to explore the rest of the country before we had to head for Paris.
Now, however…
Well, I can work on music for my solo album while on holiday in a charming, cobblestone city famous for its sheep cheese and apple cider. And maybe I will.
Visions of wandering stunning foreign lands where no one knows my name dancing in my head, I drift off feeling more peaceful than I have in a long time.
Only to wake up to an insistent buzzing sound on Monday morning…
I blink bleary eyes, squinting at the phone on the bedside table. I have my “silent mode” set to automatically turn off at seven a.m., but I rarely get a text before nine or ten. Music people sleep late, and my publicist in L.A. is two hours behind New Orleans.
But it looks like Laurel is up early today.
Very early…
The sight of a text from my publicist, sent at 5:24 a.m. her time, is enough to send my stomach dropping through the mattress.
Something’s happened. Something bad.
I shoot up in bed, hunching over my screen as I scroll through a dozen missed calls and three times as many text messages.
And the email alerts…
Jesus…
There are so many mentions and tags, it instantly feels like I’m drowning.
I’m scrolling back to Laurel’s text with shaking hands when I see Kai’s face on my home screen. He’s in the news section, next to a headline reading—Rock Star says “Fiancée May Have Been Abducted.”
Eyes flaring wide, I click on the link.
The article loads quickly, revealing a larger photo of Kai outside what looks like a police station, his expression haggard. The dark circles under his eyes are even deeper than normal, and the caption beneath the image reads—Kai Morrison speaks to the press about missing fiancée Beatrice Nix.
A strangled sound leaps from my throat.
We weren’tengaged!
There was a time I desperately wanted to be, but Kai never asked.
He never fucking asked. But that clearly isn’t stopping him from playing the “fiancée” card to make whatever story he’s telling sound better.
I scan the article, lines leaping out to spike my blood pressure even higher.
…Morrison claims abusive brother has been an issue for years…
…sudden tour cancellation and suspicious illness viewed as evidence of coercion...
…NHL player known for violent on-ice behavior…
