Page 22 of Wild

Mia presses her lips together until they go white with frustration.

"Hydration — this is critical," the doctor goes on. "Ideally two and a half liters a day given your activity level, and I mean water specifically; other drinks don't count as a substitute. I'll make sure you have bottles everywhere, every day — your room, your dressing room, the bus, anywhere you spend time. You need to be drinking."

"Okay," Mia agrees, pretty confident she can manage that. "What else?"

"Sleep. You should be getting at least seven hours on non-show days — eight if possible. On performance days, six at minimum."

"I usually spend the nights after a show having sex. I can't promise more than two hours."

Mia didn't say it to provoke her — she said it because it's true and because she doesn't always have a filter. She knows it probably wasn't the most graceful way to put it. She opens her mouth to walk it back, but Erin gets there first, gray eyes steady on hers.

"I have no issue with you having sex. You can do both: have sex first, sleep after," the doctor says, and that's that.

Mia pulls her hair loose and smooths it back because she's nervous and doesn't know what to do with her hands. She knows she has no shot with the doctor, but she can't help the way this woman gets under her skin whenever she talks — enough that Mia can't hold back most of what comes out of her mouth.

"I'll take your blood pressure and pulse at least twice a day, more if I think it's necessary. And ideally, I'd prefer you didn't argue about it."

"No problem."

Mia shrinks slightly in her seat — barely perceptibly, but Erin notices and figures the singer probably connects having hervitals taken to the moment she collapsed. It seems to frighten her. She considers bringing it up and talking it through to put her at ease, but decides she'll do that once they've had more time to build some trust.

"And most importantly," the doctor goes on, "if you have any symptom at all, you tell me right away. Any hint of dizziness, blurred or tunnel vision, cold sweat, nausea, ringing in your ears — whatever you notice, you let me know immediately."

"What about at night? If I get up to use the bathroom and feel off?" It's not a provocation. Mia is asking in complete earnest, because this genuinely worries her. She's terrified now every time she feels anything strange in her body — even a sudden chill makes her freeze for a few seconds until she realizes she's fine.

"I'm here for you, Wilder — so yes, that includes the middle of the night. You shouldn't feel afraid or embarrassed to reach out to me. Writing off a symptom because you think it's nothing or that it'll pass on its own can end in a real disaster. If I'm not close by, send someone to find me — but don't keep anything like that to yourself."

"I won't," the singer says, and she goes quiet, staring at the cover of the book she was reading, wondering if the doctor started calling her by her last name instead of her first name as a way of reinforcing the distance she wants between them.

The flight attendant comes by to offer them drinks, and both of them decline.

"Have you had any water this morning?" Erin asks.

"Can we start the rules when we land?" Mia says. "I don't like using the bathroom on planes. It's a space thing."

Erin doesn't push it. She doesn't want to overwhelm her all at once — it's important that Mia adjusts to her condition gradually, and right now she's pretty sure the singer still hasn't fully accepted it, no matter how tough she tries to act.

"Dooley," Mia says after a while, when Erin has decided that's enough for now and is looking out the window.

"Yeah."

"You're going to be a real pain in my ass, aren't you? I mean, basically you're going to be everywhere."

"I'll be where I need to be. I'm not going to sleep with you, if that's what you're worried about."

Mia tries, but her crooked smile is impossible to stop this time — and Erin curses herself for picking that particular example. But the singer catches herself and bites back whatever she was about to say.

Chapter 8

The hotel in Toronto is right on Lake Ontario. Erin has never been here before, and she looks around the lobby, not knowing where she'd even start if she had any free time. It's been so long since she did anything just for herself that the thought makes her anxious.

"Your key," Violette says, appearing at her side in the lobby.

Erin takes the card, and just as she's about to put it away, the lawyer hands her another one.

"That's the key to Mia's suite, in case of an emergency. You're right next door to each other — that's how it'll be from here on out."

Erin takes it too and tucks both cards away without asking questions. She lost track of the singer a while back. The moment they pulled up to the hotel entrance, there were about twenty fans who'd somehow found out their favorite artist was staying there, and two bodyguards the size of doorframes surrounded her and walked her inside, followed by Noah — so she figures they took her straight up to her suite while security cleared the area.