F O U R T E E N

I push the heavy hotel suite door open, peering inside for any sign of Beau. I find him standing before the full length mirror, pulling a crisp black t-shirt over his chiseled chest. "Hey," I say almost shyly as I drop my stuff to the floor, both relieved and disappointed that he's here. If he's here, he isn't out there wreaking havoc, but I really need some time to think, uninterrupted. I enter the room in a daze, my mind reeling over the modeling contract I was just offered. The folded up slip of paper weighs heavy in my jacket pocket.

"Where've you been?" His voice is gruff as he eyes me through the mirror.

"With Fiona," I admit, lowering myself into the bed, feeling exhausted from our meeting, and too tired to lie.

"Alone?" Beau squints, his green eyes glaring at me suspiciously.

"Yeah." I sigh and explain the situation to him, maybe even hoping for some advice. But Beau says nothing; he just turns back to the mirror and runs his hands through his spikey dark hair a few times. "What do you think?" I pester him after a couple of minutes, needing an opinion other than my own. "I have two days to decide,"

"I think," He grabs his phone from atop the dresser. "That you better start deciding then." He offers a tight lipped smirk before heading out of the suite with no mention of where he's going. I stare after him, more confused than before. What's going on with him? I thought we'd gotten past the blatant rudeness the past few weeks, and especially since we've been in LA, but here it is again, rearing it's ugly head. I consider going after him, and I probably should to make sure he stays out of trouble, given his attitude this evening. But right now, it's just not in me to play Beau's baby sitter - let Fiona be angry all she wants. I'll deal with her when the time comes.

I try not to perseverate on Beau's foul mood. For all I know, it wasn't even directed at me, right? The paper in my pocket the only thing I can think about, I take out my phone and text Gemma the news, hoping for a quick reply. A few minutes pass without anything from her, so I decide to call Nadine.

"Emma, Emma, Emma," Nadine picks up on the first ring, her familiar voice sending warmth through me. "How is the high life treating you?"

I tell her about everything - the plane ride here, the crazy way the city is always bustling, all the beautiful celebrities I'm meeting and the nice clothes I'm getting to borrow. I leave out the part about bidding an insane amount for the guitar gift for Beau, not ready to discuss my feelings, if that's what they are, with anyone just yet. Finally, I let out a deep breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "This is all just so crazy,"

I hear the homey sounds of the coffee shop in the background and I'm surprised she answered. I check the leather watch Bobby wrapped around my wrist and realize she's probably just about to close up for the day. "Mhm," she urges me on.

I voice my fears, finally. "I don't know if I can do this,"

"Do what?" I hear Nadine nibble on something through the phone, and smile thinking of her usual pre-lock up croissant. We love the left over treats at the end of a long day.

I explain the meeting I had with Fiona and wait out the silence on the other end of the line once I'm finished. "A modeling contract?" Nadine sounds surprised. "Miss Emma, you're never modeled before,"

I let out a shaky laugh. "They like my 'look' I guess?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what to do," I groan. "It's a lot of money, Nadine. A lot of money." I hesitate before adding, "I'd be so much closer to having enough for school,"

"Mhm, well." She pauses for a couple seconds. "Well, I trust you - I don't know about that boy, or this Fiona. But you have a good head on your shoulders, you'll make the right decision. Just be careful, Emma - you don't want to end up with all the money to pay for school and not be allowed in," I'm grateful for her words - finally someone with advice I can trust.

I agree and we continue chatting for a bit before she has to drive home. When we hang up, I feel much calmer than before. I might be caught in a whirlwind of a life in the spotlight, surrounded by people who seem completely different than any people I've ever met, with a fake boyfriend I barely know - but I have my place back home, in the cozy confines of my favorite little coffee shop.

***

By the time Beau returns hours later that evening, I've already fallen asleep on top of the covers. I wake to him grumbling to no one, trying to wriggle himself under the blankets anyways. He throws his hands up in defeat, letting out a long sigh. "Where were you?" I repeat his earlier question, sleep thick in my voice as I adjust myself to let him in.

"Doesn't matter," His words slur and I suddenly smell the alcohol coming through his pores. I cringe, cursing myself for letting him leave alone when he obviously was in a destructive mood.

I sit up in bed and reach for the lamp as he slumps down beside me, his eyes already beginning to close. "Beau, what did you do?" I brace myself - I need to prepare us for whatever scolding Fiona has in store, and to do that, I need to know the damage.

He leans his forehead against my thigh. "'S nothin', no one saw me," The alcohol will make it impossible to get anything out of him, I'm sure. I decide to drop it, praying he didn't cause any scenes, and without thinking, I lower my hand to his hair, running my fingers through the disheveled strands. I'd often thought about what his hair would feel like and it is surprisingly soft, although I feel some residue left behind from his hair product. "Feels good," He mumbles, his lips moving against my leg. My hand halts at his words momentarily before continuing on in gentle strokes, knowing he is too drunk to remember this in the morning.

"Beau, come on," I huff, pushing him onto his side so he can breathe. I head to the Suite bar and grab him a cold water, "Drink," I instruct, thrusting the plastic bottle towards him. I force him to take a few sips but don't let him finish - who knows how much alcohol is sitting in his belly? "Have you eaten?" I ask softly. Cleaning Beau's drunken mess off the floor is not what I had in mind for tonight.

He shakes his head, eyes still closed. I grab the room service menu from the bedside table and decide on cheese pizza - carbs should do the trick, I think. I stay awake until it arrives, watching Beau as he drifts to sleep to make sure he's safe, his little snores the only sound in the large room. His face looks gentle when he sleeps - relaxed and peaceful, unlike his normal brooding scowl. What made you that way? I wonder, knowing there has to be more to him than anyone, obsessed fans included, even knows.

When the pizza arrives, my own stomach growls hungrily. I guess I never did eat dinner, I realize, opening the box and putting it in the center of the large bed. "Come on," I shift Beau's heavy body so that he is sitting against the headboard, although as soon as I sit beside him, his body leans heavily on mine for support. "Eat," I tell him gently, grabbing him a slice. After a couple tries missing his mouth, Beau finally begins to chew and I grab my own piece.

"'S good," His voice is slow and thick as he sloppily chews his food.

"I know," I laugh, quite enjoying the cheesy goodness myself.

"Emma?" He calls for me softly.

"Yes?" I run to the bathroom to grab some paper towels. I give a couple to Beau, eyeing the grease already all over his tattooed fingers. "Yes?" I repeat when Beau doesn't reply.

"Nothing," He smiles childishly before grabbing another piece of pizza and stuffing a large bite into his mouth.

"Okay, Beau." I laugh as I join him back in bed. He chuckles to himself, too, but doesn't share why. We eat in silence for awhile, neither of us aware just how hungry we were. As he eats, Beau's head sways side to side, his eyes flutter closed and the only sound from him are the appreciative groans for the delicious, greasy snack. "You okay?" I check on him after a long period of no noise. When I tilt his head back to see his face, his expression is somber, eyes sad.

"Don't s... sign," He drops his remaining crust into the cardboard box and leans his head against my shoulder.

"What?" I ask, unsure that I've heard him correctly and not completely following. I grab the dirty napkin from his hands and toss it aside.

"The contract," He mumbles like it's obvious, his head heavy against my arm.

"Beau?" I struggle to see his face.

But before I can, he looks away and slides lower into the bed, mumbling "Don't leave me," right before he falls asleep.

Jaw dropped, I try to nudge him to see if he'll wake. He doesn't, instead, he resumes his peaceful snoring and I'm sure that this time, he will be out until morning. Silently, I pull the covers over us both and grab a book I had brought for the plane but was too nervous to read. Tomorrow is the concert day - the busiest one yet, but there is no way I can rest now. Not with Beau's plea ringing in my mind, his sad voice begging "Don't leave me," over and over again on repeat.

I stare blankly at the words in my book, unable to concentrate on their meaning. Don't overthink it, I remind myself each time his words replay in my head. He was just drunk - people say weird things when they're drunk all the time, that doesn't mean they mean really them...Right?