Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Oh, Darcy was wild as a Junebug. Chaos, that one, I tell you–”
Darcy’s phone was literally taken from her hands by Emerson, who winced apologetically at her. Still, she locked Darcy’s phone, sharply cutting off her mother’s voice playing through their tour bus.
“Her orders.” Emerson pointed at Blythe, before passing her Darcy’s phone.
“Look, Darce, when you’re upset and obsessing, that’s usually your choice. But I don’t want to hear her, either. And, in fact, I refuse. Sorry.” Blythe’s words were firm and unyielding, as she put Darcy’s phone facedown on the small table she was sitting next to.
That was fair. That was fine.
Darcy didn’t have any desire to listen to their mother’s interview anymore.
She’d woken up this morning, their driver already enroute to South Carolina.
She’d stretched as much as she could in her bed on the bus.
And she’d checked her phone, wanting to see if she’d heard from Juliet and check reviews and comments on their show the previous night. In that order.
In the last week, it had become her new morning routine.
But this morning, everything popping up in her notifications had been about her mother.
Angie Kincaid’s name was splashed around after she’d given a gossip site an “exclusive” interview, all about Darcy and Blythe.
Hell, she’d also included as many stories as she could likely remember about Emerson, too.
It had been almost a decade since she’d heard her mother’s voice, and hearing her now, like this, was like nails on a chalkboard.
Darcy was unable to stop herself from pacing, feeling her blood absolutely boiling. She hadn’t been able to stop simmering for over an hour, since waking up.
“How fucking dare she?” She seethed, for the millionth time, reaching up and dragging her hands through her hair.
“I guess I’m surprised it took her this long?” Emerson commented, her eyebrows furrowed. “I mean. Did she not realize We, The Romantics was you two until now, or…?”
Darcy pointed at her. “Great point, Em.”
Because, really, where the hell had she been hiding?! Had she been under a rock somewhere? It almost felt even worse that it had taken her this long to emerge, because they’d been absolutely blindsided by it.
Yeah, that got her pacing all over again.
“She lulled us into a sense of security,” she muttered, shaking her hands out as if it would help her unload any agitation. Impossible at this moment. “Thinking she’d just fade into obscurity and leave us be. But. Nope.”
She’d shared all kinds of stories about their childhood. The thing was, they weren’t even necessarily bad or sensational or exciting. But… somehow, that didn’t make her feel better. Her mom shared all of those same memories, even the half-decent ones, and still left?
How dare she? How dare she tell stories like she was some involved parent so that she could make a quick buck?
Even if she’d been around when they’d been little, she forfeited the right to benefit from their career when she’d taken off.
Didn’t care if Blythe ended up going to college.
Didn’t care if Darcy finished high school.
Didn’t know what happened to them, until they’d emerged successful.
“How are you so calm?” She whirled around to face Blythe, who now had her head tipped back against the window, her eyes closed. She had one leg crossed over the other and was sitting completely still.
The total opposite of what Darcy felt coursing through her.
“I’m not calm,” Blythe returned. She held a breath for a few seconds, before lifting her head to look up at Darcy. “Fine, I guess I’m calm. But I’m not happy. Like I said: I can’t stand to listen to her voice.”
It was nice to know she wasn’t alone in that. It was… it was necessary to know she wasn’t alone in it.
“What do you want to do, then?” She asked, rubbing her hands together before tightly entangling her fingers.
Her mind was spinning through options, and – well, none of them felt good. Nothing about this felt even moderately good.
Blythe rolled her lips into a thin line, giving her a firm stare. “This is why I’m maintaining my calm, because I don’t want to do anything about it.”
Immediately, Darcy’s face dropped, and her stomach twisted in revolt. Do nothing?! Say nothing?!
Unsurprisingly, Blythe clearly knew exactly what Darcy was thinking, and she held up a hand before Darcy could argue about it. “If we address it publicly or even if we contact her privately, we’re giving her the power she’s looking for.”
It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair. And Darcy did her best to contain that outburst, because she knew – logically – her sister wasn’t necessarily wrong.
“Why don’t you ask Juliet her thoughts?” Emerson asked, tilting her head up at her from where she sat with her knees curled under herself on the other armchair. “She’s probably seen a lot of… personal dramas play out?”
Darcy set her jaw, her stomach twisting even worse.
It wasn’t like anything was wrong between her and Juliet.
Nothing was wrong at all, technically. But things felt slightly…
off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, necessarily.
Just that when she and Juliet were in the same place, things made sense.
Even when they hadn’t gotten along, it hadn’t felt stilted.
It wasn’t even stilted now, it – it was just that they were busy, she supposed. Darcy had quite literally never been busier. Either they were performing or they were driving to their next city. She was so busy, she was actually falling asleep when her head hit the pillow.
And Juliet was working on her next album, which was amazing.
They were still talking regularly, usually texting.
But Darcy wanted more. She wanted even fucking more, and she didn’t even know what that meant. Especially not in the positions they were in.
This was more than sex. They both knew that. But – how much more? Enough for Darcy to call Juliet up and talk about her problems with her mother? Seek advice? Seek comfort?
Darcy groaned, dropping down into her own chair. “I’ll wait until we talk to Eliana.”
She felt so – so out of sorts, still, when she walked into her hotel room in Charleston later that morning.
They’d had their consult call with Eliana, who agreed with Blythe, advising that they shouldn’t address Angie publicly.
These things petered out on their own. Eliana had urged them to look forward, focus on the next show.
If they wanted to do anything about it, she suggested discussing with their legal team to handle something privately.
Which Blythe was also opposed to. So, Darcy’s hands were tied.
She decided that even though her communication with Juliet had been kept light and conversational for the last week, she would reach out to her. She –
She stumbled to a stop as her hotel door shut behind her upon seeing Juliet sitting on the edge of her bed.
Wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater and a pair of cotton shorts – Darcy knew Juliet had changed into those when she’d arrived here, because she never left the house wearing something so dressed-down – Juliet looked perfect.
She looked exactly like Darcy’s fantasy thoughts about what she’d possibly find walking into her hotel room.
Darcy could only stare, the shock cutting through the nonstop hurt and fury she’d been flooded with all day long.
“Juliet,” she breathed, shaking her head. “What are you doing here?”
Juliet offered a small smile as she stood up. “Surprise?”
“Yeah,” she agreed, dumbly, still standing in the short entryway. “Very much so.”
As another few seconds ticked by, that light expression on Juliet’s face slipped. “A… good surprise?”
“I’m just – what are you doing here?” She asked, finally able to snap to attention. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and wheeled farther into the room.
Given their schedule – traveling between cities on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays – they’d stay on the tour bus most of the week. But on Friday and Saturday, where they’d be doing back-to-back shows in the same place, they were in a hotel.
She walked past Juliet, holding her breath as she went so she wouldn’t breathe her in and be tempted to stop.
Only pausing once she was several feet away, gripping so tightly to her suitcase, using it to steady herself as she asked, “Why haven’t you wanted to talk?
I thought… when I left, things were good? ”
Her voice was so quiet, completely beyond her control, strained with the choking tightness in her throat.
Juliet turned so sharply to face her, her hair fanned out behind her. Her dark eyes were wide and, to her credit, she looked genuinely baffled. “What are you talking about?”
Darcy stared at her, dubiously. Expectantly. “So… I was reading into something that wasn’t there?”
“We’ve talked,” Juliet countered, but notably didn’t deny anything. “We talk almost every day.”
“We text,” she shot back, sharply. “We’ve only talked once, other than the first night of my tour.”
The first night on her tour had been the only time Darcy had felt connected to Juliet, though.
Yes, they’d texted with little check-ins every other day.
And they’d talked when Darcy had called Juliet from the back of the tour bus after one of her shows.
Juliet had answered promptly, nothing was notably wrong, and yet somehow, it also seemed like it was.
“Hearing myself say that out loud makes me realize I sound really fucking clingy, though, and I do not enjoy it,” she muttered, spinning on her heel so she didn’t have to look at Juliet’s face when she said it.
She felt utterly raw today, her face was hot and she felt the sting of tears already hitting the backs of her eyes.
Darcy was not an easy crier. Not when it came to being sad, at least. Frustrated or overwhelmed, sure. So this, these tears that threatened to start rolling down her cheeks over not feeling close enough to Juliet…