Trevor nods tiredly. “Just be careful.” He stands up slowly and pats my cheek fondly. “And if it goes south, you can always come running home with your tail between your legs.”
I stick my tongue out at him, earning me a real Trevor laugh. “I’m going to do it.”
“Well, good luck. You’ll need it.”
Trevor offers to drive me back to Colby and Eli’s place but I wave him off. Walking through the woods at night isn’t new to me after growing up on the commune. Plus, usually a walk helps me get my mind right, helps me figure shit out. The stars flicker in the sky over me as I walk along the gravel road. Hands tucked into my pockets to ward off the slight chill in the air, I think about the contract that Chris emailed me earlier this week.
Eight months on a world tour with Nolan and three million dollars. That amount of money will changeeverythingfor me. If I let Jackson invest some of the money, I could probably retire off of it. But I also don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle eight whole months with just Nolan. His emotions are volatile and hard to withstand at times. He’s a barreling hurricane and I’m a dandelion caught in his raging storm.
When Colby’s farmhouse comes into view, I pause beside one of the large oak trees a little down the way. A breeze blows over the grass, settling whatever wary feeling that’s been slowly growing in my chest. Chris lists his number at the bottom of his email, so my impulsiveness wins when he makes it so easy.
“Hello?” Chris says after the third ring.
“It’s Benji… I want to talk to Nolan before I sign the contract.”
“You want to talk to Nolan,” Chris repeats in obvious confusion.
“Yeah, I want to speak to him. Can you give me his number?”
There’s a mild scramble for the phone, hushed noises, and then a very serious smacking sound. That’s weird.
“What?” Nolan asks into the phone, his tone clipped like always.
“Hi,” I say with a small smile.
“Hi?” Nolan repeats, sounding just as confused as Chris.
“I’m going to sign the contract for the tour, but I wanted to talk to you first. Can you step away from Chris?”
The sound of Nolan moving around echoes through the phone, shuffling his feet and a quickening in his breath. A few moments later, a door closes.
“Alright, you’ve got me alone. What can I do for you, Benji?”
“I’m going to have some rules.”
“You’re going to have rules?” Nolan repeats with a skeptical laugh. “Who do you think is running this show?”
“Me.”
“You?”
I spin around in the gravel, kicking my right foot in the rocks. When I look up at the moon, it stares unblinking back at me like it also knows I’m a big fucking idiot. And maybe I am an idiot. But if I’m going to do this, then I want to do it my way, not Nolan’s.
“Yes, me. I’ll come on the tour, fuck you when you need the release, but you’re going to do what I say when I say it. Because I think you like that idea, don’t you, Nolan? You hate giving up control, but at the same time, you kind of like it.”
“Benji,” Nolan growls.
“So I’ll go, but I’m in charge. Okay?”
“Fine,” Nolan finally relents after a few charged moments. “But you need to remember that for eight months, you're mine; I’m not yours. No matter what you think. I’ll see you in New York next week.”
Nolan hangs up without another word, leaving me standing alone in the dark. The moon is still as bright as ever, mocking me and my idiocy. For the first time I notice the ring circling the moon. I rub at my chest, trying to ward off the ominous feeling of danger looming on the horizon.A ring around the moon means hold steady, things are about to get bumpy,my mama’s voice murmurs in my head. Maybe for once she’ll be wrong.
The world tourstarts in London, but instead of flying separately, I’m meeting Nolan in New York to fly on his private jet. It takes far too long for me to find my way toward the section of JFK with the private planes. The security guard looks at me dubiously when I give my name, and he even looks mildly pissed off when my name is on the list. I frown as I step inside and look down at my faded, ripped jeans and an old T-shirt. It’s travel attire. I want to be comfortable.
After a few minutes of wandering, I locate Nolan sitting in a leather chair, both legs tossed over the winged back and head hanging close to the ground. He doesn’t hear me approach him because of the large headphones over his ears. Fingers tapping a beat against his thighs, he’s the picture of a musician. My heart does this dizzy sort of leap in my chest at the memory of what his mouth tastes like. I wonder if he still tastes the same, like spice and bite and rage.
“Don’t bother him,” Chris murmurs from behind me.
