Chapter 11

Stepping onto the private plane felt like freedom.

And freedom…felt fucking great.

Even the bodyguard sitting nearby couldn’t ruin my mood. Despite the fact that his main job was to make sure I wasn’t doing anything Jolette and Marco wouldn’t want, rather than to keep me safe.

He was at least the silent type.

Settling into a leather chair, I pulled out my headphones and settled in for the ride, watching the L.A. skyline disappear from view.

I wished that I could say goodbye to it…permanently.

I’d once thought L.A. was the most magical city on earth. I’d thought it was the key to making Jolette’s dreams for me come true.

I hadn’t realized that it would become my prison.

Not even its sunshine and palm trees could outweigh that.

It would be good to get away. I had gotten used to living in a cage, and that was not good.

Not good at all.

Since I was having a moment…I let my thoughts drift to…that night.

I’d gotten off more times than I’d like to admit to those memories. And with Mr. Hulk Wannabe watching my every move, now wasn’t the time to get turned on.

But the way Walker had looked at me.

“Would you like some coffee, ma’am?” a voice asked.

I startled in my seat and turned towards the flight attendant who was standing in the aisle with a tray. The smell of coffee washed over me.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a shit load of creamer and vanilla syrup…would you?” I asked hopefully.

She winced and sneaked a side eye at Mr. Sir Hulk A Lot who was pretending not to listen to us. “It’s not on the approved list for the flight, ma’am,” she murmured, not looking me in the eye.

“That’s fine,” I said in a fake, weirdly high voice. For a minute I’d gotten carried away…thinking this weekend was something it wasn’t. Being reminded of Jolette’s approved list of foods when I was on official “Olivia Darling” business was just what I needed to make sure I didn’t forget myself.

“Sorry,” she whispered as she set down the mug full of tar black coffee on the table in front of me.

I didn’t touch it.

A few minutes later she came back with a covered tray. “Your egg white omelet and salad, ma’am,” she murmured, casting a furtive glance at my keeper once again.

“Thanks,” I muttered, as she slid another cup of coffee next to the tray even though I still had a full mug in front of me.

“I—” I began, before noticing that the new cup was a creamy tan color, signifying it was loaded with all my favorite things.

I glanced up at her and she winked at me as she casually walked back up the aisle with the other coffee cup.

A tear slid down my cheek.

I let myself feel it for a moment, that small glimmer of kindness. Let it soak into my sorrow filled veins, gold tinged, with the capacity to bleat out some of my pain.

And then I wiped it away.

Picking up the mug, there was a small smile on my lips for at least another hour.

Maybe this weekend could be what I dreamed after all.

The humid heat of Dallas was a balm on my skin, washing over me like a warm blanket as I stepped down the stairs and walked towards the waiting car. Stepping onto the tarmac felt surreal.

Dramatic.

But a true statement.

Mr. Bodyguard followed me into the car, getting into the front seat with the driver while I slid into the back.

“Yes. We’re in the car. Security is in place at the hotel,” he said into his phone, and I could hear the soft murmurings of Jolette on the other end. Even the whisper of her voice was like a bucket of nails being thrown on my good mood.

I pulled up the itinerary, glancing through it. There was an engagement party tonight, followed by the bachelor/bachelorette parties. Tomorrow was a spa day for the girls, a small shower for Maddie, and then the rehearsal dinner. Sunday was the big day.

I wasn’t going to know anyone this weekend but Maddie and Harley, and I wasn’t expecting to see them very much under the circumstances. Hopefully there would be at least a few people to hang out with. I’d never had much luck with that—meeting new people who were actually interested in me and not the Olivia Darling part.

Harley had told me that cameras and phones were banned for the event, but someone always managed to sneak one in. So I couldn’t ever really relax.

Hopefully the person I would be paired with for things wasn’t a complete tool. Maddie had seemed so smug on the phone this week when she’d mentioned it, but she’d refused to tell me who it was. It’s not like I would know them. I hadn’t ever met any of Harley’s teammates on any of his teams, college or NHL.

Driving down the Dallas streets was a rip to the heart—an excruciating trip through the past. It was amazing all the memories you could create in a small amount of time. The way they could burn inside you with an ever present ache that never quite healed…even after years.

We turned down a street and my gaze widened as I saw a bar where I’d done one of my first performances. Obviously it had been way against the rules for a kid to be in a bar, but somehow Jolette had gotten me in for open mic night.

I had felt like I was flying that night…

I’d clutched my guitar with trembling hands, ready to pee my pants as I stepped onto that dimly lit stage—I’d been so fucking nervous. But then…the soft, warm glow of the stage lights had brushed against my skin, and it was easier all of a sudden…like I was in my own little world.

The hushed chatter of the audience had gradually faded as I strummed my guitar, and then, as I started to sing, everything else had melted away. It was just me and the music, and the words and melodies I’d created that were a piece of me, pouring out like I was gifting the people watching a part of my soul.

I could still remember their applause. It was different than it had been at the end, when I was supposedly at the top of my game. And people loved the idea of me more than anything that was coming out of my mouth.

I didn’t know why…but it had meant more to me, the applause that tiny crowd had given an unknown stranger.

It had felt more real.

Maybe I’d been wearing rose colored glasses back then. Or maybe it was just that my world was now gray-tinged, everything sullied by the last few years. The neon sign hanging above the entrance seemed to flicker with a tired looking glow now. The wooden facade of the outside looked weathered and worn…like it had been forgotten like the dreams of countless aspiring musicians who had crossed its threshold, hoping to make it big. I wondered how many of those people had succeeded, or if they, too, now felt like they’d left behind echoes of their songs and broken dreams in that bar.

I tried to push the dread away, but something about seeing that bar stayed with me for the rest of the drive. And by the time we arrived at the Rosewood Mansion, I was not in the headspace I would have liked for my weekend away.

We passed the entrance since I needed to go in the back if I was going to keep any anonymity this weekend. The hotel stood tall and elegant, exuding an air of timeless luxury with its ivy-covered walls, and the row of towering oak trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The wrought-iron gates opened to reveal a cobblestone courtyard and the soft glow of lantern-style lights.

“Good job, Maddie,” I whispered, since everything looked like a dream. I could already tell the wedding was going to be perfection.

Someone had checked me in, per Jolette’s protocol, so I walked into my hotel suite, glancing around at the softly elegant furnishings as the door closed behind me and I was finally out from under the eye of Jolette’s guard dog.

A big grin creeped on my face.

Because weirdly…this place already felt much more like home than my L.A. penthouse ever did.

I threw myself onto the bed, squeezing the pillows around my head. And I screamed into the fabric, muffling the sound of my complete and utter relief.

Hopefully this was alright for an engagement party. Maddie had said it was a dress to impress kind of event—whatever the hell that really meant.

But standing in front of the mirror, staring at myself in my black cocktail dress…I felt a little naked.

It covered way more than my old concert outfits ever did. But without my ball cap and sunglasses…or a wig…it felt like I was a poor, distressed mallard, about to fly out in the middle of hunting season.

Just breathe, Olivia, I murmured to myself, wondering how I’d gotten to the point of my life where it felt more natural to talk to myself…than it did to talk to other people.

My phone buzzed.

Behave.

That was the word Jolette chose to send.

Sir Hulksalot was going to be following me all night, so I wasn’t sure how it would be possible for me to do anything other than behave.

The word still scalded my insides.

My hands were trembling and I fisted them, hating how I was desperate for one of my pills. I’d let myself go comatose basically for two days after Marco, and then I’d flushed the rest of them down the toilet.

I was certainly regretting that decision right now.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped outside, where unfortunately my guard was waiting for me.

“What’s your name?” I asked, sick of making up names for him in my head—even though he was such a caricature it was far easier to do than it should have been.

“Toby,” he finally said, after a long exaggerated pause, like he wasn’t sure if he should text Jolette for permission first.

I didn’t tell him it was nice to officially meet him. Because that would have been a lie.

Toby led me to the gardens through the back way, a route that avoided the main arteries of the hotel. We stepped outside and I smiled, because the set up was fucking gorgeous.

A large white tent stood in an open area, its billowing fabric shimmering in the soft glow of the setting sun. The tent was adorned with delicate drapes and floral garlands, and twinkling lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm and inviting radiance upon the guests already teeming inside of it. The tables were meticulously arranged on one end, covered with crisp white linens and adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers in shades of soft pink and ivory. At the other end of the tent, a small stage had been set up for live music. A talented band played soft, melodic tunes that filled the air. The sound of laughter and conversation floated on the breeze.

It was very fairytale-esque.

If those were to actually exist.

I turned to stare at Toby, suddenly desperate to have a night of normalcy. Although he was probably going to tell Jolette that I was doing this, and it was going to bite me in the ass.

It was still worth a try.

“Look, as you can see I’m not in any danger out here, at this private party…if I give you a thousand dollars…and promise not to say anything, can you just wait for me upstairs?” I would have offered him more money, but that was my limit right now, what Jolette and Marco deigned to give me from my own fucking money.

He scoffed, like I’d insulted him with my offer.

“I’ll give you my rolex. It’s a collector’s edition, owned by Darius Jane herself,” I spit out, feeling sick as I did so. Darius Jane was my musical idol. She’d died tragically in her prime from an overdose. I’d thought her life mirrored mine, and it had been one of my first purchases once I’d started making real money.

“You are fucking crazy,” Toby said, as he extended his hand out for the watch.

Asshole.

“You have to stay away all weekend,” I pressed insistently, “and report to them that everything’s fine.”

“You’ve got it,” he said greedily, eyeing the watch.

I handed it to him and he all but ran away, probably thinking I’d come to my senses and ask for it back.

Maybe I was losing my mind.

“Liv!” Maddie whisper-yelled from nearby, and I turned, watching as her gaze darted around dramatically, like she was trying to keep me a secret even though her voice was definitely too loud for that. She threw her arms around me and gave me one of her trademark squeals.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re here!” she purred. Maddie glanced over her shoulder. “Harley, get your delectable butt over here. She’s here!” She motioned frantically at Harley who was talking to a group of very well-built men that I would take bets were from his team.

The asses on hockey players could not be beat.

I watched, a little confused when Harley froze at Maddie’s comment, and then seemed to take his time walking over to us.

“Hi cuz,” he grinned…but the way he said it…seemed a little frostier than usual. I attributed it to nerves as he slung an arm around me and gave me a squeeze. But Maddie was studying him too, looking as confused about the general vibe he was throwing off as I was.

“Everything okay, baby?” she asked, watching as Harley’s gaze danced around the garden like he was looking for someone.

“Oh yeah. Is it hot out here though? There’s fans going, but I swear it’s fucking hot. Or is it just me?”

“Babe,” Maddie said in an unimpressed voice. “What is going on?”

He pulled her into his arms and pressed a hard kiss on her lips. “Absolutely nothing,” he murmured as he pulled away from a now dazed looking Maddie who had been completely distracted from Harley’s suspicious behavior. “But I think we should go check on the fan situation—for the guests.”

Evidently that was the magic word because Maddie’s eyes widened and she started to look around anxiously. “Where is the wedding planner? We can get her on the cooling situation—oh! There she is!” She began to pull Harley towards a harried looking woman surveying the party with a clipboard.

“Glad you’re here, Liv,” Harley murmured, but he sounded more…sad about it than anything.

I watched in confusion as they walked away, wondering why it felt like I’d made a huge sacrifice…given up my last remaining bit of power to Jolette and Marco…for nothing.

So far the party was a bust. Granted, it had been ten minutes. But I didn’t think anyone was a fan of sipping champagne in a corner by themselves while everyone else had a good time.

“You look like you need company,” a deep voice said from behind me.

I turned around to see a mildly attractive guy standing there. A lot of girls would probably think he was actually incredibly attractive with all that shaggy dark hair of his.

But I was feeling a little broken since sleeping with Walker. Like I’d touched the sun, and everyone else was just…nothing?

That was a depressing thought.

“Hi,” I said, forcing a brightness to my voice, honed from years of having to be fake in public. What I really wanted to say was, “Is that really your pickup line?”

But I probably shouldn’t be rude to the one person who was talking to me at the party.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like that singer, the one that was in the news a few years back for going batshit crazy.”

I blinked, a little bit of me wanting to die at the reminder that most of the world did think I’d gone “batshit crazy” so to speak.

“You know, it’s a funny thing…I get that all the freaking time. But I honestly don’t see the resemblance. At all,” I responded politely, trying not to give myself away even if my head was full of snark.

“I mean, that’s what I thought,” he chuckled, like he’d told a particularly funny joke. “I’m Ryan, Ryan Taylors,” he added, extending his hand…but instead of holding it out for me to shake…he put it on my waist.

I raised an eyebrow and drained the rest of my champagne.

“Ryan Taylors…from the Seattle Strikers?” he pressed, like I should have had Seattle’s roster memorized.

I stared at him blankly, pretending I hadn’t watched Seattle play L.A. a few months before.

He coughed and swept his hair out of his face as he tried to recover from the fact I hadn’t thrown myself at him the second he said who he was.

“Want another drink? I think the idea is that we get trashed and make lots of bad decisions tonight,” he told me with what I’m sure was his attempt at being charming.

“Here’s your drink, baby,” a voice murmured as a strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me from Ryan’s grasp.

I froze, wondering if I’d fallen and hit my head.

Because I knew that voice.

It was ingrained in my memory like the etching of constellations in the velvet canvas of a starlit night.

And the body I’d just been pulled against, the one who was sparking up my insides like fireworks on a July night?

Walker Davis was here.