CHAPTER 11 ALEXIS
I squeeze my pillow to my chest.
This doesn’t feel like home anymore. Maybe it never did. It was always my dad’s home, and I never should’ve agreed to stay under his roof.
It made sense, though. I’m always traveling, so why have my own house that I’ll never be at?
So I stayed. It was as much of a home as I could have even if it never felt quite right.
But there are still a few things I want to bring with me back to Vegas to my new home. My real home. The home I’ll be sharing with my husband. I have to be back here January second to get back to filming, but that gives me another week where I can hole up with Danny, watch Christmas movies, have a honeymoon staycation, and eat bacon.
Okay, maybe not eat bacon all those days since, you know, cholesterol.
But most of the days.
And in the meantime, I can help him pack up his house so we can move into the new one in Vegas, and I’d like a house here in Los Angeles since I do spend a lot of time here. I don’t care if it’s a house in LA or Beverly Hills, or a condo in a high rise, or something on the beach near Malibu. And that house in San Diego. I still want that one.
All I really need is Danny.
But I won’t have him once the season gets underway.
I pull a suitcase from the corner of my closet and start filling it with some of my favorite things, hopeful that Danny can work out whatever’s going on with my dad.
I trust him to fix this for me.
I wouldn’t have sent him into the lion’s den if I didn’t.
I work quickly since I want to get down to see what’s going on with Danny and my dad, tossing the things I want into a suitcase. The framed photo of my mom and me when I was a kid. My pillow. A soft blanket with butterflies all over it that I’ve had for eighteen years—one of the last Christmas gifts my mom ever gave me. Some clothes and underwear from my dresser drawers along with my favorite comfy socks. Make-up and hair essentials.
I walk to my closet to get my favorite slippers, one of the comforts of home, and I stand in there for a few beats looking around.
Plush carpet lines the floors, and an ostentatious crystal chandelier hangs in the middle of the room over an island with plenty of drawers. My eyes roam over the shoes in between the framed album covers and the racks of dresses. A vanity sits on the far end, luxurious couches adorn one wall, and it’s all so…
Useless.
It used to be my favorite room, and I think it’s because it’s the room where I could escape to. I’d lock the door and sit on the floor or the couch and just have a moment to myself.
I can’t count how many times I did deep breathing exercises on the couch.
I can’t imagine how often I sat in here daydreaming I’d be able to escape all this.
And now…I have.
Sort of.
I’m still held to tight reins, but I’ve taken the first step to gain my control back. I’ll miss this room, but I won’t miss feeling like a prisoner in my own home. I won’t miss my father taking away my decision-making skills. I won’t miss escaping to one room where I feel like I can actually be myself for a change.
I won’t miss not being able to be whoever the hell I want to be instead of whatever brand he decided to create.
Maybe my brand shifts to something new. Women empowerment. Being in control of your own life.
I like the sound of that.
The things I’ve written for the next album run through my mind. They’re mostly sweet and dreamy folksy ballads or pop hits like always, but maybe I want something else, something…more.
Rock. Electronic.
It’s something to consider as I shift my brand in a new direction and show the world I’m not the sweet little princess they’ve painted me into being. I’m a woman. I’m a badass. I’m in fucking control.
I draw in a deep breath as I let that idea wash over me, and I pull a notepad out of the top drawer of the island.
I settle onto the couch for a beat and scribble down a few ideas, and then I toss the notebook into my suitcase with the rest of the stuff I’m taking with me.
And that’s it. I zip it all tightly into a single suitcase—except the pillow and blanket, which are too big to fit. The rest of the stuff in here is meaningless and useless.
We’ll buy what we need as I make plans for the future.
And the more I think about it…the more I’m starting to realize what direction I want my career to take next.
I drag my suitcase down the stairs and set it by the front door, and then I take a few steps down the hallway toward my dad’s study.
It’s quiet, so that’s good. At least they aren’t shouting at each other, which is sort of what I was expecting.
I pause outside the door as I listen for voices, and it’s quiet in there.
But then I hear Danny.
“What have you done?” His voice is a loud bark, and the fury in his tone is what drives me to open the door.
“What’s going o—” I start, but I cut myself short when I look at the scene before me.
Danny, sitting on the floor, his left wrist looking slightly deformed as he cradles it in his right hand.
My father, a few feet away, a hard look in his eyes as he shifts them away from my husband to me.
“Oh my God,” I murmur, my eyes on Danny as I rush over and sink down to the floor beside him. “Can you move your fingers?”
He wiggles his fingers and winces.
“Can you make a fist?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“We need to get you to an urgent care. Now,” I say. I stand and face off against my father. “What happened?”
He doesn’t shrink back despite the way I’m hissing at him. “It was an accident.” His voice is flat. It’s not defensive, though maybe it should be, and it’s not apologetic. It’s devoid of any emotion at all, and I guess I just never thought my father would stoop so low.
I look back at Danny with my brows raised, and he nods as if to confirm that detail.
I don’t know the details, but I do know that with any injury, the sooner you get help, the better. And his wrist looks all wrong. He needs that wrist to play ball, and right now…he can’t even make a fist.
I glance at my father one more time, and I’m about to say something when I realize…I have nothing to say to him. I turn back to Danny. “Let’s go.”