“You behave,” he says flatly. “No bar fights. No headlines. No cancellations. There’s too much money riding on the next tour.” He pauses. “You should be grateful. You’re richer than god.”
My eyes slide shut. “None of that matters.”
He leans closer, voice low enough that Adriana can pretend not to hear. “You think you’re hard? You’re not. You’re aproduct. You breathe when I tell you to breathe. You’re here because I said so. You owe me everything—every cent you snorted, drank, or pissed away.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to control myself.
“And every life you’ve ended,” he finished. The words slide under my skin like splinters. I don’t argue. Without him, I’d be rotting in a cell.
Adriana clears her throat. “We should go inside.”
Nolan steps out first, smoothing his suit. Adriana follows with a glance back at me. I stay in the car for a moment, staring at the clouds hanging low over the trees.
Seaside, Oregon.
My personal hell.
It’s where Nicholas died. And where I lefther.
When I finally climb out, the wind slaps me in the face—salt, pine, and the faint sweetness of wet earth. It’s like breathing in a memory I don’t want, and I nearly fucking gag. Nolan’s already halfway up the steps. I drag my suitcase behind me, cigarette still between my teeth.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter.
Adriana rushes to my side, looping her arm through mine, performing closeness. I don’t look at her. If I do, I might actually snap.
As I glance down the hill toward town, something twists in my chest. My head pounds. My stomach churns with whatever cocktail she fed me on the drive. She plucks the cigarette from my mouth before we enter the house.
Micah trails behind me, and my chest tightens. Four years of this hell, and he’s still breathing. Still laughing on good days. He hasn’t killed anyone—because I made sure I did it first. I can’t save him from the rest of it, though. The drugs. The missing nights. The way pieces of him keep slipping through my fingers.
He shouldn’t be here.
I’d take all of it if it meant he could get out.
The house is a two-bedroom unit that looks like someone took a Shoreline Pinterest board and actually hired the architect to build it. The house is cozy and quiet. Light spills in through tallwindows, pale wood floors stretching through the open space. Everything is clean and carefully calm.
It makes me uneasy.
The gray couch looks comfortable at least, situated in front of a stone fireplace and large television. Micah’s going to spend too much time there. The man loves drowning out the world with talentless reality shows. The kitchen opens onto a narrow deck facing the dunes. From one spot, I catch a flash of ocean beyond them. It reminds me of a life I don’t have anymore.
A short hallway leads to the bedrooms. Both have fresh sheets, folded blankets, and framed photos of the coast. The master has a window seat with a blanket folded and a bookshelf. I chew the inside of my cheek at the normalcy of this place.
Nolan sweeps in with an infuriating grin. “Perfect,” he declares, clapping his hands together. “Quiet. Private. Just ocean and focus.”
Right. Focus.
I drop my duffel onto the sofa, suddenly aware of how exposed I feel here. The house is beautiful. Too beautiful. Everywhere I stay, I wonder if it’s going to be the place I die.
It would be a real fucking shame to die here.
Adriana pads in behind him. Even here, she’s dressed like she’s headed to an afterparty. Her eyes rake the space, approving. “Oh my god,” she says, scrunching her nose. “This is...lovely.”
“It’s a place to sleep,” I say, leaning against the kitchen island.
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Makes me want to stay here with you.”
“Not happening.”
She bristles, but Nolan shoots her a look that shuts her up. He likely doesn’t feel like dealing with her whiny ass.
