The Tour (16 page)

“Okay. But I thought you don’t fly unless you’re flying.”

“I
am
flying.” He nods, as if he hadn’t realized I don’t already know what’s making perfect sense in his brain.

“A jet?” I ask, shocked.

“Yes. I’m licensed to fly the Gulfstream 650 by the FAA.”

“The what?” I ask.

“The G6. The Gulfstream. Same thing,” he clarifies. I nod, finally understanding. “And we’re all going. Riley’s gonna love New York.” And as he says this, I realize something.

I trust him. I trust that he can fly this jet. I trust that he knows the best way to get to New York the fastest way. And that we’ll be taken care of, that he’ll keep us safe, or die trying. That he loves me, really loves me.

How long has it taken for me to trust him as much as I do? I’ve wanted to, so badly. But I’ve been afraid.

Afraid to let go.

*     *     *

The sponge swipes across my brow, my chin, and my cheeks. It covers all manner of sins and blemishes. It’s our first time performing since the fire and it’s on everyone’s mind, most of all, mine, because I can see it in their faces. The fake smiles, the curious stares.

Kolton, who’s already dressed in his rock star get-up, walks into the master bedroom here at the Peninsula Suite where the make-up artist has set up to get me ready. I see him in the mirror and he’s wearing my gift. The pocket watch is hooked to a button on his vest and neatly tucked into the pocket. I smile and touch my Tiffany key necklace while I check him out.

He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with the top button loose, dark jeans, and a blazer with the sleeves pushed up so I can see his tattoos. His beard is groomed, but still getting longer, and his hair is combed to the side. I blush just looking at him.

“Something the matter?” he teases, a gleam in his eye as he sits so we can talk to each other while looking into the mirror.

“You’re distracting me.”

“It’ll be just like rehearsals,” he says, winking. He looks so sure of himself, then again, he always does. In fact, singing together the last few days to get ready has been so good for us. We love what we do. Singing brings new life through my veins and I love working with him. He always knows the right advice to give me. He never directs, either, just suggests. It works and makes me re-think the contract he’s offered.

Maybe I should sign with him.

I tuck that away for the time being. Tuck it into a warm place in my heart where all things Kolton lie.

*     *     *

Devon drives us to a barricade on 7
^th
Avenue. There’s police everywhere. They check our tags, pop the trunk, and check our paperwork and IDs, before ushering us through a closed-down street. We travel up to another metal barricade creating a buffer between the crowd and the satellite TV vans, along with buses and trailers lined up on the other side. We’re ushered to a door that leads to the studio nearest Times Square. As soon as I see them, the people waiting across the barrier, my breathing quickens, along with my heart. Neither can keep up with the other.

I reach for Kolton’s warm hand because mine is shaking. He stiffens when he realizes I’m getting nervous. It’s going to be a long day of waiting since they want us here early enough that we won’t get stuck in the crowd. Stuck in the crowd, just like before in the mall. I have to close my eyes.

There’s already a crowd and they’re loud… and they don’t like me. They don’t like who they think I am.

The car stops. Devon opens the door and the yelling from individual voices sounds like one entity. I’m stuck, dizzy.

“Close the door for a second, Devon,” Kolton says, and then we’re in relative silence. Manny is still in the front seat but he pretends to be writing in a notebook. “What’s going on, Mia?” he asks, his voice soothing.

“The crowd,” I try, and it’s all I can say. He wipes a tear resting in the corner of my eye. “They hate me,” I admit. “They pulled my hair and chased me. They called me a slut, too.” He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, I take a breath.

“Fans are fickle, love. But you have every right to be feeling all this right now. What happened to you at the mall never should have happened. If I wasn’t a drugged up mess in the hospital, if Devon or Manny were there, you never would have been at that mall.”

“I know, but—”

“Tell me what you like about singing,” he says abruptly, baffling me for a minute. What do I love about it?

“The crowd,” I blurt, and he nods, keeping his calming green eyes with the one red fleck on me. “How I feel the crowd when I sing. Their energy and mine mingles, and it invigorates me.”

“I know, Mia,” he assures me. “The crowd loves your voice and that’s all that matters.” I try to see it his way, but I’m still not sure. “If you want to, we can call this whole thing off. Say your voice went out. Fuck it. We fly back home tonight. But then you let them win, you know that, right? You let them take what you’ve earned. The right to be here.” I feel my lips press together and my jaw tightens. I don’t want to let them do that to me. “I think you’re ready—or I wouldn’t have brought you here. It’s like ripping the Band-Aid off fast.” I feel a shaky smile pulling up the corners of my lips. He raises his eyebrows to see if we should go in.

“Yes. I want to do it.”

He looks up at Devon, motions, and the door opens. I take a step out and hear their roar increase a little. But when Kolton comes out, the sound of cameras snapping is almost louder than the high-pitched women and girls screaming. He puts his arm around me and takes us through the doors.

As we walk, I look up at his strong jawline. Behind the taciturn expression, all I see is his deep beauty. Not just the outside, the inside. And I know I love him. I want to stay with him always.

Always. But does always last forever?

*     *     *

As Jessie and a few others from
The Stage
practice their songs, I watch on. They’ve been in New York for rehearsals the past two days, so we’ve already talked a little. She had hugged me, but said nothing about the fire or the problems we’ve had since the finale. As I watch her now, she looks so good. The self-assurance from winning has done wonders for her—she glows. Her hair looks thicker and longer; her teeth are straighter and bright white.

Don, the Adonis, is here and Blaire, my old roomie. All four of us from the final shows. We’re singing the Donna Summers song we’d done as a group the night of the finale. Then, Kolton and I are singing, “
Stay
” the song we’d sung together after we’d slept together and the world found out.

Kolton leans toward me. “I have to take this call,” he says. I nod and he walks into the hallway.

“Hey,” says a voice from behind me and I turn to see Blaire standing there.

“Hey,” I say. Blaire was my very honest roommate when I first started on
The Stage
. She told me I dressed bad. I think she said I dressed ‘boring,’ actually. But she’s the only person who ever saw me get out of Kolton’s car outside the back entrance to the hotel. She never said a word, and I’ll always be grateful she kept my secret.

“It’s good to see you back. I didn’t know if you’d come…after what happened,” she says, and looks at her black nails. She doesn’t change her expression. She’s obviously still bold and says whatever she feels like.

“I’m ready. I don’t want to let this keep me from doing what I love, ya know?” It feels a little too chipper and motivational speaker-ish after I’ve said it.

“Well, you have balls,” she blurts.

“Why?”

“Have you been living under a rock?” she asks.

“Sort of,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders. “Kolton’s kept me away from the media, the TV. Everything, basically. It’s been nice. Healing, even.”

“Nice?” she says, sarcastically. “What did you think about the autopsy report?” she pushes and my heart starts to pound.

“Huh?” I ask, knowing full well she’s talking about Katharina Inez.

“The video?” she asks. I feel a blank stare as my only expression. I didn’t know anything about the video from the fire being released.

“Mia, you don’t know what happened, do you?” she asks, in disbelief. I shake my head ‘no’. She bites her bottom lip, her arm draped over the couch. I have a moment of weakness.

I lean in toward her. “What happened?” I whisper. Her eyes dart up, and I feel him, his presence in the room. When I look up, I see the death stare he’s giving Blaire. She squares her shoulders and uncrosses her legs.

“Talk to you later,” she says, in an overly fake voice meant for Kolton to hear as he walks back toward me.

He looks pissed, his jaw tight, his eyes honed on me. “Mia,” he warns. “Not today. Today is about taking back something you’ve earned.”

“I know,” I say, meaning it, as I lower my eyes. I want to know what she was going to say next, though. The truth is, I’m a few clicks away from finding out whatever she knows via the good old Google search.

There’s a reason I haven’t looked, haven’t read a single article besides Kolton asking me not to. I haven’t even talked to Gina DeYoung, my publicist, since right after the incident. I have a feeling that whatever happened, Kolton is afraid for me to know. Maybe it’s too bad, and we’re not strong enough yet to endure it.

A Long Way To Go

T
he first song ends, and I’m relieved. Breathless, happy. My limbs are tingling. Our breath comes out like puffs. New York is cold—especially at night.

One song down, one to go. As we’re taking a bow and waving to the crowd, I know it was better that I started with the song that had me performing with the other three finalists. I didn’t feel like I was being judged alone. Not that being with Kolton would be like being alone, but we’re kind of in the same being-judged boat. The crowd was into it, and I had real fun—not just “acting fun” for the camera. My smile is so big it hurts a little.

As we go to commercial break, the host, Chuck Faraday, the same host I’d worked with on
The Stage
, shoots the feed to his co-host Fiona Winters, who I hear through the feed saying, “And when we come back, we’ll chat with Jessie Law and Mia Phoenix from
The Stage
.”