3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Evie
A s I waited for Jenna and Isabel to finish loading up the last of Isabel’s gifts, I plugged their address into my GPS and tried not to be hurt that my mom hadn’t texted to ask if I’d made it back to Bedford safely. It wasn’t like she’d ever checked up on me before. I didn’t know why I thought it might be different this time. Then again, the entire reason I was staying with Jenna and Isabel, instead of at the house I’d bought for Mom, was because I knew things weren’t different.
She’d been on her way to becoming a full-blown alcoholic before she even got pregnant with me. Hell, her blackouts were the reason she gave for not knowing who my father was, and I’d never had any reason to doubt it. She dropped out of school to have me and spent most of that time drinking. I’d heard more than once that I was lucky I didn’t have issues because of it.
Well, physical issues anyway. The emotional baggage was a little harder to see.
Jenna headed for the road, and I followed. She and Isabel had bought a house not too far from where Jenna grew up, so the first part of this trip was familiar. Honestly, I probably could’ve figured it out from the address alone, but between seeing the Bradshaw brothers again, making small talk with people who either barely remembered me from before or who only knew me as a singer, and not a single word from my mom, I wasn’t in any sort of headspace to rely on my teenage memories.
I didn’t know why I was so focused on Mom not reaching out. Sure, I told her I was coming home to help Jenna with her wedding now that the date had been moved up, but her only response had been to ask if it was because Jenna was knocked up.
I hadn’t bothered reminding her that Jenna’s fiancée was a woman. I’d been impressed that she actually remembered my best friend’s name.
And I was a little hurt that she hadn’t even asked if I planned on staying with her. I didn’t know if it was because she assumed I’d prefer to be with Jenna, or if she just didn’t want me around, and I wasn’t enough of a masochist to ask.
As we turned off of Main Street, headlights flashed in my rearview mirror, nearly blinding me.
“Turn your brights off, asshole,” I muttered as I flipped my mirror to keep the reflection off my face. I always said I could find my way around Bedford with my eyes closed, but I really didn’t want to test that theory.
We turned onto another side street, and a glance in my side mirror showed the car was still behind me with its high beams on. Shaking my head, I slowed and flipped on my turn signal. Behind me, the car did the same.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I tried to push away the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“It’s just someone else driving home after a late shift or being out with friends,” I told myself.
That was the logical answer as to why the car kept following me through the maze of streets that made up the residential part of Bedford. And the fact that they waited until I flicked on my turn signal to use theirs was just coincidence.
It had to be.
Because the alternative was something I really didn’t want to think about.
Besides, it’d been a long day. Driving for hours, seeing the Bradshaw brothers again—and the roller coaster of emotions that always stirred up in me—and then smiling and pretending like everything was great while making small talk with people who either gushed over me or made it clear that they’d only ever see me as the trailer trash offspring of a drunk.
Damn. That was a lot to unpack all at once.
“That’s all this is,” I said out loud. “Leftover shit from Nashville, combined with fatigue.” After a moment, I reluctantly added, “And hormones from seeing how the guys somehow ended up hotter than the last time I saw them. Which is totally unfair.”
Except when I didn’t use my turn signal, the person behind me didn’t either, and they still followed me onto Jenna’s street.
Shit.
Panic flared in me, bright and hot. I needed to figure out how to handle this, but I didn’t have much time. Jenna and Isabel’s house was only halfway down the street. Did I want to pull in and hope that whoever was following me would move on when they saw I wasn’t alone? Or should I keep driving, go around the block, and head to the police station? I was leaning toward the latter when I realized that if Jenna saw me drive by, she’d think I got lost or something and try to call or even come after me.
And then it was too late to come up with another option, so I turned into the driveway and hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake.
I got out of my car with my phone in hand and called to Jenna, “Get in the house!”
She looked confused for a second, but then her eyes widened as she looked past me. I turned to see a car pull into the driveway. A car I now recognized. My stomach sank. I didn’t want to do this here, not with my friends watching. Hell, one of the reasons I left Nashville was because I didn’t want to see him, let alone talk to him.
“Evie, what’s going on?” Jenna’s voice was full of concern, but I didn’t look back at her.
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice calmer than I felt. “It’s my ex. You and Isabel go inside. I’ll handle this.”
“Evie…”
“I’ve got it,” I repeated as Randall Downs got out of his shiny, expensive car.
Seven years older than me, he’d seemed so wise and worldly when I first met him. And with his dark brown hair and deep brown eyes, he had his fair share of women fawning over him. He wasn’t as crazy hot as the Bradshaw boys, but I’d found comfort in that fact. Like I wouldn’t have to worry about people thinking I was dating someone out of my league.
“Evelyn, what the hell are you doing?” Randall used that same condescending tone he always used with me, and I was done tolerating it.
“It’s none of your damn business anymore, Randall,” I said pleasantly. “Get back in your car and go back to Nashville.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” he said. “Come home with me.”
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “Hell, no. We’re done. Personally and professionally.”
Dating my publicist for two years had been a stupid mistake that I now regretted, and I’d own it, but I wasn’t going to keep doing it.
“You can’t do that.” His smile faltered, and I caught a glimpse behind that mask he wore. “We have a contract.”
“Now, you see, the fact that you went to business first just tells me that’s what it’s always been for you,” I said. “We. Are. Done. And in case your firm hasn’t told you, they agreed to let me switch to a new publicist when I told them I’d leave altogether if they didn’t.”
The smile completely disappeared now, and he took a step toward me. “You’re my fucking client, and I won’t be giving you up to anyone else.”
I shrugged, knowing he hated when I did that. “You’ll have to take that up with your boss. I don’t have anything else to say to you.”
“Well, I have some things to say to you.” Randall’s voice was low and dark, and there was something on his face that I’d never seen before.
He’d done a lot of stupid shit, and I knew now that he wasn’t the man I once thought him to be, but the sliver of fear that went through me was new.
“You’re gonna stand here and listen to me,” Randall continued. “And then the two of us are gonna get back into my car and we’re going home. You’re gonna stop this nonsense, and we’re going to work on promoting your next album.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m still talking,” he cut me off sharply. “Now, are you gonna close your mouth or do I have to make you?”
This was not good.