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Giggling, I shake my head. “I highly doubt that,” I tell him. “I’m an absolute an?—”
I don’t get the rest of the words out because Lennon and Atlas start tickling me, which makes me squeal and beg for mercy.
“Please, I’m gonna pee!” I gasp, twisting and giggling.
“I guess we’ll give mercy,” Lenny laughs, high-fiving Atlas as I get up to go to the bathroom.
“God, now they’re working against me,” I sigh as I walk past Mav. I worried for a second that he was dozing, but he is staring intently at the little boy laying on his chest as if the mysteries of life live there.
Shaking my head, I leave them to use the restroom. Ugh, I seriously almost didn’t make it.
Tickling is my weakness. Unable to find my phone, I go back to the cottage in search of it and find it on my bedside table. Wow, I never leave it like this.
Picking it up, I start going through my messages. My heart starts to beat faster when I see a text from my uncle from an unknown number. I haven’t spoken to him since the debacle at the club. Biting my lip, I open it.
Unknown : I’m sorry I couldn’t get away until now. Things have been… chaotic. I’m getting married tomorrow to Líadan. It’s complicated and I don’t have the time to explain it, but I wanted to tell you that I’m alright. This isn’t goodbye forever, just for right now because this world isn’t safe. I love you.
Tears slide down my face, and I don’t need him to tell me not to respond to this text. I can tell he texted me in secret. Gasping as I sink onto the bed, I stare at the message for so long that the front door opens and heavy steps echo inside of the cottage as Draven comes to find me.
Unless he’s being sneaky, he tries to telegraph his movements for me.
“What’s wrong, Chickie?” he asks, sinking to his knees at my feet.
“Jordan is getting married tomorrow,” I whisper. “He snuck a text to me.”
Handing the phone to him, I watch as he reads it with a sigh. “Greg mentioned things would probably be hot there for a while,” he sighs.
“I know, I don’t have to like it though,” I mutter.
“Did you manage to get through the rest of your messages? Your phone is still vibrating. I’m sure it would be a fun party in your pants,” he teases me.
A small smile surprises me as I take my phone back. There’s a text from Mr. Laurence as well, though it’s cryptic as fuck.
Mr. Laurence: Call me, Layla.
Sighing, I hit the number for the recording label, wondering what other bullshit is coming for me. Swallowing hard, I clear my throat. I don’t want anyone to be able to tell I’ve been crying.
Draven grabs the water bottle I leave on my nightstand and I take a quick sip before the receptionist answers.
Less than a minute later, Mr. Laurence is picking up his line.
“Layla,”he says warmly. Though I’m sure it’s genuine, I don’t think he’s calling me to shoot the shit.
“Hi, Mr. Laurence,” I say softly. “What’s so important?”
“Ah, I’m in a meeting with the other execs, and we’ve been talking about you andThe Midnight Lights,”he says. “In light of Atlas’ injury, we want to pull back the tour a little and reschedule the rest of your dates for the next month and a half.”
“That’s going to be a nightmare logistically, isn’t it?” I ask.
“Not necessarily. Tyler has been making sure to keep your social media presence up, and your fans have been sending prayers for Atlas,”Mr. Laurence explains. “I don’t think they’ll mind if we shift your dates if we release a record with new songs. You’re in South Carolina, right?”
Bingo.
“Yes, I’m home with Lennon, but Atlas can’t play,” I remind him.
“WillTurner fill in for him? You have so many amazing songs already done, it would go a long way toward smoothing ruffled feathers,”he continues.
Sighing, I know this is the right move. “I’m going to need to write at least three more songs before I can record,” I warn him. “I wasn’t expecting to do this so quickly. I thought I had a little more time.”
