No matter if here meant Savannah or California.
I cut the engine and hopped out, quick to open my daughter’s door. In the backseat, she was singing, setting free her tinkling, angel voice, belting out a silly song as she flapped her hands and kicked her feet. I unlatched her buckle and began pulling her into my arms.
Somehow, in that moment, every part of me felt at peace.
I was doing this. Moving on. Putting my past behind me and running for the future I had with Sebastian.
“Shea Bentley?”
I froze.
Dread lifted the hairs at the nape of my neck and I stiffened, like an omen fisted the base of my spine. Holding Kallie close with one arm, I pressed her face into my shoulder, my free hand at the back of her head.
Protective.
Possessive.
Slowly, I turned around.
The man standing in front of my house appeared completely innocuous.
Harmless.
Khaki pants.
Solid blue, short-sleeved, button-up shirt.
But the way my heart rate spiked, my instincts told me he was anything but.
Locking my daughter to me, I lifted my chin in challenge. “Yes?”
He strode forward and produced a large manila envelope. He pushed it my direction, and the air in my lungs suddenly felt like sharp shards of ice.
Panic raged like wildfire. Flames licking at my insides, singeing me. My knees went weak. As if I were weightless. Lost in space that held no form or air or hope.
My world tumbling. Crashing. Shattering.
I stumbled back.
“No.”
He shoved the folder into my hand.
No.
April ran to us, took Kallie from my shaking arms, shushing away my daughter’s fear while her knowing eyes watched me.
“Let’s get inside,” she said quietly, leading me with one hand while she held Kallie with the other. The farthest I could make it was across the porch and inside the door before I fell to my knees on the hardwood floor.
Shaking, I fumbled with the metal clasp and ripped open the seal. A stack of papers slipped out.
But it was the little individual piece that fluttered out on its own that captured my attention. Down, down it fell. Landing face up.
Words pressed into the paper in fierce handwriting I recognized immediately.
I will guarantee your silence.
“EIGHT O’CLOCK TOMORROW MORNING bus rolls out for Denver.” I pointed at Ash, the guiltiest fucker of them all. “Don’t be late.”
He gave me a mocking salute. “Not to worry, dear Baz Boy. We won’t let you down. I’ll be sure of it.”
Ash in charge?
Awesome.
I sent a pleading look to Zee.
He just grinned and gestured between Lyrik and Ash. “Sorry, man, no can do. Claiming responsibility for these two is like pleading guilty for a crime I didn’t commit. No, thank you.”
Lyrik smacked him on the back of the head. “I’ll be committing a crime in about five seconds if you don’t watch yourself, little man.”
“Little man?” Zee bounced around, just asking for it. “I’ll show you little man.”
I shook my head as I began to back away, anxious to get back to the hotel so I could call Shea. “Serious…eight.”
Not sure when I’d gone and become the voice of reason for the band, when I started taking responsibility for everyone. Guess maybe it’d been a long damned time ago, and I was just starting to see it. Understand the loyalty that went with it.
Lyrik gestured with this chin. Got it.
I turned and worked my way through the crowd.
We’d just finished up an outdoor show in Phoenix, which honestly had been cool as fuck. The crowd had been wild, sold out, the night air bristling with near-violent energy the music had stirred to life.
Now, the road crew was moving quickly, breaking shit down to get it packed up and ready to head to Denver tomorrow morning for our next show two days from now. Fans who had passes and some of the press were mingled around.