I drag myself out of bed, piss, and then climb into the scalding shower, bracing my hands against the cool tile walls.
We’re supposed to play Milan tomorrow night and finish with two shows in Rome. Our tour manager isn’t going to let us cancel unless Grim is on his death bed. I don’t think I hurt him that bad. So, we finish the last few stops and that’s it. My manager’s going to fucking blow a gasket when I tell him we’re canceling the next studio album. Maybe he can renegotiate it into a solo.
I wrap a towel around my waist when I get out and grab my shit and start to pack. The plan was to spend our free day here in Zurich, then fly to Milan tomorrow, but I have to get the fuck out of here.
An hour later, I’m at the ticket desk at the airport. The agent finds a flight with an open first-class seat and switches me, and when I get to Milan, I grab a random hotel flier from the information desk and tell the taxi driver to take me there.
I order up a bottle of Jack and my only plan is to stay lost until someone thinks to find me. Maybe no one will. Maybe they’ll just let me stay lost.
Chapter 26
Shiloh
I land in Sacramento and Lilah and Bran are waiting outside security for me. She jumps up and down and waves when she sees me coming, and I wave back.
Bran takes my duffel as Lilah pulls me into a hug. “Oh my God, it’s so amazing that you’re here!”
“Thanks for letting me come,” I say into her shoulder. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
She draws back and looks into my eyes. “You can always come to me. For anything. Please never forget that, Lo.”
I smile. “Same as always.”
Bran holds out his hand. “Sorry to hear about how things went down with Billie.”
I shake as the knot in my stomach tightens. “I trusted too easily. It won’t happen again.”
Lilah gives me a sad look, but turns for the doors without saying anything. We head to the garage and I follow Bran to an old black car.
“This is cool,” I say, running a finger over the hood.
“Bran’s first love,” Lilah says, elbowing him in the ribs.
He grabs her and crushes her to him. “Not true. Everything is second to you.”
There’s a second they just stare at each other, but then Bran seems to remember where they are and that they’re not alone. He unlocks the car and pulls the front seat forward so I can climb in back.
I slide into the back seat and expect Lilah to sit up front, but instead, she shoves me over and climbs in next to me.
“Home, Jeeves,” she teases Bran.
He smiles and folds his substantial frame into the front seat.
“So…?” she asks cautiously as we pull out of the garage. “Are you really okay?”
I take a deep breath and sink into the seat. “I’m just so pissed. After living my whole fucking life on the street, I can’t believe I was so gullible.” I shake my head. “You don’t expect respectable white people to be fucking con artists, you know?”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “You couldn’t have known, Lo.”
I shake my head at myself again, because I should have. “This whole thing is all just so new to me. I was totally out of my element when I signed with Billie. And she seemed cool, you know? She looked out for me, made sure the label wasn’t screwing me on my contract or promotion or whatever. I just never guessed it was so she could try to steal everything from me later.”
“But you found out in time, so that’s the thing to remember. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Other than the brand new Mercedes, which it turned out she did buy with my money (and not just her fifteen percent of it), there was the house in Beverly Hills she’d put an offer on and used my money for the deposit. She promised to get all the money back so I wouldn’t call the cops, but I didn’t stick around past the place where we closed the account with her name on it and transferred what was left of my concert earnings into mine. I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to report her. People should know. But I’m not sure I want to be the poster child for naïve little girls.
“I want to hear everything new you’ve written,” I tell her to change the subject. I don’t know where anything with my contract stands right now, but if anyone ever lets me record again, it’s going to be Lilah’s stuff.
She tells me about a few new songs, and says they’re her moneymakers at Bran’s bar, where she plays on weekends. “I don’t really need the money anymore,” she says. “My royalty checks for ‘More Than Nothing’ pay the rent, but I don’t think I could ever totally give up performing.”
When she starts talking about school, a deep ache grows in my chest. I love that my life is music now, but part of me longs for what Lilah and I used to have. As bad as it was, living in the group home, trying to survive on the streets, hustling our fellow students for their lunch money, it was home. I don’t know where that is anymore.