it open, the chain lock still in place. “What in the hell do you want, Trent?”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Then drink warm milk or count some fucking sheep. I’m busy.” I slammed the door in his face.
I turned off the mute button and put on my sweet voice. “Hey, baby. I’m back.”
He didn’t respond.
“You there?”
“Yeah.” He sighed into the phone. “Look, I’m beat. I’ll talk to you whenever you decide to make the time.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll call you tomorrow, before the gig. I promise I’ll have a long conversation with Bria.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“What do you mean? You just told me she waited up for me. Of course she wants to speak to me.”
“She told me to tell you that she doesn’t want to speak to you anymore.”
“She doesn’t mean it, and, besides—”
“I got the distinct impression that she does mean it.”
“I’m still calling her tomorrow.” I could hear the determination in my voice. My baby loved me. She would forgive me.
“Fine.”
“Kiss my babies for me.”
“Sure.”
“I-I love you.”
“Good night.” He hung up.
“Dammit!” I smacked my palm to my forehead. I loved the music and being onstage again. Deep in my heart, getting a taste of this life, I knew that I could never not perform or create music again. I loved the energy, penning the perfect song. The high when I hit a note that had the crowd screaming for more.
Another knock sounded at the door.
Fucking Trent Masters. The man was driving me crazy. I jumped from the scratchy cover on the bed, marched to the door, slid the lock, and yanked it open. “What?”
Monica raised a hand. “Girl, my bad! I’m just checking in on you.”
My anger dissipated and I stepped back to let her in. “Sorry. I thought you were Trent.”
“Say no more.” She walked into the room. “So, you talked to James.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And he doesn’t get it.” I flung my hands in the air. “He doesn’t see me busting my ass writing music, the hours upon hours of practice, and the energy it takes to perform. He has it in his head that I’m drinking all day with the band. Not to mention Bria, my baby girl, doesn’t want to speak to me anymore.” My chest squeezed. “Anyway, I know when you met me, you thought I was some superwoman, but in reality, I’m a hot mess.”
Monica chuckled. “Girl, I know that.”
“Huh?”
“Spotted it a mile away. The first night I met you, you drank like a fish and smoked like a chimney. I’d originally planned on doing an exposé, but then . . .” She sighed. “Then I got to know you. And I couldn’t do it. But, girl, you’ve got to get it together. You’re a mess.”
“So I drink a little and smoke weed.” I shrugged. “That’s rock-and-roll.”
“A little?” Monica tilted her head. The look she gave me—twisted lips, hands on hips, and a don’t play me glint in her eyes, reminded me of Mama.
My cheeks burned. “Seriously, I’m good. Trust me. I’ve been around alcoholics.”
Monica clapped her hands together. “Okay, then tell me this: Would you feel comfortable drinking this much if your husband and babies were around? Imagine Bria watching you stumbling around—sweaty and drunk and high.”
I didn’t imagine myself, but I remembered Daddy stumbling around the kitchen, making a mess, toppling over chairs and breaking dishes.
Heat prickled my neck. I loved Daddy so much. He was a genius. He had a good heart. He was the best daddy in the world when he didn’t have a bottle clutched in his hands.
“No,” I finally answered, shame weighing down my voice. “I wouldn’t want that.”
“That’s the first step.” Monica nodded. “Can I give you some advice?”
I snorted. “You ask me now?”
She remained standing, hands clasped in front of her. Waiting, I guess, for my answer.
I nodded.
“As much as I love the band, love—I mean like Ethan, you may need to leave them.” She shrugged as if she hadn’t suggested that I ruin my career and go back home.
“Leave them?”
“Yep.” Her eyes serious. “For your own good.”
I threw my hands up. “I can’t go back to being a stay-at-home mom. I’d die of boredom.”
“I’m not suggesting that.”
“Then what?”
“Do it on your own.”
“Do what?”
“Music. Listen, the music is good, and you guys are on fire, there’s no denying that. But you could have a stellar career without the guys. Ethan’s said it, the label knows it, and Trent damn well knows it. The size of the crowd has nearly doubled because of you. They aren’t