Chapter 11
As soon as Van and I got back to Nashville, I knew things were going to get hectic as fuck.
Now that Thanksgiving was over, it was time for me to get into the full swing of tour rehearsals.
I only had right at a month to perfect the show.
Why I had decided to put myself on such a tight time crunch, I couldn’t remember anymore.
All I knew was that tour was coming and I needed to snap into tour mode immediately.
Luckily, I didn’t have any other responsibilities outside of tour rehearsals.
The music video for Birthstone Baby was doing well, and people were tagging me non-stop on TikTok as they used my music in their videos.
I still silently cyberstalked the fans, especially when I was down or tired.
They always had the ability to lift me up when I wasn’t feeling a hundred percent.
I spent the next few weeks with a wild schedule.
My day began at four every morning, where I would rush in a breakfast and feed the cats while I downed my morning coffee.
Then I would exercise, focusing on my treadmill to strengthen my breath control and my stamina, which would usually last about two hours.
Then it was straight to rehearsal, where I would spend ten hours a day learning all the cues, all the choreography, and perfecting everything that needed to be perfected.
Van had basically been my shadow over the weeks of rehearsal.
He’d always bring a book with him while I spent most of the day working.
It was really cute to see him look up from his latest read to smirk at the high note I would hit or when I would nail the choreography quicker than I had the day before.
Yes, my crush on him was still in tact. However, I was way too fucking busy to dwell or deal with it.
He was nice to look at still, of course.
But other than that, he arrived with me every day to the rehearsal hall and then left with me once the sun started to set and then we went our separate ways when I’d be dropped off at my house after our mutual rideshare.
Rehearsals were pretty routine, being fairly the same every day, but it was going well.
Thank goodness I’d picked the setlist before the first rehearsal, so I wasn’t having to add any last minute additions or anything like that.
I was so excited for tour, but man, I was exhausted.
I knew that once tour actually started, my body would be so conditioned to the routine that it wouldn’t bother me at all.
At least, that’s what I was hoping. I didn’t really have a choice anyway.
Tickets had gone on sale after the first week of rehearsal and the stadiums I was playing at were filling up way faster than any of us had expected.
So the pressure was on, but I was more than up for it.
This tour was going to be fucking awesome. I’d make sure of it.
It was the day before Christmas Eve when rehearsal didn’t go exactly as planned.
We had just finished running through the number for Are You Really That Weak?
, a song from my first album that I’d decided had to be on the setlist, when Van was at the edge of the rehearsal stage, my phone cradled in his burly hands.
He’d been in charge of it while I rehearsed, but it was usually whisper quiet.
The look on his face instantly put me on edge.
His deep blue eyes were full of worry, and something else that I couldn’t place.
I stepped up closer to him, stepping aside from the tour choreographer and my backup dancers.
“I’m so sorry,” Van apologized, offering me my phone. “This number has called five times in the last ten minutes.”
I nodded, sighing lightly. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I turned to the choreographer and the backup dancers and told them I had to take this call.
They were gracious about it and the choreographer told everyone to take five.
I gave Van a smile that I hoped would convey that it was okay to interrupt, though the look of apology refused to leave his face.
I slipped into a sitting position, sitting on the stage so that I could lift myself off to stand down stage like Van.
As soon as I plopped down next to him, he handed me the phone.
The number wasn’t saved in my phone, so I was curious about why this person was calling so much.
Normally, I probably would have just ignored it.
Anyone of importance was saved in my phone.
But then my mind wandered, curiosity prickling at the edges of my spine.
Still trying to regain my breath after the run-through of the song, I answered the call and pressed the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Alistair.”
The sensation of knives going through my skin hit me just by the timbre of the voice on the other end of the phone.
I could instantly feel myself beginning to sweat again.
I was a little proud of myself that I hadn’t fainted on the spot once the voice had registered, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t happen at any given second.
“What’s wrong?” This was from Van, who clearly thought I looked like I’d just seen a ghost. I might not have seen one, but I sure as fuck had just heard one.
Unable to address him, I struggled to find the appropriate words. So when one single word came out of my mouth, I was already chastising myself.
“Mother.”
Van’s eyes went wide. He’d just heard me talk about how horrible I thought my mother was right after Thanksgiving. It was nice to see that I wasn’t the only one shocked to be hearing from her.
“It’s good to hear your voice.” She said on the other end, like it was nothing. Like this conversation was typical. When in reality, I hadn’t heard her voice in more than a decade.
Except for those awful dreams that still plagued me.
“How did you get this number?”
“Oh, come on. Is that anyway to speak to your mother?”
“You realize that you’re breaking the restraining order by calling me.” It wasn’t a question, because I knew it was. I’d been very specific with my restraining order and I knew the ins and outs of it better than I knew my song lyrics. This was a direct violation.
“I don’t care.”
She hadn’t cared about me my entire existence, so I certainly didn’t expect her to start now.
The palm that held my phone was slippery from the terror sweat that was covering my body.
I glanced again at Van, who looked like he was helpless and waiting for me to tell him what to do to help.
But no one could help. Not unless I was able to find out where she was so the police could get her for breaking the restraining order.
“I just wanted to congratulate you on your success.” Her voice betrayed her words, sounding so smug that I could envision the snark she must be wearing. It was killing her to say these words to me. “Must be nice to have that kind of money.”
“Why did you leave Phoebe?” I needed to know. She’d already broken the order, so I might as well make it possible to gain the one answer that I needed from her. The thought hit me, and I realized I needed a second thing from her. “Where are you now?”
She scoffed, an evil curled sound that unfurled out of her mouth and took me right back to when I was a child, anticipating the next violent outburst. I had to close my eyes. Suddenly my surroundings were too much to bear and I needed the darkness that only my eyelids could bring me.
“Don’t worry about it. You can have Phoebe. Congrats again, Alistair. Hopefully they’ll see you for what you really are.”
A distinct click rang in my ear. I didn’t actually believe that she’d hung up until I lifted the phone from my ear and confirmed the blank screen of my phone for myself.
Staring into the void of my phone’s screen, I couldn’t focus on anything. My breathing was elevating, but I couldn’t stop it. I felt my surroundings draining from my peripherals, only darkness swallowing me up as the ramifications of contact with my mother started to take its toll on me.
Why had she called me? There was no fucking way she’d just called to wish me success. She wasn’t even allowed to call me, period. The thing about Wanda Finneson was that she never did anything without intention. I’d had the bruises to prove it.
So why call me now, now that she’d left Phoebe in her rearview mirror?
I didn’t trust it. More importantly, I didn’t know what to do.
I felt completely frozen in the spot next to Van.
At least, I thought I was still next to him.
I was so immobile, I wasn’t even sure where I was anymore.
All I could dwell on was my heavy, quickened breathing and blinking at the blankness of my locked phone screen.
“Alistair!” I heard my name being shouted, but I didn’t respond. I thought it was Van. He was here, right? Suddenly, I didn’t understand what had happened to me or where I was. It was like my body was completely shutting down and powering off at the most inconvenient time.
The phone was removed from my hand, the lines of my palm replacing the spot where my eyes were glued.
My body felt limp and I regained a spurt of recognition as I realized that I was leaning on Van heavily while he made a call.
I finally tore my eyes away from my hand and looked at his handsome face.
I knew he was talking, I could see his mouth moving as he spoke into the receiver of my phone. But I couldn’t hear anything but the high pitch ringing of trauma that my mother had left in her wake.
Wait, my phone? Why was he on my phone?