Chapter 1 #2
I could break my own leg, I thought again, then shook that thought out of my head. There was no way I’d ever be able to do that. As desperate as I was, I wasn’t that crazy.
When we were finally leaving the studio, I could tell Sam was relieved and happy that everything went as planned. He tossed the keys to his rental car around in a playful manner, and that gave me a little courage to ask for a small favor.
“Hey, Sam? Can I drive?”
“Do you know how to drive?” He asked wryly, not even humoring me with a smile.
“I haven't always been the princess of country music, Sam. I used to drive myself everywhere.”
“Princess?”
“Ok, a Baroness,” I waved a hand in the air. “The magazine article said ‘Princess.’ But either way, I haven't always been driven around. Let me behind the wheel.”
Sam took a deep breath and ran a hand through the greying edges of his hair. He didn’t work for me, he worked for the label, and despite being the reason I was wearing long sleeves on a warm day to cover my bruised wrists, he occasionally tried to temper my weary spirits.
“Please,” I added, batting my eyelashes and pouting my lip.
“Fine.” He lifted his hand from his pocket and held out the keys. “But straight to the bus. We have to get ready for the photo shoot.”
Dammit, I almost forgot about that. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him it’d be hard to cover my bruises during a photoshoot, but I didn’t want to poke the bear.
Surely, we had time to drive a little farther into town for a coffee, though. It was the dark magic that could turn my mood around with just one sip.
“Don’t even think about looking for a coffee,” Sam snapped at me as I snatched the keys. I hate that he could read my mind. And I hate that he was pissed again at the idea of me wanting something he couldn’t control. “We can make one on the bus.”
“That stale shit?” I huffed, rounding to the driver’s side and grabbing the handle to the door. “You need to get laid, Sam. You’d be a lot happier if someone sucked that limp dick of yours.”
Sam started choking, his face turning red as he sputtered, clearly caught off guard by my words.
But if I couldn’t have my coffee, the next best thing was watching him squirm.
My words cut through the air, sharp and biting, and I almost found a twisted satisfaction in watching him choke on his own surprise.
It didn’t last long. He cleared his throat, still reeling, when his phone rang, breaking the tension. He yanked it out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Holding up a finger, his usual “I’m in charge” gesture, then he shot me a look that made it clear I was supposed to wait.
I slid into the driver’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel, and started the car, the engine humming to life beneath me. I flicked the radio on, my fingers searching for something that could drown out the sound of Sam’s voice.
After several minutes of him pacing outside the passenger side of the car but never getting in, I decided to roll the window down and yell at him. If we waited any longer, I wouldn't even be able to get the sludgy coffee from the bus, and that would really ruin my day.
With the window down an inch, I began to yell when Sam turned his back and leaned on the door.
“Yeah,” he spoke quietly into the phone, unaware I could now hear him. “Add two more months to the tour, thirty more shows. She can handle it.”
What?
Two more months?
Thirty more shows?
“She’s getting harder to control, but I’m learning to let her think she has a little, just to keep her happy.”
Glancing at my wrist, I huffed at Sam’s idea of control. He’d only laid his hands on me one other time, and that was when he pulled my ankle to force me out of bed last week. I’d fallen right onto the ground and had a bruise on my shoulder and hip that still ached.
What would it be like if I had to do this for another three months?
Forty-five more shows? I felt a chill at the thought, and the weight of it was already suffocating me.
I couldn’t imagine going on like this, my voice barely holding together, my body on the edge of collapse, and my spirit…
well, my spirit was already slipping through the cracks.
I wouldn’t have any time to write the music I wanted to create—songs that were mine, not dictated by someone else’s agenda.
I laid on the horn, making Sam jump up and turn around to face me.
He held up another finger, still unaware that the window was slightly down, and I could hear details that he’d undoubtedly lie about until the last possible second.
He’d slip in a "just one more show" like a hidden trap, then another, and another, until I was completely smothered under the weight of promises he never intended to keep. He didn’t care that I was running on fumes, that I was barely standing.
To him, I was just a machine with a pretty face, something to be pushed and exploited until it broke.
But not this time.
No way.
Without thinking, I put the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking spot.
Sam tried pulling on the handle, yelling for me to stop, but I had locked the door and didn’t care that his feet were in danger of being run over.
I put the car in drive and pressed the gas, making Sam jump back to save himself.
I tore out of the parking lot like I was fleeing the cops, pushing the car harder as I sped down the empty road.
I drove for miles, my hands clenched tight on the wheel.
Finally, I pulled into a rest stop, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes.
Tears started to escape as the reality of my future started to seep in.
It was never going to end.
It wasn’t just the exhaustion. It was the hollow ache of being trapped. Trapped by contracts, by expectations, by people who saw me as a product to sell. I could feel my future being stifled by the greed of others.
A few minutes passed. Then a few more, before I cranked the car again, knowing I needed to get back to the bus.
Sam would be there, knowing I’d show up with my tail between my legs, sulking over the stale coffee he’d made me drink.
He knew the label held my dreams in the palm of their hands, and at the end of the day, I’d be a good girl and get back in line.
Was it worth it?
I didn’t think so, not anymore.
“When was the last time you were happy, Lox? Where was the last place you remember smiling? That’s where you need to be.”
That was easy; it was the one place on the tour that felt like going home to where I was meant to be. It was also the last place I’d felt inspired to write.
Before putting the car back in drive, I threw one of Sam’s old hats on, tucked my hair up into the rim, and then put on the jacket that he’d left in the backseat. If anyone looked into the car, they’d be less likely to notice it was Loxley Adams making a getaway.
I wasn’t going back to Sam, or the label, or the expectations that had swallowed me whole.
I was heading to Harmony Haven.
Because maybe it was time to find myself again. Time to remember what it felt like to breathe.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had made the right decision.