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I traced my finger over her cheek and told myself that she would call me back. I’d left fifty messages, trying to explain; but how could I really do that when I was all the way across the country? Something like this needed to be done in person, not over the damn phone. Maybe she would take pity on me and send me a text.
Right then, even if it told me to go fuck myself, I would have taken it.
The bus had long since stopped for our next show, but I hadn’t moved from my seat on the couch since Emmie had called to chew my ass out. Things had been quiet for the most part, and there were only two more weeks of the tour left. No one had made major headlines until my little incident the night before.
I could understand why she was pissed. I was pissed, too. Someone had set the picture up. Maybe even someone who worked with me. Travis was low on my list, but I couldn’t completely count him out. My money was on one of the roadies. Nearly all of them had been at the party. Which one, I didn’t fucking know, but when I found out, there wouldn’t be a safe place they could hide.
I had been slightly drunk, but I would have never asked for what had happened. Maybe a few months ago, when my heart had been free, when there was no one I could hurt by hooking up with some random chick. Not now, though, not when I had Santana waiting for me at home.
I hoped she was still waiting for me.
Jace had said she saw the paper the stupid picture had ended up in, but he hadn’t told me how she had reacted. From the silent treatment I was getting from her, I could only imagine how she was taking it.
I wanted to put my fist through a wall, wanted to beat the fuck out of whoever had decided it would be fun to set me up to make it look like I’d cheated.
There had been times over the pa
st seven weeks when I’d had the opportunity to fuck around with any number of girls. I hadn’t been tempted, not once. The only girl I wanted was back in California, waiting for me to call her every night before she could fall asleep.
I loved Santana.
Now I just needed the chance to explain and tell her how I felt.
I had already tried to call Kin to see if she would tell me what was going on, if she could help me out and maybe explain what had happened, but she wouldn’t pick up her phone. Every time I called her, she would send me straight to voicemail. The same happened when I called Angie or Jenna. No one would talk to me.
My phone rang, but the name that showed up wasn’t one I was anticipating seeing. I knew better than to ignore it, though.
“Hey, Emmie,” I muttered. “Look, I don’t know what more to tell you. It was a setup. One minute I was sitting there, talking to these two guys. The next—”
“I’m not really worried about that at the moment,” she interrupted me in a rush. “Get to the airport. There’s a chartered jet waiting on you.”
I sat up straight. “What? Why? Ah, come on. You can’t take me off the tour. Who will fill in for me?”
“I’m not pulling you off the tour for the stupid picture, Kale,” she snapped. “It’s Santana.”
My blood turned ice-cold, and I was suddenly on my feet.
I jumped off the bus, but I had no idea where I was going, I only knew I had to find a way home. A way back to my girl.
The parking lot where the buses were parked was deserted. I stopped, sucked in a deep breath, and mentally told myself to calm to fuck down. I needed answers first.
“What happened? Is she okay?”
“She, along with about two hundred plus people, got some kind of food poisoning from the catering at the wedding last night. It was the fish. They’ve all been out of it—headaches, stomach pains, vomiting. Kin says it hasn’t been pretty,” she explained. “She’s at the hospital with her now. She said Santana has been asking for you. She wasn’t sure if it was just the disorientation or what, but she didn’t want to take the chance that she really wanted to see you.”
Fuck. Santana needed me. My little doll was sick, and I wasn’t there to take care of her. To me, hospitals meant scary sickness and death. My mother had been in and out of them countless times at the end of her life, and all I could think about was how tiny she had looked the last time she’d gone in.
“What do I need to do?” My voice shook, but not nearly as bad as my hands did.
“There is a car waiting for you outside the arena. They will get you to the airport. Once you land, there will be someone waiting to take you straight to the hospital.” Emmie sounded calm, like her usual efficient self. Not the raging bitch she had been when she’d called me earlier to rip me a new one about the picture. “I’ll take care of everything else. I don’t know how long you’ll be gone, but don’t worry about it. I can find someone to fill in for as long as you need it. Family is all that matters, kid. You go take care of yours.”
“Thank you, Emmie. I …” I didn’t know what I could say that could really convey how much I appreciated her right then. “Thank you.”
“Get home, Kale. Thank me by taking care of Santana.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The car was waiting where she said it would be. The driver, some forgettable guy in a suit and glasses, jumped out and opened the back door for me as I approached.
