I don’t bother stopping. Just push Layla’s stroller behind the roadies and down the long underground hallway. Chilly air whistles by and footsteps echo along the concrete pathway.
When I reach the bus, I’m so tired, I could curl up on the ground right here and sleep.
I knock on the door, but it doesn’t open.
“Hello?” I shout and knock again.
Damn it. Edmond doesn’t know to expect me, although usually our driver’s here.
I try calling our security guard, but get his voicemail. “Hey, it’s Rory. I’m at the bus, but it’s locked up. Could you help me get in? Thanks.”
As I stand in the rain, shivering, I glance around at the dark parking lot, wishing I had thought this through better. Roadies from other bands walk by and stare at me. I feel like a drowned rat. Like that sad girl in the puddle when my landlady’s son saw me wipe out.
But after a long stretch when no one walks by, I start to worry. We haven’t had any deliveries from the Cherry Smasher in a while, but I can’t help but focus on that time she slashed our tire. She probably did it when we were all at a show. When no one was around.
Like right now.
“Miss Rory!” Edmond’s voice makes me jump. He waves as he trudges between the buses. “I’m so sorry. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.”
“It’s my fault. I should’ve called earlier. It slipped my mind.”
He helps me get Layla and her stroller on the bus. I toss our stuff down, wash my hands, make her some chicken nuggets and grab an apple. I get her situated in her high chair, and I cut up her food into bite-sized pieces.
“How’d the show go?” Edmond asks, like he always does.
“Great,” I say, like I always do.
Because everyone on this bus is here for the label. For the band’s success. For the bottom line.
There’s no room to freak out like I want to. Or complain. Or cry.
I have to wait until I’m alone to process tonight.
Numbness settles over me. It’s a familiar feeling. It’s what happened when I found Hayden with Taylor.
Not that Jace cheated with Marlowe. I know he didn’t have any choice about the show, but my heart is having a hard time telling reality from fiction.
As Layla eats, I stare out the window, past the rain and into the darkness.
When she’s done, I clean up our mess and pick up Layla, about to head to our room.
“Oh, miss, I almost forgot. Someone left you a package.” Edmond hands me a brown paper bag, the kind you get at the grocery store. Only the top is stapled shut.
“How do you know it was for me? It doesn’t have my name on it.”
“Some girl dropped it off for you. I thought maybe she was a friend.”
I set it on the table. “Can you hold Layla a minute?” When he agrees, I hand him the baby before I tear open the top of the bag and peer inside.
Who thought to send me a book? I smile, wondering if it’s a gift from Jace.
But then I see the title.The Shadow Behind Her.
It’s a thriller.
I don’t like thrillers.
Hesitant, I pick it up and read the back cover. It’s about a woman who stalks everyone her husband cheated on her with. Okay, that’s really not my speed. I’m about to set it aside when a red reading tab catches my eye.
