I flip to the page it’s sticking out of. A passage is circled in red ink. It’s a letter from the stalker to one of the victims.
Bitch, can’t you see he’s mine? If you fuck this up for me, I’m going to fuck you up.
37
JACE
Uneasy,I glance at my phone again, but Rory hasn’t responded since she texted she was going to the bus over an hour ago.
What the hell is going on with the VIP line tonight? It’s never-ending.
“Y’all were so good tonight,” a lady wearing a t-shirt with my face on it says.
“Thank you, ma’am. Glad you enjoyed it.” I scan the room. “Hang tight for one sec. I’ll be right back.”
When I reach Frank, who’s leaning against a pillar, he holds up his hands. “Just a little longer, Jace. We’re almost done.”
“I told you I need to check on Rory and Layla.”
He pats my back. “They’re fine. I just got a text from security that they made it to the bus.”
I have a sneaking suspicion Rory is not fucking fine, and I need to go, but if I ditch the signing, Frank will lose his shit. Our fans pay extra to get backstage, and I feel responsible for making sure they have a good experience, but I don’t know how to balance that with my responsibility to my girls.
I’ve never been in this position before.
I sit next to Cooper and sign a few more autographs. I’m just about to sneak out when Marlowe and her band join us. Shit.
“Hey, y’all!” She acts like she’s surprised we’re back here and hugs several fans. Then she trots behind the table, but before I can get up, she pushes me down and plops herself on my lap.
“What the fuck, Marlowe,” I growl into her ear.
She hugs me like we’re long-lost friends. “Jace, smile for the camera!” She points to Frank, who’s giving us the thumbs-up as he takes video or whatever the hell he’s doing.
He must not like what’s on my face because he lowers his phone and glares at me.
That asshole.
Cooper elbows me. “Just do it, dude. Five minutes, remember?”
Almost every person in the VIP line has their camera pointed at us, and I blow out a breath and try to regain control of myself.
Pretend you’re holding Rory, man. Think back to the other night at the lookout.
Feeling like I just sold my soul to the Devil, I clear my throat and smile at Frank. He gives us a thumbs-up again while Marlowe wraps her arm around my neck and leans her head against mine. I bite my tongue so hard, I taste blood.
I can’t just get up and dump her on her ass, right? But I’ve had enough.
“Get off me,” I grit out.
Turning to face me, she juts out her bottom lip. “Don’t be like that. Just think about all the tickets we’re gonna sell. Our fans will eat this up.” She tries to hold my face, and I tilt my head away. “Why so mad? I thought you wanted this?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I thought you wanted me.”
I laugh, and once I start, I can’t stop. “I wanted this three years ago. That ship has sailed.”
For a second, her mask slips and I see what I think is genuine emotion in her eyes. “I’m sorry about how things ended back then. I was overwhelmed and didn’t handle it well. If I could do it all over again?—”
I cut her off because I’m not interested. “But you can’t, and that’s fine. I’m in a great place now. Thank you for showing me exactly what I don’t want in a relationship.”
Because back then, I thought I wanted someone like Marlowe. Someone who’d love this life. Someone who wanted to write songs with me and perform them together. Someone who loved living on the road and lived to sell out stadiums.