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I try and keep a maniacal laugh from bubbling up as I sneak away like a super villain in a cartoon, but a little bit slips out. Now, let’s hope their air conditioning is worth writing home about.
CHAPTER 2
LANE
Being at the Mountain Ridge Resort has been restorative. I didn’t realize how much I was floundering until I was forced to take a step back. I was too caught up. I was too deep into the bullshit of fame and fortune.
I had actually started caring about what other people think of me. For me, that shit never happened before and it is something I can’t let stand. Not anymore.
I’ve been in exile, away from the spotlight and given orders to lay low, for a few weeks now.
The laying low part is why I’m in the Silent Hills Cottage at the resort. It’s tucked out of the way, but not far from the lodge or where the staff stay. However, unless someone is on a mission to rent some equipment, I don’t get a lot of foot traffic near my cabin.
It suits me just fine considering seeing people is the last thing I want.
It’s not like I’ve locked myself away completely. I’ve done plenty of exploring and the mountains of Virginia have given me some beautiful views. Part of me has always wanted to be outside, soaking up the sun and the clean air, but growing up in an urban area didn’t give me a lot of options.
I realize now what I’ve been missing. Even living in Denver for the last few years after I signed with White Picket Fences Records, I haven’t explored nearly enough of the outdoors. I won’t be making the same mistake when I go back home.
If I ever get to go back home.
It’s not like the asshole paparazzi douche didn’t deserve to be fucking decked. He did. I’d do it again.
I sigh and scrub a hand down my face. Not being remorseful at all is probably one of the reasons I’m still here and not at home right now.
I snatch my phone up and dial Kat’s number. She’s a queen of all trades at the label, but if you look at her business card it says she’s in charge of all things PR. It’s damn good the guys of Suburban Outcasts, who are behind the label, know how lucky they are to have Kat on their team. Someone, anyone, would love to snap her up. She’s invaluable.
I knew the first time I met her there wouldn’t be any way someone could poach her for another label or any other company. She’s a member of SO’s family and, let me tell you, it shows. I count myself lucky to be in one of the outer layers of the family. An orbiter, really.
I thought I had a good family growing up. Don’t get me wrong, I did. They were normal and steady, supportive and kind. It was everything I needed, but we had fissures and cracks just like everyone else. SO’s family has those as well, but the remarkable thing is they somehow make them stronger because where one person has a crack, they also have someone to shore them up.
It’s probably the reason I’ve only been exiled instead of being canned at the label. I could try and inflate my ego and say it’s about my talent, but I know it’s not. I was brought in under the wing of the family and it’s taken very seriously.
When Isaac answers there’s a chipper lilt to his tone, “Hi, Lane. Kat’s available if you’d like to ask her, again, when you can come home?”
I snort and erupt into laughter. He chuckles right along with me and while it’s hilarious, it also hits me with a sense of longing. I don’t think any of them are punishing me by forcing me away from the family, but it’s an unfortunate side effect. One I don’t like at all.
I think it’s starting to make me a little maddened around the edges. Not a good look for a musician. Some might say a good musician needs a little madness in the magic, but it’s a slippery fucking slope and I’m interested in making my career longer rather than infamous.
“I hope you don’t answer the phone like that all day every two days because you know I’ll call at some point,” I tease him after I get myself together.
I can hear his eye roll from here as he makes a huffing sound before he deadpans, “You know they make caller ID for landlines now, right?” He mutters lowly to himself, “If only it meant I didn’t have to answer it sometimes.”
I might be impulsive, but I also know when it’s time to stop the argument and just nod and agree. Isaac is amazing and the best assistant for Kat, though he’s so much more as well. I don’t think the label would function without Kat or Isaac and I mean that in the most flattering way possible.
“I would appreciate it if you’d let me through, Isaac,” I plead with him a little.
“The mountain air can’t be all bad,” he muses. His voice goes back to chipper in a second, “I’ll put you through right now. Bye Lane, talk to you in a few days.”
He says it so casually that it stings. As if there will never come a time when I’m not stuck here while my career goes on without me. The point is for the gossip, for the speculation, for the wild stories and the barely cogent fables about me to lose their steam and fizzle out into nothing. So far, being out of the spotlight isn’t helping. Fuck. There better be a time when I’m allowed to go back into the land of the living.
I need to check on my sister, Journey, and more than just talk to her on the phone. I need to give her a hug and I need to make sure my niece is okay as well.
I probably brought a media shit storm down on them. Journey won’t tell me how bad it’s been, but I’m not an idiot. All she’ll say is how a few people have tried to take her picture and ask her questions about her past. She doesn’t need that shit and my hometown is not equipped to deal with it.
Kat’s voice is bored, “Lane, you know when I have something to tell you then I’ll call you.”
“I know,” there’s a whine to my voice and I don’t try and hold it back. “I just really want to go home or, at least, be able to visit my sister. I need to make sure everything is really okay there.”
