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“It won’t be a punch bowl and passed hors d’oeuvres,” Chris says. “But they won’t get into too much trouble.”
When Chris opens the door to the green room, there are more people than I would have expected. Most of them have drinks, and some are vaping or smoking cigarettes. Despite the weather outside, Chris was right, he’s not the only one showing a lot of skin; several people are shirtless, and a woman walks past us with long legs shown off in boy shorts and leather boots. In fact, there are a lot of beautiful, scantily clad women in the room, making my outfit stick out like a sore thumb.
Chris leaves in search of a beer, and I look for Zoe. I make three passes of the room, and worry builds to panic. I’m picturing my daughter having run off somewhere with a band member or a roadie or groupie or something, and will she be safe? I definitely don’t want to find her in some corner in a compromising position.
That’s exactly whatIjust did. I’m lucky Zoe didn’t find me with my pants down and Chris’s cock in my hand. Ugh. Having an adult daughter is turning me into a hypocrite.
Then I see Zoe in a spot I’m one hundred percent sure I already looked—next to Ram on the couch.
“Oh, my god,” Zoe says. “There you are.”
Something about the way she says it is a little weird, and my mama bear senses are tingling. She’s leaning forward on the couch, twirling the leather bracelet around her wrist over and over again. She doesn’t stop, even when I sit down next to her. Ram is having an animated conversation with two women on his other side, and he doesn’t seem to notice when I squeeze between the two of them.
When I touch her arm, Zoe turns to me. “Oh my god, Mom!” She straightens up and blinks rapidly. She takes my hand, threading my fingers through hers, which surprises me because she hasn’t done that kind of thing in a while. “We’re hanging out with rock stars!”
I laugh and lean back on the couch. She leans with me, and for a while, we just observe the party. While I am glad I didn’t find her having sex in a dark corner—yes, despite my hypocritical thoughts, I can’t help being relieved—I am surprised that Zoe’s not chatting someone up.
And actually, now that I’m paying attention, Zoe’s holding her breath and then letting it out, then sniffing hard, and opening her mouth to exhale...
“Zoe, are you okay?”
She turns her face to me with wide eyes. Like, really wide eyes.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’re breathing weird.”
A look of relief passes over her face. “Okay, I’m breathing. That’s good.”
WHAT?
“Zoe.” I grab her face and turn it toward me. She doesn’t have a drink, but she’s still playing with her bracelet, and now she’s practically Lamaze breathing in my face. She doesn’t smell like alcohol, though, and I wonder if there’s anything harder around here. “Did you take something?”
“What? No. I’m totally cool,” she says. “Totally cool. Totally, totally cool. Cool.” She stares at me. “Cool.”
Holy shit, my daughter’s been drugged.
Hell hath no fury like a mother protecting her daughter, and I’m on my feet and dragging her with me, pushing people aside until I find Chris talking to Alwin.
The smile that flits over his face when he sees me disappears quickly, and I’m pretty sure I’m broadcasting a murder face.
“My daughter,” I seethe at him, “is drugged.”
“Mom,” Zoe makes an attempt at whining but can’t quite manage it. “Don’t embarrass me.”
Whatever she’s on is giving me a flashback to her petulant teenaged days, and it just scares me more. I have to get her out of here and maybe to a police station? A hospital? I don’t know.
Next to us, Alwin laughs. “Ah, those bonbons are hitting her hard, hey?”
I wheel on Alwin, stabbing my finger into his chest. I don’t know what the fuck bonbons are. “You! You think this is funny? I’m taking my daughter down to the hospital to get tested and treated. Whatever she’s on, you better hope to god she doesn’t overdose or get addicted or whatever other bad shit happens to the morons who do drugs because I swear to god, I will press charges or sue you or, if all that fails, I will hunt you down and shove a Carolina Reaper so far up your ass you’ll be breathing fire, are we clear?”
My pointed finger has crept up Alwin’s chest, and he’s leaning back, bent over so far to get away from me that his drink is spilling on his chest. Those famous golden eyes are wide and—much to my satisfaction—scared.
My other hand still grips Zoe’s, and I whip around, tugging her behind me. The room has gone very quiet, and I storm past Chris, who looks even more shell-shocked than Alwin. He keeps his mouth shut, though, and I make it out the door and wind through backstage until I find a long, well-lit hallway with a proper exit sign that doesn’t look like it’ll set off the fire alarm. That’s when footsteps ring out behind me, and I know it’s Chris before I hear him calling me.
“Sara! Sara, wait,” he shouts.
I don’t stop but grumble under my breath, “Don’t make me threaten you, too.”
