Just a normal couple, laughing over candlelight… except, when we leave the restaurant, we’ll be heading to Madison Square Garden for our second to last show. New York, then Boston…
Then, freedom.
No more contractual obligations to Route 66. No more hours with the boys on this cramped bus, tripping over each other. No more nights on stage with Ryder, singing for our fans.
For some reason, that thought sends a pang of sadness through my chest, rather than the relief it once inspired.
It’s just hard to believe all of this is ending. These past few months have been both the best and worst of my life. Certainly thefullest: each day packed with so many new memories.
Meeting our fans, exploring new cities.
Turning enemies into lovers and friends into family.
My heart is full to the brim as I reach the bunks, ascending the ladder rungs to lean over my mattress. I balance on one foot as I dig through the blankets, searching for the sunglasses I picked up at that cute vintage store. These days, stepping out in public without dark shades to shield our eyes from a bombardment of camera flashes is simply not an option.
They weren’t anywhere to be found in our room and, not wanting to delay our evening, I slipped out while Ryder was in the shower and headed down to look for them here.
Behind me, I hear the wheeze of the bus doors sliding open. Diaz, coming in to check on me, most likely. I don’t give it a second thought as my hands finally close on something hard beneath my pillow, tucked against the wall.
“There you are,” I mutter, pulling the retro sunglasses into view.
Turning to scramble down the ladder, I stop short midway through my descent when I catch sight of the man standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking my path to the exit.
Not Diaz.
I hover there, halfway to the ground, as his eyes burn into mine — so cold with fury, it freezes me in place. So dark with anger, I’m rendered totally immobile.
“Felicity,” he snarls, his weight shifting from foot to foot. “It’s been a long time.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
“What, nohellofor dear old dad?” He laughs, but the sound holds no joy. Only the promise of pain. “It’s been almost three years. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
He’s high. I can tell, even from here. It’s not just the sharpness in his features, or the ruined state of his skin — it’s that look in his eyes.Fathomless hunger.The kind that comes when you live your life perpetually in search of your next fix, never fully satisfied by the high you’re forever chasing.
As I stare at him, all the breaks in my body from all the places he’s ever put his hands seem to throb with phantom pain.
Fractured wrist.
Cracked cheekbone.
Shattered shin.
Broken spirit.
He sidles closer, a snake moving in for a kill-strike, and I finally launch into motion as my survival instincts roar to life. Hurling my body from the ladder, I run deeper into the bus, heading for the bathroom. I keep my eyes on the door, onescape, trying not to focus on the sound of his boots slamming against the floor as he gives chase.
My hand closes on the knob and I throw myself inside. I manage to get the door closed behind me, but before I can turn the lock, his hand clamps down on the knob. It spins viciously beneath my grip as he tries to shove his way in, rattling the entire bathroom with each blow of his fists against the wood. I lean my full body weight into my attempts, straining to keep the door closed with every ounce of strength I possess… but he’s so much stronger than me.
Inch by inch, he forces his way inside.
“Is this any way to greet your father?”
I swallow a bleat of terror as the frame widens another sliver, his fingers curling around door like talons. My muscles are burning as I strain to hold him at bay.
“Your mother told me you’ve been refusing to see her.” His sneer drifts through the gap. “I thought it was timeIpaid you a little visit, gave you a little reminder of what happens when you don’t respect your elders.”
“Respect?” I spit the word through clenched teeth. “You’ve done nothing to earn my respect.”