Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
Miles:
I miss you already, honey
Me:
Miss you more
You’re going to kill it tonight, Starling. Knock ‘em dead
I collapse onto the couch in Cash’s dressing room, breathing hard. My hair is damp, and it sticks to the sweat on the back of my neck.
The roar of the crowd still rings in my ears.
I’m not sure I’ll ever tire of it. This is only our third show, but I’m already addicted to the chants for an encore and the pure exhilaration of doing what I love.
Thousands of people singing my songs back to me.
There’s no feeling like it. Well, almost none.
Me:
I think I’ve managed a hat trick if I do say so myself
Miles:
Of course you did
Now you go score one
No pressure or anything
Good luck!!
“Gross, you’re all sweaty.” Cash catches my gaze in the mirror.
I roll my eyes and grab a water bottle from the table, draining half of it. “Where’s Paula?”
“Who knows? Probably finding a new way to make my life miserable. Why?”
I set the bottle down, along with my phone. “Why do you put up with any of them?”
The people around Cash are controlling, and that’s putting it lightly, but Paula is the worst of them. She checks in on him like a prison guard, especially now that we’re on tour. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did nightly bed checks.
He scoffs. “I got in bed with the wrong people—figuratively, not literally—when I was young and didn’t know any better.”
“Don’t you have tons of money now? Why not just buy your way out of it?”
“I’ve thought about it, but it’s… complicated.”
“Can’t you, I don’t know, uncomplicate it?”
He’s quiet for a moment. His lips part, then curve like something just clicked into place. “Yeah. Maybe.” Then he shakes off whatever it is. “Anyway, what do you want Paula for?”
“I want to talk to her about dropping the act.”
Cash raises both brows, then slowly spins his chair to face me.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Us. The whole ‘couple’ thing. I’m done, Cash. I want out.”
I was never really in, but I thought it was my only option. Cash is a prime example of what happens when you give up all your power. He can’t get it back. And I won’t end up in the same position.
Plus, what are they going to do? Kick me off the tour? I’ve earned my spot. And for the first time, I’m choosing to believe it’s because of my talent and not the fake romance between me and Cash. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
He nods. Once. Twice. “Are you trying to go back to Chicago when we’re off?”
“Yeah. That’s part of it,” I admit.
We’re playing in Arizona next week. Then we have a couple of days off after the show. The brief break happens to fall on the same night as Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals—if the Saints win their next game. Which they will.
I want to be there when Miles lifts the Cup. To rush the ice and hug him like all the other partners.
For a long moment, Cash is quiet. Then he walks over and sits on the opposite end of the couch. “I’ll try my best to get her to agree, but we should strategize. Your team and mine are going to lose their minds. And the fans? They might feel lied to.”
My hands are still trembling from adrenaline. Of everyone wrapped up in this, the fans are the ones I don’t want to hurt. I can only hope they understand that, in order to give them my best, I need to be me. And the best version of me exists with Miles.
“I have to try.” I sound more confident than I feel.
Cash nods slowly. “I get it. It’s better to set boundaries upfront… God knows I should’ve—”
The door swings open so quickly it brings a breeze with it.
“You’re up in fifteen, Cash.” Paula looks up from her phone and notices me. “Oh. How’re you, Summer?”
“Not bad. Do you have a minute to talk?”
No point in delaying.
She looks back at her screen. “Not really, but go on.”
I glance at Cash. He gives a slight nod.
I scoot forward on the couch, sitting straighter. I’d stand if I didn’t think my legs would give out. “Paula, can we talk about the whole fake relationship thing?”
“What about it?” She continues to pace, not looking up.
“Well, Cash and me—we’d like to end the ruse.”
Paula cackles. She could do voice-overs for Cruella de Vil, given how shrill the sound is. “Funny.”
“We’re serious,” Cash adds, his jaw tight.
“I’m sure you are. But that’s not happening.” She finally looks up at us, and I think I prefer her dismissal. “Don’t forget, you signed a contract.”
She pivots and marches toward the door. “C’mon, Cash,” she calls, not bothering to check whether he’s following.
He stands, sits, then stands again. “I have to perform, but we’ll figure something out, okay?”
I swallow and nod, then slump back into the cushions.
He fits his in-ear monitors at the mirror, then leaves.
My pulse picks up in that uncomfortable way, so I lie back on the couch, hands folded over my stomach, and force my breathing to slow.
I stare at the ceiling and let myself have exactly thirty seconds to feel bad for myself. Paula has all the cards and she knows it.
When my thirty seconds are up, I’m going to join Cash onstage for our duet, then I’m going back to my hotel. I’ll watch the Saints beat Florida and get a full night of sleep.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out plan B.