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“Will there be a tour?”
“Are you using Laurel Halifax to boost your own band?”
That last question colors the world red, and I slam the mailbox shut with a lot more force than I should. “No, I’m not.” Making sure that most of them have clumped around me, I cross the street toward the Davenports’ house. Everyone follows me. Perfect. A glance over my shoulder confirms that Jonas understood my plan. He and Laurel are sneaking out to their car even as I knock on Gabe’s door.
He frowns at the press as he opens his door. “What’s going on?”
I watch Jonas pull out of the driveway and speed away. Laurel is safe.
“Thank you for your attention,” I say to the clamoring tabloid fodder suppliers, “but we will be calling the police now.”
Gabe slams the door shut behind me, but I can still hear them rushing to clear the street.
My phone rings again. I grin, ready to hear Laurel be all impressed with my clever scheme, but it’s my manager.
“Make it quick,” I warn him.
“Your ratings are through the roof. Better than the last eighteen months combined. Streams, sales, invitations for interviews. We’re booked solid for the rest of the year. You bought yourself some excellent time until the next album, so let’s get snapping on that. I’ve booked the studio for you guys for the second half of October. Jace, you’re brilliant! Dating Laurel Halifax? Excellent plan.”
Slumping against the wall in the entryway, I do my best to sound polite. “There was no plan.”
Brendt doesn’t seem to hear me. “You’re all over the Web. Last night’s episode ofEverybody Was Kung Fu Fightinghas people talking, and listening, and your gig with the Little Fox—”
“Yeah, thanks for the praise. In case you were wondering, I’ve got a concussion and three stitches.” Why am I wasting my time on him right now? I hang up. Brendt only sees the stats. ACD is selling right now. Because of Laurel. We, as a band, have done nothing to earn the spike in popularity. And I was wrong. There’s more than one video of me and Laurel. The one from Briar’s party plus however many from last night. I slam my fist against the wall.
“Hey, kid.” Gabe’s voice reminds me where I am.
“Yeah?”
“You look like you need to sit down.”
The doctor said to avoid alcohol, but I crave a chemical fire to replace the helpless burn inside me. “Do you have any vodka?”
He sucks in a loud breath. He knows where alcohol takes me—out of control. So much so I have a clause in my contract with The Label that prohibits me from drinking. It wouldn’t make anything worse. I’m not in control of anything right now. I am worth nothing as a musician anymore. It took a fight and a famous recluse to have the public notice our music again.
“No vodka.” Gabe slaps my shoulder. “Did you have breakfast?”
He takes me to the kitchen where he checks the back of my head and makes me eat a fried egg sandwich and a cup of strawberry yogurt.
“You stay with us for the next forty-eight hours, you hear me?” Gabe warns.
I nod. Get drunk, stay here—nothing will change. Everything is a hot mess one way or another.
Track 29
Too Invested
Laurel
Another media ambush waits for me at home. Jonas honks until my ears fall off, not just theirs, and they allow us to enter our own property. Several brave ones pat the car sides with their hands, shouting out the questions and begging for a glimpse of me. My lungs constrict, but then I hear Jace’s calm voice.
I wouldn’t have run.
The night when his fans chased us, he had said it without trying to shame me or rile me up. His attitude conveyed that he understood we’re different—he lives his life one way, I cope in another, and nothing needs to be done about that. I didn’t feel like he ganged up with everyone who told me I should stop hiding, and it meant the world to me. Ever since then, he’s been teasing me into things, not sighing me into rebellion against expectations. Jace gives me freedom to race on or to stay as I am. He’s on my side even when we fight. That’s why I like him so much. That and the invitation for trouble that always lurks in his eyes. Whenever he looks at me, I want to dance away into the sunset with him, laughing.
The gate closes behind us. I steal a glance over my shoulder and smile. The stress of being watched sloughs off me in tangible layers. Last night’s events, unbelievable and catastrophic, are still racing through my mind. Amid it all, though, the weight I’ve been carrying for so long disappears. The effervescent feeling of freedom washes over me, tingling at the base of my neck. The media is here, and they will camp around for days, and I’m surprised to find I don’t care.
“Laurel!” Mom runs down the stairs the moment I step into the house. Hal is right behind her.
