As the woman slept in my bed, I slid from the mattress. Stumbling into the kitchen, I shielded my eyes from the glaring sun. I found an open bottle of beer on the counter and picked it up, chugging back the flat taste as I woke myself up. I leaned against the counter as I sighed, my eyes closed as I tried to relieve the headache forming at my temples.
But the sharp bang of the bus door opening didn’t help and caused Stone and Landon to roll out of their beds.
“I’ve fucking had it with you,” Hank said.
“Could you be any louder?” I asked.
“The fuck’s going on?” Stone asked.
“Shit. That’s Hank,” Landon said.
“Yes. It’s Hank, you assholes,” I said.
“I’m done with the antics. Where is she? Hank asked.
“Sorry, y’all,” the woman said, as she slipped past us. “Just gotta find my pants.”
“Her pants—she’s gotta find her fucking pants,” Hank said.
She covered up with her pathetic excuse for a pair of pants. They fit her snugly, tucked up underneath each ass cheek. Those jeans left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and Stone grinned as I brought the stale, warm beer back to my lips.
But Hank snatched the bottle from me as the girl scampered off the bus.
“Enough is enough,” Hank said. “I’ve helped you climb to the top of your fame, and this shit’s gonna ruin it all.”
“Relax Hank. The boys wanted to through a little party after the show,” I said.
“A little party. Do you even fucking remember last night?” Hank asked.
“Not necessarily,” I said. That’s how I preferred it. To forget everything.
Stone and Landon snickered as I tried to keep my grin at bay.
“I’m fed up with this shit. You fuck the wrong woman and she goes to the media with all this shit, and you’re done. Bang, just like that, your fame is over. Your dedicated fan base will see you as nothing but an alcoholic womanizer.”
“Watch it. I’m not a fucking alcoholic,” I said.
“You drink like a fish on stage, Drake! Of course, you’re an alcoholic. I know you’ve been through a lot in your life but you can’t just go about acting like your actions won’t have any consequences. You haven’t gone one performance without beer in your stomach.”
“That’s part of my persona, Hank! They expect me to come on stage shit faced. It’s part of my shtick.”
“Is part of your shtick bringing groupies onto the bus, having them dance around naked, then drinking yourself stupid until you can’t remember whether or not you fucked one of them or all of them?” he asked.
“I didn’t fuck that girl.” I honestly wasn't sure, but I'd hoped I was right.
Stone and Landon fell apart in laughter as I stumbled over to the couch.
“This has gone on long enough. If you don’t turn this shit around, I’m gonna hire someone to help you do it,” Hank said.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll take the information to heart,” I said.
“It’s not information for you to take to heart, asshole. It’s what’s going to happen if you don’t fucking shape up, Drake. In fact, I’m tempted to go ahead and take care of this shit right now.”
“And just what the hell are you gonna do? Hire someone to babysit me and count my beers?”
“No. But I am gonna hire you a public relations representative. Or a private assistant. Someone to help your fucking ass with this drinking of yours. Your drinking and your antics are gonna get you into trouble, and you’re gonna need someone like them to help when shit hits the fan.”
“Your knickers are really in a knot this morning, aren’t they?” I asked.
“I’m fucking done with you,” Hank said.
“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t walk away from me. You’re employed by me, remember?” I asked.
“No, better check your damn contract, buddy. I manage you. There’s a difference. And if I feel you need a fucking P.R. representative or an assistant or a fucking rehab for that matter, you’ll damn well do it! Otherwise, the concerts come with me, and I toss your ass out on the street. Got it?”
I clenched my fists as Hank left the bus. Who the fuck did he think he was? I was Drake fucking Blackthorn. He couldn’t get rid of me. I was half his damn paycheck every fucking month! He didn’t manage anyone else like me. He didn’t have some roster of fucking famous singers he could fall back on. I was the biggest name he had.
He needed me. Not the other fucking way around.
Long ago, I didn’t need a manager to tell me how to live my life. I was happy without a stadium full of fans. I performed in front of a crowd because it was my passion and it brought me to life.
Now, I barely even recognized that man. I was a fucking actor. I was in so deep in this fictitious character I’d created for myself, so I could avoid the reality of my fucking life. The reality that had I just driven them with me that night, Shannon and Ava would still be with me now.
That man was gone.
Now. I was just fine being an empty fucking vessel.
Fuck Hank.
Fuck the world.
CHAPTER 2
Delia
My phone alarm rang at exactly ten in the morning. I cracked my knuckles and pushed back from my desk, grabbing the yoga mat stored by my feet. I rolled it out in my little cubicle and started to stretch out my limbs, ready for my five-minute break. Working at a desk all day was murder on my back, so I had to make sure I kept moving. I stretched my hands down to my toes and flattened my palms onto my mat, then walked them forward. I groaned as my lower back stretched.
Working through college was tough, but I was getting by. I refused to go into debt with my schooling, so any debt I accrued was quickly paid off within weeks of taking out the loan. I was splitting my time between classes and being a personal assistant. I sat at my desk, helping people who bought my time to coordinate their schedules and make it to their meetings on time.
It was a decent job and one that paid well. Depending on the package someone bought, they got a certain amount of my time during the week. Sometimes, people wanted counseling, someone to talk to and use as a soundboard, sharing their frequently terrible ideas before I changed everything. Sometimes people wanted me to tap into their schedules remotely and help them with their time management skills. Every once in a while, people purchased more expensive packages that required face-to-face time, but luckily, I hadn’t built a reputation for any of that.
Instead, I was known for being able to whip people’s mindsets and schedules into shape—without ever actually having to meet them in person.
It suited me well, especially considering the degree I was obtaining. I was attending Vanderbilt University to study psychology, with a focus on helping those dealing with substance abuse. Part of helping people with those types of issues was finding the triggers throughout their day that spiraled them, which meant going through their schedule and analyzing every detail.
Doing that as a remote private assistant gave me the practice and experience I needed while paying me a decent paycheck as well.
I stretched back up to the sky, reaching as high as I could. I could feel my back popping, a sign that I wasn’t taking enough breaks. I stood on my toes before I slowly bent backward, working my way into my favorite position. It always helped to lighten the load on my lower back and rush the blood to my head. The light-headed sensation gave me a chance to breathe deeply and take a pause, which helped oxygenate my blood faster.
As I was bending backwards, I caught a glimpse of a picture I kept at my desk. It was of my mom, holding me close to her when I was only nine.