Darcy was unable to stop herself from pacing, feeling her blood absolutely boiling. She hadn’t been able to stop simmering for over an hour, since waking up.
“How fucking dare she?” She seethed, for the millionth time, reaching up and dragging her hands through her hair.
“I guess I’m surprised it took her this long?” Emerson commented, her eyebrows furrowed. “I mean. Did she not realize We, The Romantics wasyou twountil now, or…?”
Darcy pointed at her. “Great point, Em.”
Because, really, where the hell had she been hiding?! Had she been under a rock somewhere? It almost felt even worse that it had taken her this long to emerge, because they’d been absolutely blindsided by it.
Yeah, that got her pacing all over again.
“She lulled us into a sense of security,” she muttered, shaking her hands out as if it would help her unload any agitation. Impossible at this moment. “Thinking she’d just fade into obscurity and leave usbe. But. Nope.”
She’d shared all kinds of stories about their childhood. The thing was, they weren’t even necessarily bad or sensational or exciting. But… somehow, that didn’t make her feel better. Her mom shared all of those same memories, even the half-decent ones, and still left?
How dare she? How dare she tell stories like she was some involved parent so that she could make a quick buck? Even ifshe’d been around when they’d been little, she forfeited the right to benefit from their career when she’d taken off. Didn’t care if Blythe ended up going to college. Didn’t care if Darcy finished high school. Didn’t know what happened to them, until they’d emerged successful.
“How are you so calm?” She whirled around to face Blythe, who now had her head tipped back against the window, her eyes closed. She had one leg crossed over the other and was sitting completely still.
The total opposite of what Darcy felt coursing through her.
“I’m not calm,” Blythe returned. She held a breath for a few seconds, before lifting her head to look up at Darcy. “Fine, I guess I’mcalm. But I’m nothappy. Like I said: I can’t stand to listen to her voice.”
It was nice to know she wasn’t alone in that. It was… it wasnecessaryto know she wasn’t alone in it.
“What do you want to do, then?” She asked, rubbing her hands together before tightly entangling her fingers.
Her mind was spinning through options, and – well, none of them felt good. Nothing about this felt even moderately good.
Blythe rolled her lips into a thin line, giving her a firm stare. “This is why I’m maintaining my calm, because I don’t want to doanythingabout it.”
Immediately, Darcy’s face dropped, and her stomach twisted in revolt. Do nothing?! Saynothing?!
Unsurprisingly, Blythe clearly knew exactly what Darcy was thinking, and she held up a hand before Darcy could argue about it. “If we address it publicly or even if we contact her privately, we’re giving her the power she’s looking for.”
It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feelfair. And Darcy did her best to contain that outburst, because she knew – logically – her sister wasn’t necessarilywrong.
“Why don’t you ask Juliet her thoughts?” Emerson asked, tilting her head up at her from where she sat with her knees curled under herself on the other armchair. “She’s probably seen a lot of… personal dramas play out?”
Darcy set her jaw, her stomach twisting even worse.
It wasn’t like anything waswrongbetween her and Juliet. Nothing waswrongat all, technically. But things felt slightly… off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, necessarily. Just that when she and Juliet were in the same place, things made sense. Even when they hadn’t gotten along, it hadn’t felt stilted.
It wasn’t evenstiltednow, it – it was just that they were busy, she supposed. Darcy had quite literally never been busier. Either they were performing or they were driving to their next city. She was so busy, she wasactuallyfalling asleep when her head hit the pillow.
And Juliet was working on her next album, which was amazing.
They were still talking regularly, usually texting.
But Darcy wanted more. She wanted even fucking more, and she didn’t even know what that meant. Especially not in the positions they were in.
This was more than sex. They both knew that. But – how much more? Enough for Darcy to call Juliet up and talk about her problems with her mother? Seek advice? Seek comfort?
Darcy groaned, dropping down into her own chair. “I’ll wait until we talk to Eliana.”
She felt so– so out of sorts, still, when she walked into her hotel room in Charleston later that morning.
They’d had their consult call with Eliana, who agreed with Blythe, advising that they shouldn’t address Angie publicly. These things petered out on their own. Eliana had urged them to look forward, focus on the next show. If they wanted to do anything about it, she suggested discussing with their legal team to handle something privately.
