Page 85 of The Comedown

I push the sunglasses closer to the bridge of my nose, stretching my lips even wider as I enter the elevator, then lean back against the handrail inside, clenching my tight, swollen fingers around the cool metal. The numbers rapidly increase before the loud ding announces the floor I selected.

Time to face the music. The same music I’ve been facing all along. I’ve done this before and I can do it again, just like I always have—alone.

The second the doors open, I’m greeted by loud voices that make me hang back.

Actually, only one is loud and its owner is absolutely furious.

“Where the fuck is she? It’s been how many hours, how many fucking days, and nobody’s seen her? Nobody? Fucking find her already!”

Right away, I know it’s Julian, so I step off the elevator, purposely keeping a slow pace to gauge the situation.

Slade looks up from his phone with a bored expression, telling his client, “You don’t need her. You’re the most interesting part of the whole tour anyway.”

“Julez, we’re live in ten minutes,” a producer says. “We need you to go on whether Collette’s here or not.”

“If she’s not here, I’m not going on. Yinz can kiss my ass.”

“Julez. Dude,” one of the show’s hosts, Scott, says with a scowl. “This isn’t what Slade said when we spoke last.”

Slade straightens his spine, glaring at Scott before swinging a worried gaze to Julian.

Julian’s too busy freaking out to notice though as he booms, “Fuck you! And fuck your pussy-ass show!” He turns my way, finally spotting me, and time—the same time that usually passes too damn fast—actually slows for once as we regard one another.

He looks like a fucking mess—the most beautiful mess to ever exist. He’s got dark circles under red-lined eyes and a small cut on his right cheek. A new tattoo that’s still raised covers the side of his neck, and as much as his heavy gaze tries to hold mine captive, I can’t help but run my eyes over the tattoo, mesmerized by it. It’s a pot of what looks like honey with two dead bees lying at its cracked base as the thick, golden liquid oozes out.

The moment’s broken by Julian’s low demand—he’s not asking—as he says, “Where the fuck have you been?”

Everybody, even the delivery guy holding a stack of boxes at the front desk, is tuned in, watching us.

Lifting my chin, I say with the tone of a true professional, “Working. Ready to get back to it?”

“Work,” Julian repeats with a shake of his head before strutting into the soundproof room.

Slade bolts right for me, whispering, “Remember, you signed—”

I put a hand up. “I know what I signed, Slade.” Thanks to the NDA I signed before the tour, I can’t talk about what happened—what really happened—with anyone, not even Julian. Especially not Julian. “I also know what Julian told you about me, so stay the fuck away from me, unless you want me to start causing problems you won’t be able to sign your way out of.” Asshole.

“But you can’t—”

“Six minutes!”

“He’ll—”

“Do you mind?” I give Julian’s agent a look so hard he stops short. “I have to focus.”

Bypassing him, I go in to take the seat next to Julian, murmuring for his ears only, “Professional as always.”

He ignores me, putting his headphones on.

I shake hands with both Scott and his co-host, Lon, speeding through the usual small talk. I’ve been interviewed by them a few times over the years on their podcast, Lon-Awaited News. It should be called Lon-Awaited Gossip because they like to stir up trouble with any tidbit they can get their hands on, whether it’s true or not. You have to be on your game at all times with them, and I’m really hoping they don’t bring up whatever the hell Julian just pulled while we’re on-air because I honestly don’t know what I’ll say. They’re supposed to give us a list of questions they’re going to ask ahead of time, which I studied on the flight up here, but these guys are notorious for going off-script, so I really do need to focus. Press of any kind can be a total mindfuck, but interviews like this are even worse.

“And we’re on in three, two…”

“We’re here with popstar sensation, Collette, and rapper, Julez,” Scott starts, speaking into his microphone as I toy with my headphones. With my sunglasses still on, they’re not sitting flush against my ears, so I’m getting a lot of background noise, making it hard to hear clearly.

“…your Family Julez Tour?”

Luckily, they’re both looking at Julian.