Chapter 26
Isabelle
In my humble opinion, Sasha deserved a huge raise. Not only did she find a new hotel in Orlando, but she handled the first leg of the tour exceptionally well. The problem in Orlando wasn’t a onetime thing. Several other hotel locations were leaked, but she managed it with grace.
To say touring time was crazy was an understatement. It was so much more than that. Their fans were passionate, which was great for their sales. The label execs had called after the first week of the tour to announce the album had hit platinum!
The downside to their fans’ love was, of course, that we were confined to the hotel wherever we were.
“I think my pampering kits were truly lifesaving,” I joked as we touched down at La Guardia after the first leg of the tour was over.
Well, almost over. They had a concert in New York tonight, at the Hammerstein Ballroom on 34 th Street.
“Imagine being stuck in the hotel room without them. What would we have done?”
Brayden wiggled his eyebrows. “I always have plenty of ideas, you know that. Are you happy we’re back in New York?”
“It’s good to be home. I missed my siblings and, you know…
being in my own space. How many days do you think we’ll have to stay at the hotel?
” I’d been a bit perplexed when Sasha suggested we stay at a hotel in New York too, because the guys’ apartments and the cottage were going to be stalked by fans before the concert.
I’d told Brayden we could always stay at my place, or even Josie’s, but he said the paps were tenacious and he wouldn’t want to put my family in jeopardy.
“I think just tonight and tomorrow. You’re sick of hotels, huh?”
“No, I quite like being pampered twenty-four seven with room service and cleaning teams. But avoiding fans is a bit tiring.”
Brayden was looking at me intently, as if trying to gauge if there was more to my words.
Okay, I was downplaying everything a bit.
It was exhausting, and sometimes downright scary, but I could put up with it if it meant I was with Brayden.
It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Usually I was all for laying everything on the table and discussing it all until there was nothing left unsaid, but Brayden had enough on his mind with the concerts.
We slid into the back seat of the BMW, just the two of us.
Paul was driving. Security was in another car behind us, and Lars, Harvey, and Thomas were in a third car.
We weren’t expecting any trouble at the hotel in New York, since the press and fans would probably be camped in front of the guys’ apartments, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
“How was it?” Paul asked, and Brayden told him a bit about the tour.
We arrived at the hotel almost an hour later. I groaned as I looked out the window.
“Are those fans?” I asked. They had to be. A crowd of about a hundred people was camped in front of the entrance.
“Fuck” was all Brayden said. “Turn around.”
“It’s not possible anymore,” Paul replied. He sounded desperate. The fans had already spotted the car and were circling it. My heart was pounding fast. Brayden immediately texted the guys to let them know what was happening.
“Why isn’t security right behind us?” he barked.
“They’re a few feet away,” Paul replied. “I saw them before the crowd converged on us.”
“So we’re staying in the car, right? Until the crowd clears?”
Brayden nodded, interlacing his fingers with mine. “Yes. Sasha is already talking to the hotel security.”
Nothing seemed to happen for a few minutes, but after that, the crowd parted as the hotel employees paved their way to us.
They created a corridor of sorts from the car all the way to the main entrance, but the only thing separating us from the rabid fans was a black rope.
They did have security every few feet along the corridor though, so that was good.
“Okay, so this is about as good as it’ll get,” Paul said.
“Ready to get out?” Brayden asked me.
“Yes. Let’s do this.”
The hotel was a huge building. The entryway had a large wooden arch in front of it that extended several feet in front of the doors.
Wooden posts were holding it up, and they’d tied black rope between the posts to keep the fans out.
The hotel’s own security was posted along the rope; I counted six guys on each side. The screams of the fans were deafening.
“Keep moving forward,” Brayden whispered in my ear.
“Just an autograph, please?—”
“And a picture?—”
“Can you please sign right here on my arm? Right here?”
The voices were coming in from everywhere. The crowd was pushing the security team into us, pressing against the wooden posts and the rope. I kept my eyes on the entrance. We only had a few feet left. We were going to?—
A loud crack splintered the air. I looked around for the source of the noise. Several fans had gotten past the rope. Did they cut it?
But that wasn’t the sound. It had been a snap.
A second snap splintered the air, and one of the wooden posts dislodged from the overhead construct. Then one at the back too.
“Get away,” one of the security guys yelled. “The arch is unstable.”
The crowd seemed frozen for a beat, but a third and fourth snap spurred everyone into motion. I didn’t look back to see if one or two more had dislodged. Brayden wrapped an arm around my waist and charged forward.
Brayden
I wanted to shield her at all costs. She was smaller than me. This had to work out. I just had to be careful not to slow us down. The archway was coming down on us. I ducked my head, but it hit my right shoulder. Isabelle cried out. Her shoulder got the brunt of it too.
“I’ve got it. Keep it up until everyone is inside,” someone yelled. I registered that the archway seemed suspended for now, but it was at a precarious angle. It was only a matter of minutes until another wooden post gave in.
“Let’s go! Let’s move!” I said loudly.
Snap. Snap. Snap. We were so close to the entrance that I couldn’t see what was happening behind us. Several people shouted. I shoved Isabelle as hard as I could, pushing her inside the hotel. Then I barreled inside too.
“Fuck. Everyone okay?” I asked. My eyes were on Isabelle. She was on the floor. She seemed unharmed, mostly—she was clutching her right shoulder and her ankle. Seeing her made me aware of the pain in my own shoulder. I helped her to her feet, and she winced as she set her foot down.
I looked around. Outside the hotel, the security team had lowered the archway completely to the ground. I checked them out too; fortunately no one looked injured. Looking back down at Isabelle, I noticed for the first time that there was a red gash on her shoulder blade. It was trickling blood.
“Shit, you’re wounded, babe,” I said.
She nodded, leaning out to check my own shoulder.
“You have a scratch. I don’t think it’s deep.” Her voice wobbled. She kept touching my arm and back, as if to double-check that I was in one piece. I wanted to hug her so fucking tight, but I wanted a doctor to check her out first. Her ponytail was undone, hanging at the back of her neck.
An employee from reception approached us, apologizing for the security problem and leading us to the elevator.
“We need a doctor,” I said.
“One is already on the way.”
I kept checking the gash on Isabelle’s shoulder in the elevator. It was raw, and blood was still oozing from it.
The doors opened on the last floor, and the hotel employee, Fred, led us to a suite, apologizing a few more times. We sat down on the leather couch in the center of the living room.
“How are the rest of the guys doing? And Sasha?” Isabelle asked.
“They’re waiting for the crowd to clear.”
“So everyone’s okay?”
I couldn’t believe she was worrying about everyone else when she was hurt.
“Yes, they’re okay. How’s your ankle?”
“Hurting. I can’t really step on it.”
Fred looked more nervous by the second. When the doorbell rang, a look of relief passed on his face.
He let in an elderly man before leaving.
“I’m Dr. Stanhill. Who wants to go first?”
“Isabelle?” I said.
She nodded.
“Is there a bedroom here? It’ll be more comfortable,” the doctor said. It was the first time I saw one without a white coat on, and it threw me for a loop for some reason. He was carrying a huge black leather bag. I appreciated his no-nonsense attitude.
Isabelle was quiet. I kept her right hand in my lap, stroking it.
She nodded, wincing when she got up. Her hair had brushed the wound on her shoulder.
She was walking with a limp. I felt guilty as fuck for bringing her on the tour.
I’d been an egotistical bastard, wanting her with me so badly that I didn’t stop to consider everything I was exposing her to.
“Wait a second,” I murmured, pushing her fallen ponytail to one side so it wouldn’t happen again. I wanted to touch every inch of her to make sure she wasn’t harmed in any places that weren’t visible.
Bringing a hand to the small of her back, I led her into the bedroom. She sat at the edge of the king-sized bed. I stood next to her, feet planted wide apart, watching her.
“Let’s take a look at your shoulder blade,” the doctor said brusquely when he returned. “Okay. Needs disinfecting and a few stitches. Does anywhere else hurt?”
“Yes, my ankle.”
He inspected it carefully, flexing it several times. “It’s a sprain, nothing more serious.”
“Okay,” Isabelle said.
“There are scratches on your arms, but they don’t look fresh.”
“Oh, I think they’re from a few nights,” she said vaguely, avoiding my gaze.
What the hell?
“From where?” I asked.
“When I got out of the venue after the concert last night, the fans were reaching out. It’s not a big deal. I can’t even see them,” she said.
This was a big deal. A fucking big deal.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It happened a couple times, even in Miami.”