Except it does matter, because now it’s re-entered my life in the form of a girl who is clearly in trouble. I think of how careful she was to keep space between us during the tour, and of the desperate look in her eyes when I mentioned the money. Could this be why?
“Um, do you want to sit down?” Jon asks, his voice strained and uncertain. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I let out a shuddering breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My heart thunders in my chest as I take a couple shaky steps toward the bed and sit on its edge. I have the sudden urge to grab the sheets and pull them over my head, to just hide from this situation like I used to hide from my nightmares when I was a kid. Not that it ever helped much back then. It was impossible to escape bad dreams when I was living with a monster.
Jon bites his lip. “You stay here, okay?” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the door of the RV. “I’ll go give the girl her money.”
“No,” I say.
“No? Jace, you promised it to her. You can’t back out.”
“I mean, no, you’re not going to give it to her.” I stand up and stride toward the door, walking fast so Jon can’t see how shaky my legs are. “I am.”
Jon sidesteps in front of me, blocking my way out of the room. “You’re not going to ask her about the bruises, are you? We’re trying to keep this girl away from the media. Stirring up drama isn’t going to help things.”
“Drama?” I repeat, my voice a growl. “Someone hurt that girl. That’s not drama, that’s a crime.”
Jon holds up his hands, as if to ward off my glare. “Okay, sorry, that was a bad word choice. But my point stands. There’s no way you’re going to help things by getting involved in this.”
I press my palm against my forehead, wishing I could just shove away the thoughts rattling around my mind.
She’s being hurt.
She’s in danger.
She needs help.
“I have to try,” I say to Jon.
He heaves a frustrated sigh. “Look, Jace, you don’t even know for sure if she’s being abused. Maybe she just—”
“—fell down the stairs?” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Slipped on a wet floor? Got accidentally hit with an opening door?” I shake my head. “I’m sure she’ll have some sort of excuse. And I’m sure I’ll recognize it, because it’ll probably be one I’ve used before.”
Jon gives a frustrated sigh. “Look, Jace, I know you’re going through a rough time right now. I get it. And, yeah, those bruises are really suspicious, so I understand why you’re worried about this girl. But her safety is absolutely not your concern.”
“If you really think that, then you don’t understand at all,” I say. Then I shove past him, stopping only to grab the check before I rush back to Ali.
9
ALI
I GLARE AT the pavement, my teeth gritted so hard that it makes my bruised jaw hurt even more. What’s wrong with me? I never let people like Jace get to me. He’s a worthless jerk, and what he says doesn’t matter.
Except it does. He didn’t just attack me with words; he attacked me with my past. I’ve tried so hard to forget about my musical career, and he tossed all that work out the window. The pain is back, just as raw as it was that day I woke up from surgery and couldn’t hear. Damn it. Damn him.
I take in a shuddering breath. At least this tour is almost officially over. He went to get my check, and as soon as he hands it over, I’m out of here. If he ever comes back, that is. It’s been a solid ten minutes since he left, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s going to cheat me out of the money.
I lean against the side of the equipment trailer, letting the sun-soaked metal warm my back. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, just for a moment, just long enough to regain my composure. When I open them, I’ll be calm. I’ll forget about Jace’s insults and the memories he stirred up. I’ll take the check and run far, far away.
Something lightly touches my shoulder, making me yelp in surprise. I snap my eyes open and find Jace in front of me. He has his hands nervously stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, and he’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt now. Why did he change into that, of all things? It’s still like eighty degrees outside, and his forehead is already covered in sweat. Maybe the dude is some sort of masochist; he hurts everything and everyone, including himself.
His throat bobs as he clears it, and he shuffles around for a couple seconds, his eyes glued to his feet. I stay exactly where I am, doing my best to look intimidating as I stare up at him. I think of how my mom used to laugh when I was learning a new song; she said I looked ferocious when I concentrated that hard. I try to channel that expression and glare straight at Jace.