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Lily answers, “They’re meeting us—” A loud crunching noise, like a collision, blares over the line. Luna intakes the sharpest, gasping breath.
It jars every instinct in me. To go. To find her.
“What the hell was that?” Lo shoots to his feet, looking volatile but terrified for his wife and daughter. No one answers. “Lily?!”
“They’re bumping into us, Lo—”
“Pull over.” He speaks sharply into the receiver and comes around the desk. He motions for me to hurry with security.
I’m about there. I click my mic and whisper, asking about Frog’s location.
“No,” Luna cuts in. Fear is still clung to her voice. Something’s not right.
“Find the safest place and pull over,” Lo forces out. “They’ll run you both off the fucking road.”
“I’m going to pull over,” Lily says shakily.
“No, please,” Luna nearly cries. “It’s Boom Box.”
Shit. Fuck. “Stay in the car,” I tell them.
Lo is glaring at me. “Boom Box?”
“These two paps—”
“Mom, wait,” Luna interjects again, her breath hitched. “Is this…?”
What is it?
I don’t wanna be here. I don’t wanna be stuck in this office. I need to find her. Now. Lo has the same idea, and we’re already deserting his office with lengthy, scorched strides. Bypassing the small lounge of couches and chairs, we exit through the front door, and the Philly sidewalk is strangely empty of cameramen, of fans. Dark clouds rumble in the sky, and the world feels on a tilt.
Off-centered.
Rain begins to pelt the asphalt and us. No jackets, but Lo parallel parked his Bugatti close. Quickly, he’s behind the wheel, and I’m in the passenger, shutting out the rain. His light brown hair is damp, droplets soaking his long-sleeved black shirt, and I run my fingers through the strands of my hair.
Lily and Luna haven’t responded in at least a minute.
Lo starts the car and glances at the phone. “Lily?”
“I’m trying to get out of here.”
Where the fuck are they? “Where’s here?” I ask.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
“I sent you a pin,” Luna says, her voice abnormally pitched. “We can just stay parked, right?” It sounds like she’s asking her mom.
My phone buzzes.
I put the location in my GPS, and Lo takes off. Reading the address, I know where they’re stuck: a cut-through skinny road that must be blocked by something. If paparazzi are behind them, they’re not getting out.
I ask for Frog again on comms, and this time, she hears me.
“Frog to Donnelly, we’re meeting our clients at Putt Palace.”
“Reroute,” I say quietly into my mic and text her the pin. “Luna and Lily are in trouble. Paparazzi. I sent you their location.”
“Got it.” Her voice is tight.
“Tell the temps to follow,” I remind her.
“I’m on it.”
“We’ll be fine,” Lily says with shallow breath. She’s consoling her daughter, and I want to be there to do the same. I grip my knee as we speed in the direction of this small cut-through road. We’re fifteen minutes away from them without traffic.
“Lock the doors,” Lo says, a death-grip on the wheel. “Just wait in the car. We’re coming to you.”
“Security’s on their way too,” I tell them. “You alright, Luna?”
“Yeah.” She audibly exhales. Inhales.
I just want to hold her.
I rub a hand over my mouth. She’s okay. She’ll be alright. We’ll make it to them. Maybe not before their bodyguards, but we’ll be there. Fucking Boom Box might just try to terrorize them through their windows for a money-shot.
The thought flames my insides, a gathering inferno. Blood boiling, I just stay alert, watching the road, listening to the call.
“Mom—” Luna starts
“Take it.”
Take what?
Lo isn’t speaking. I bet, like me, he doesn’t want to cause more panic. He’s weaving through the city streets and cars, beating the red lights. His amber gaze is venomous, and he’s hardly breathing.
“Wait…” Luna chokes out, and her voice tapers off.
I go cold. “What?” I ask. “Luna? You alright?” Something’s changed.
The call is eerily silent. I can’t even hear their breathing anymore. Then we hit grid-locked traffic. Our car rolls to a full fucking stop behind a Volvo.
“What’s going on?” Lo asks, putting our car in park and picking up the phone. “Lil? Is she okay?”
“They’re getting out of their car,” Lily whispers.
“Jesus Christ,” Lo grimaces. “These sick fucks are dead. They are so goddamn dead after this. They’re going to be slapped with a thousand lawsuits until they’re buried beneath hell.”
“The car is locked, Luna,” Lily says to her daughter, a tremor in her voice. “They’ll just take some photos and be gone. Poof.”
Lo is shaking his head repeatedly. His cheekbones and jaw are blades as he grits down on his teeth. We’re not acknowledging one another while they’re in danger. Tension is suffocating. I watch the unmoving traffic. Wish these motherfuckers would stop honking.
I glance back at the phone in Lo’s hand.
Lily and Luna are quiet again. I hear the ping of rain on our end and theirs. They said the paparazzi are walking towards them. Out of their vehicle. Moving closer.
