Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
GIA
The bus feels too quiet when I climb on. Nothing but that soft mechanical hum as I move slowly, like walking into a trap I’ve accidentally set. Brady sits cross-legged on the sofa with his laptop while Tai leans against a cupboard, chewing a cuticle. They both look up at the same time.
“Hey,” I say.
Brady closes the laptop with a thwack. Tai says nothing. The show ended a couple of hours ago, and I’m still reeling from being so thoroughly deserted by every member of my band. No one uttered a peep to me except Shae with an encouraging, “Chin up. Focus on the next gig.”
I wandered the Navigli district of Milan alone, hoping the ancient, dark water of the canals and party atmosphere might steer me toward the right vibe.
How to handle this conversation.
“So,” Brady starts, his tone sugar-laced sarcasm, “are we allowed to know what shit is brewing in our own band? Or is sharing now a fineable offense?”
Tai winces. “Brady…”
“Just trying to figure out where the line is now. Since, apparently, we’re on a need-to-know basis.”
I glance at Tai, hoping for a little backup, but his gaze stays locked on mine—bruised, steady, and maybe worse than Brady’s full-on attack.
“And what the hell were you thinking?” Brady sounds appalled and sickened. “Singing his song without asking.”
My entire body wilts, cheeks hot with humiliation from being the idiot I truly was tonight.
“I fucked up is what happened,” I say. “And this is my official apology.” A sudden whiff of stale grease makes my nose wrinkle. The smell of their abandoned takeout on the table makes me acutely aware of the missing singular scent. “Where’s JC?”
“Not hanging around for the apology blowjob, that's for sure,” Brady scoffs.
I pin him with a venomous look. “Dude, that is uncalled for.”
Brady lifts an eyebrow. “Is it?”
I start to say something, and then realize I can't find any words. I'm in the worst headspace. This tour promised so much, but it’s delivering nothing but treacherous emotions and chaos.
Tai finally pipes up. “JC hopped a ride with Sawyer. We'll meet up in Rome.”
Christ, I think, another show to grind through.
How we pulled off tonight's gig is a miracle. I felt weightless, suspended in midair. Grabbed the mic and rambled an apology through the tepid, unsure applause. Four thousand sets of eyes flicked between JC and me, and we might as well have been wearing signs that said, “Lover’s spat in progress.” He refused to look at me, even as we slayed the choruses and the crowd went batshit.
The only saving grace? Amber hit the road on her own volition. Typical of an ex. Stir up shit and vamos.
Brady snaps my attention back. “What crazy power trip are you on, Gia? I respect JC for walking. I would’ve done the same.”
Tai steps in to soften the blow. At least he doesn’t look at me with disgust. “We’re not trying to be assholes, okay? But while you two orbit each other in your own little galaxy, we’re left holding the fallout when the supernova explodes.”
Brady’s expression hardens just a fraction. “And we’re just the supporting cast in The Gia and JC Show.”
“That’s not fair,” I protest. “I built this band. I’ve been grinding since open mics and garage sessions.”
“And we’ve been right there with you,” Tai reminds me. “We’ve bled for this too. But ever since JC came on, it’s like your focus shifted. Your energy’s different.”
I expected this, but still find myself unable to suck it all up. “You mean professional? Because I’m trying to keep this shit on track while—”
“No,” Brady cuts in. “He means obsessive. Controlling. We all know your sex ban wasn’t about hygiene or harmony. It was about him. You didn’t want to see JC get it on with some groupie.”
The words land like a slap. Tai doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to. His stricken expression is an answer in itself.
And JC ghosting me, not acknowledging even one of my dozens of texts, piles on the guilt.
My shoulders slump. If you told me a week ago this is where we’d be, I wouldn't have believed you.
Brady, sensing the point has finally hit home, dials back his anger. “Look, we get it. He's a snack. I’d fuck him in a heartbeat. But we’re all betting our futures on this tour. This is not the time for star-crossed lovers shit. I mean, Jesus. With the prime minister of Italy in the house!”
I don't reply to this. None of us pipes up with anything. But the air vibrates with everything we’re not saying.
And leave it to Brady to save the best for last. “And, seriously, Gia, I said this before, but how does this play out? Think about your future. You’re thirty-five, slaying a string of shows in Japan, and he’s rolling into the drugstore for seniors’ day discounts.”
Something cold blooms in my chest. I know with a blinding certainty tonight is on me to fix.
I overreacted. Lost it completely. But JC put this wild ache in me.
He made me fall so hard. And Brady has no clue how deeply my love for JC runs.
For him to minimize it with another swipe at our age gap pisses me off.
“And you two keep chasing anything and anyone that fogs a mirror,” I snap. “How is that better?”
“What Brady’s trying to say,” Tai interjects, “is that we are your people. Thick as thieves. JC’s filler, as far as the band is concerned.
And...” He pauses as if thinking whether he should say what comes next.
Brady tips his head in a gesture of—go. “You’re worth more than him.
He’s yesterday’s news stealing your front page. ”
I dig deep inside myself to find the strength not to fall for this.
To get sucked into their jealous bullshit, like all the times before.
They’re gifted amateurs. JC’s talent eclipses theirs, and they know it.
And, yes, I was demoralized by the attention JC’s been getting, but it has a reciprocal effect.
We are blowing up.
Thing is, maybe an explosion is what this band needs.
Just as I’m about to throw down the ultimatum we’ve been building toward, Brady beats me to the draw. “I pinged Kayla tonight, asking if she was down to start a new band. She’s in. Say the word.”
My jaw drops. It takes five seconds to process what they’ve done.
“You went behind my back?”
“How does it feel?” Brady asks, eyes colder than ice. He dumps his laptop onto the coffee table, gets up, and rallies Tai to join him. “C’mon, man, let’s blow this joint. Give the diva all the space she needs to contemplate her solo act.”
Tai shuffles to the door and pulls on a jacket. I can tell this is hitting hard. But picking fights is Brady’s specialty. He thrives on combat.
So he can’t resist one more uppercut to my chin. “If JC ever decides to talk to you again, I hope he rips you a new one.”
I look down at my feet, at my black boots that stomped across the stage with so much fury. My heart aches to the point of imploding, and I let the tears fall only when the door slams shut behind them.
When our bus arrives in Rome the next morning, I’m climbing the walls.
I tossed and turned the entire drive and sleep still feels hopeless.
Before the boys wake up, I slip out and walk along the Tiber River, watching the water glitter in the sunrise, while last night spools like a worst-of highlight reel in my mind.
JC brushed me off backstage without a word.
Brady was genuinely hostile, and Tai offered nothing but an evasive shrug.
And today? It feels like Judgment Day with the entire world weighing in. Physics wasn’t my jam, but Newton was right about the equal and opposite reactions thing. Our collective meltdown video is currently breaking the algorithm on TikTok’s For You page.
Three million views and counting.
I want to strangle whoever scrambled onto the roof and filmed us. God, it’s humbling to watch yourself acting like an idiot, the whole bad community theater aspect of it.
No wonder Sawyer summoned me to meet at his hotel.
I can tell from his snooty stare that the bellman manning the entrance of The Waldorf Astoria expects a grubby tour bus pauper to show some deference. But my insides are shredding apart, and one wrong word will push my teetering world over the edge.
I pump up my smile and waltz past him with both shaking hands stuffed deep into my pockets.
First hurdle cleared. The second one won’t be so easy.
And the soaring, opulent lobby, crammed with one-percenters and their attitudes, makes me wish Sawyer and I were meeting at a sidewalk coffee shop, not some chandeliered billionaire haven that plays to his advantage.
He’s on a call and waves at me from the lobby lounge.
He shows up early for everything. JC says it’s less about punctuality, more power play.
He likes to survey the scene, get settled, and establish control before anyone else walks in.
I’d rather eat spiders than attend this meeting, but I need to hit the reset button.
The press has gone mental. The long-buried reason for JC’s disappearance is the hot gossip of the day, while a question mark hangs over the tour like a black cloud.
Not to mention, the conjecture of us.
And the number one headline screamed across the globe: Has Gia Barlow lost it?
I take a seat on the crushed blue velvet couch across from Sawyer’s overstuffed chair. It feels like I’m at a parent-teacher interview about to be expelled. Or in court. I wonder if Sawyer rolls up anywhere not dressed like a defense lawyer.
He quickly wraps up his call and yanks out his earbuds. “That was the twentieth fire I’ve had to put out this morning, thanks to you.”
“Yeah, things are a little crazy in my world too.”
“A little?” He spits a laugh, running a finger down his exquisite silk tie. “That is a timeless statement of utter lack of awareness.”
I flinch against my will. “You don’t know the full story.”