Quinn’s been kind to me, carefully ignoring the elephant in the room, that the label is pushing the Marlowe and Jace “narrative.” She knows we’re really married. Jace mentioned it that first day in Daytona.
I’d like to see her one more time before I leave the tour.
With a heavy heart, I turn to Layla. “Hey, ladybug. Let’s go to bed.”
She holds her arms up as she bounces at the edge, and I pick her up.
It’s strange not to attend tonight’s show, but I need to regroup. My conversation with Jace this afternoon made me soconflicted, but mostly, I’m wrung out emotionally, like I could pull the covers over my head and sleep for a month.
But at the end of the day, this comes down to one factor. If Jace doesn’t love me, what am I doing here?
Exhausted, I head to my bunk, pull back the curtain, and freeze.
Because on the center of the bed is a grocery sack.
I back away like it’s a bomb. Outside, thunder rumbles and lightning strikes and rain hammers the bus, making me flinch when the lights flicker.
“Screw this.” I’m tired of being scared. I put Layla back in her playpen and grab the stupid bag.
The top is stapled shut, and I tear it open and peek inside, where there’s another note.
Written in the same blocky writing as the last card, it says,YOU NEVER SAID WHETHER YOU LIKED MY OTHER GIFT. THAT’S RUDE. I LIKED SHREDDING YOUR CLOTHES. BUT I HAVE SOMETHING EVEN BETTER. HERE’S A PHOTO YOU MIGHT ENJOY.
At the bottom of the sack is a picture. I pick it up. The image bends because it was printed on paper. In color, not black and white.
It’s a photo of Jace and Marlowe, standing outside, maybe in an alley. Maybe behind the studio? He’s bracing his arm against a brick wall, facing her, while he smirks at her and she grins up at him like she’s in love.
The joke’s on this psycho. Did she want to make me cry?I’m all cried out today, asshole.
I stare at the image so long, it goes blurry. Shaking my head, I blink quickly. That’s when I realize there’s writing on the back, so I flip it around. It says,HE’S MINE NOW. DON’T YOU SEE THAT?
Has this been Marlowe all along? On this tour, she’s had ample opportunity, being at the exact places we were anytime we got a delivery from the Cherry Smasher. She was even on our bus all afternoon. Or maybe she paid someone to deliver this.
But what about those early gifts, the ones sent before the tour started?
Did Marlowe ghost Jace initially but send him these creepy gifts as a way to keep her hooks in him? Or process her loss? Is she sending me these items now as a victory lap? Has she been our deranged stalker all this time while smiling for the cameras?
Or is it someone I’d never suspect?
I sit with that thought for a few minutes.
I hadn’t heard from Quinn for a while until tonight, and it coincides with a Cherry Smasher delivery. She’s been at most of our concert dates, so she’s had opportunities to make those deliveries.
No. It can’t be her. She’s always been nice to me, and she doesn’t give off stalker vibes in any way.
I get Layla to bed and wait up to talk to Jace. He should know who he’s dealing with. When I suspect his post-show VIP line is wrapping up, I text him.
Me: Can we talk when you get back? I got another delivery. Everyone is okay, though.
Me: Keep this between us.
Because I have no idea if someone on our bus is helping this weirdo.
Five minutes later, he stomps down the corridor, panting. “What happened?” Water drips off his face, and I hand him my towel.
“I got a Cherry Smasher special.” I point to the bunk opposite us where I put the package.
After he dries his hands and face, he reads the card and the writing on the photo. “What the fuck? We should call the cops.If Marlowe’s behind this… Jesus.” Closing his eyes, he drops his head back.
