“Well?” he signs. “What do you want?”
I blush deeper and deeper until I’m pretty sure my face looks like a lobster’s. That’s right; he’s been waiting for me to tell him what I want to drink. Damn, I really need some sleep. When I wake up, maybe I’ll actually be able to carry a non-awkward conversation.
“Water,” I reply. “Um, please.”
He walks into the adjoining kitchen without saying anything else, and my heart starts pounding again, making my head ache from the racing pulse. Was that the right thing to do? Should I have insisted on getting my own water, instead of having Jace get it? I mean, he’s a celebrity. I don’t think he usually spends his time fetching water for girls. Especially not for sweaty, shaking, sunburned girls.
Killer flops the blankets off of his face and squints at me. “Darling, if you’re gonna tag along, you need to learn the Jace Rules.”
I frown. “The Jace Rules?”
He holds up a hand and starts counting them off: “One—don’t lie while you’re near him. Two—don’t touch him. Three—don’t bring anything with carbs or refined sugar into his RV. Four—don’t ask about his feelings. And five—don’t even mention drugs or alcohol.”
I’m pretty sure rock stars are supposed to want all those things. Well, maybe not the carbs, but still. It seems like Jace missed the memo that famous musicians are supposed to live on the edge. Not that I’m complaining—if his rules mean that I don’t have to put up with anyone drunk, I’ll gladly follow along.
I nod uncertainly to Killer. “But aren’t you kind of . . . ?”
“Completely hungover,” Killer supplies, rubbing his temples with a wince. “Yeah. About that. Jace will make exceptions to his rules for the band, because we’re stubborn and he trusts us not to screw him over. But you’d do best to just follow them. If someone outside of the band annoys Jace, he has no problem shoving them out of his life.” Killer rolls his eyes. “He’s finicky.”
Even though Killer doesn’t directly say it, I get the message: if I piss off Jace too badly, he’ll just tell me to leave, and my chance at freedom will disappear. My stomach starts churning again at the thought.
I glance over to the small kitchen. Jace stands at the counter, gripping the edge of the granite like his life depends on it, but he’s not moving and seems to just be staring out the window. I don’t stick around to find out what he’s looking at. Instead, I head back toward the entrance of the RV, looking for the bathroom I spotted earlier. I want a few moments alone to splash some water on my face and clear my thoughts.
As I pass by the RV’s entrance, I spot my duffle where Jace dropped it by the door. I pick it up and stare at the door uncertainly. If I leave now, I could probably get back to my house before my dad realizes I ever left. I could go back home, to where things are miserable, but at least predictable. As soon as he figures out I’ve run away, I really don’t know what my dad will do. He’ll try to get me back, that’s for sure. He has so little control left in his life, and he’s not going to give up the power he has over me without a fight. But I have no idea what lengths he’ll take to get me back, and I’m scared to find out.
I take a deep breath and then head into the bathroom. No. I’m not going to give up this opportunity Jace is offering. Although, judging by how awkward and uncertain he’s acting this morning, I’m afraid his pity for me isn’t going to last very long. Musical background or not, I don’t fit in here. Jace’s whole life revolves around playing music and being in the spotlight, whereas my only goal is to stay quiet and hidden.
I open my bag, touching the cash and the check at the bottom just to reassure myself they’re there. All I need is to get away from this city, to a place where I can’t be recognized, and then I can safely branch off from Jace. That way I won’t have to keep depending on his pity, and I can make sure he won’t be harmed by anything my dad does.
I’ll wait just a few days. That’s all the time I need to spend with Jace. Then I can travel the rest of the way to New York on my own.
13
JACE
I STARE OUT the tiny kitchen window and watch as the last trailer is bolted shut, ready for travel. Earlier, I pulled the shades down on all the windows so no one could peer in and spot Ali. But I left the shades open on this window, since it’s taller than the others and impossible to snoop through. If all the trailers are packed, we should be leaving any minute. Although driving is the last thing I want to do. Anxiety and uncertainty keep stabbing at my mind, and I want to play some music, drown out my thoughts in chords and notes and riffs.
“Dude,” Killer calls from the living room. “How hard is it to fetch a glass of water? You’ve been in there for five minutes.”