I hear a clatter behind me as the bags hit the pavement, Smith and York flanking us to block any potential threat. But the woman standing there isn’t dangerous to anyone — except, perhaps, herself.
Her eyes are sunken into her head, the circles around them so dark they look like bruises. Perhaps they are. I see signs of trauma all over her body, from the scrapes on her knuckles to the track marks in her arms.
“Felicity,” she calls, reaching for me. But Smith is suddenly between us, forcing her back.
“Ma’am, you cannot be here.” His voice is gruff. “We’ve told you before.”
“I want to see my daughter!” she screams, trying to dart around him. Her eyes flash with hate, despite the drugged haze clouding their depths. “Let me see her, you goddamned bastards!”
I’m frozen. Unable to move until I feel Carly’s hand slide into my limp one, squeezing gently as she pulls me along.
“Come on, honey. We can’t be out here.” She glances nervously behind us, at the growing crowd of rubberneckers — a mix of paparazzi snapping photographs and regular people who’ve stopped to watch the ruckus.
“FELICITY!” My mother screams, making me flinch. “Sweetie, tell them you’ll talk to me. Honey, tell them to stop sending me away!”
“Ma’am, please.” Smith’s voice rumbles like thunder. “Step back, or I will be forced to call the police.”
“You go ahead and call them!” Her voice cracks, increasingly desperate with every word. “I’ll tell them you’ve been keeping me away from my girl! That you haven’t let me see her! Not here, not Nashville, not Atlanta.I need to speak to her. I’m her Momma, don’t you see? I just want to talk to her.”
My stomach turns leaden. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
She’s been following the tour?
Carly and York manage to bustle me around the corner, leaving Smith behind to deal with my mother. She’s still screaming, even as we turn out of view. The paparazzi push in on us, yelling questions of their own as we cross the final stretch of pavement to the rotating hotel doors.
Felicity, can you confirm that was your mother?
Have you spoken to her at all?
Do you have a comment about the pending litigation your relatives have filed against you?
“We have no comment!” Carly yells, shielding me as best she can with her body as flashes go off all around us. “You fucking vultures,” she adds at a lower decibel.
We step into the sanctuary of the lobby, blessedly silent in the aftermath of the onslaught. Walking with purpose toward the elevators, we keep our eyes dead ahead and don’t speak again until we’re safely ensconced in the penthouse suite.
“Jesus,” Carly mutters as the door clicks shut, leaning back against it. Less than a second later, her body jolts forward as the boys come barreling into the room.
Ryder’s eyes cut instantly to me. Two strides, and he’s there — his hands cupping my cheeks, his forehead against mine.
“Baby.”
“I’m okay.” My voice shakes. “I’m fine.”
“She didn’t touch you?”
“Never got close enough.”
“Thank god.”
I reach up and grip his wrists, squeezing gently as I pull his hands away from my face. A flicker of unease shoots through his eyes.
“She’s said… she’s been following the tour. That she’s tried to see me in multiple cities.” I search his face. “Did you know?”
His expression crumples. “Baby—”
“You did! Youknew!” I hiss, pulling away from him. “How could you not tell me that, Ryder?”
He watches me pace. “We didn’t want to worry you.”