Page 29 of Knot Their Starlet

“Who gives a shit? I’ll just write you the best album you’ve ever heard if that happens,” I shrug, my fingers drumming anxiously against my legs.

Everett throws his head back in laughter. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

CHAPTER 7

Andromeda

“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble to my Uber driver before slamming the door shut.

The noise pierces through my brain, and I wince. I’ve still got a pretty bad concussion, according to the doctors, but I told them I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

I’m pretty sure the discharge paperwork I signed had instructions that required another person to help me, but I don’t care. It’s not like I have anyone I can call to come help me.

It was enough of a hassle to get Camille to drop off some clothes for me to wear out of the hospital, considering the dress I wore to the Grammys was completely ruined. You’d think that she’d be more willing, considering she’s paid as one of our stylists. When begging her for help didn’t work, I had to threaten to walk out of the hospital in the gown they gave me, ass out and everything. I’m sure the paparazzi would’ve loved to snap a photo of that.

I wonder what kinds of headlines they would’ve written about me? Probably that I’d lost my mind.

It’s always sensationalist headlines about whatever big star is having a mental breakdown, never an exploration into what the hell drove them to that place in the first place.

Other than Camille coming back today, I was left blissfully alone for the remaining time of my hospital stay. I guess after Gina’s initial freakout she felt she was in a place to return to work, preparing to film the latest season of her reality TV show.

Because, obviously—as a mother—that’s what your priorities should be.

I should be used to it. Gina’s maternal instincts were all used up when I was young enough to behave exactly as she wanted me to… and whenever a camera was pointed at us. Ever since I hit puberty and started showing signs of thinking for myself? Bye-bye Mom, hello Momager from hell.

I buzz into the gates of my Santa Monica apartment complex, taking the elevator up to my place. I moved out of my mom’s house the week after I graduated high school, and it was the best decision I ever made.

Considering the fact my mom is still a prominent member of the TV show, and camera crews are always there for one reason or another, it’s nice having a place that’s truly mine.

Well, a place that should be truly mine.

But I know, the moment I step foot through my door that I’m not alone.

The scent of black coffee that hits my nose sends my heart leaping up to my throat. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.

My hand smacks against the wall, turning on the lights in the front hallway of my apartment, illuminating my dark living room.

“Hey, Andi,” Ezra says from my couch.

His eyes are bloodshot, and his hands have that faint tremble I know comes from his coke withdrawal. His neon-red hair which he dyed earlier this year to help promote his music, sticks up in all directions like he hasn’t bothered to comb it in days.

Probably because he hasn’t. There doesn’t tend to be much time to pay attention to how you look when you’re on a bender.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, my voice a faint whisper. “And why the hell were you sitting in the dark?”

“The sun set,” he mumbles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “And I was just thinking, so I didn’t get up.”

“You didn’t answer my first question. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I just—I just needed to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you, and this is my apartment.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I need you to leave, Ezra.”

I can’t believe this is happening right now.

Not just Ezra being in my apartment, but all of it.

Seventy-two hours ago, having Ezra show up at my apartment wouldn’t have been a big deal at all. Honestly, I probably would’ve been pretty excited. It’s why he has the keys to my place in the first place.