Another cramp seizes my insides and I double over, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Shucks, Mallory.” She touches my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“It’s just cramps,” I breathe out. “I haven’t had them this bad since high school.”
“Jesus.” She squats down on the ground and digs through her massive purse. “Let me find some Midol for you.”
“I already took some. It hasn’t done a damn thing.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor?”
I glance over at the studio. We’re going to be late if we don’t haul ass inside soon. “I don’t have time. It’s not like they give us sick days.”
“You can’t film if you’re in this much pain.”
“It’ll go away.” My cheeks heat up from the mere thought of asking the director for the day off because of cramps. No way.
“Here.” She hands me a pink box. “I’ll call my doctor and try to get you in.” She stares up at me. “You don’t think you’re pregnant, do you?”
“I’m on the pill.” Growing up without a mother or any female relatives I felt comfortable talking to makes it hard for me to engage in such personal conversations. “Although, I forgot it a few times when I went to visit Chaser.”
“Oh, shit, Mallory.” She bites her lip.
“I can’t be pregnant.” I snatch a tampon out of my purse and wave it at her. “I’ve gone through like five of these this morning.”
“That can’t be good.”
“Maybe my womb misses Chaser.” My attempt at a joke sounds ridiculous.
She wrinkles her nose. “Womb? Really, Mallory,” she teases. “Come on.” She links her arm through mine and drags me across the parking lot.
I suffer through wardrobe more than usual. The suits don’t exactly leave room for the imagination as it is.
“Mallory, you should let us know when it’s your time of the month,” Donna hisses at me.
Heat blasts my cheeks. I just want to go home and crawl into bed.
I pop two more Midol and waddle out to the set. They’re not ready for me, so I pretend to study my script, waiting for the painkillers to kick in so I can function.
“Mallory! You’re up!” the assistant director shouts. From his tone, I gather he’s called me more than once.
I take a step.
An angry fist from the depths of hell hammers into me and I double over in agony.
Pamela was right.
This can’t be normal.
Chapter Fifty
Chaser
Tucson.
Phoenix.
El Paso.
Mobile
Thousands of screaming faces show up for Kickstart. Dozens of backstage interviews. Lines of fans waiting to meet us after every show.
We rock them all.
Huntsville—Jacob shows up late. We barely make it to the stage on time.
Lafayette.
Jackson.
Somewhere around Birmingham it all starts to fall apart.
I should’ve gone home to see Mallory on the band’s one day off. Even if she’s working and I only get to see her for a couple hours. It would’ve been better than this.
Who are all these people hanging out in Jacob’s room? How’d they find their way here? Two of the guys from Iron Kiss, a few groupies, roadies, and then a whole bunch of seedier folks I’ve never seen before.
My gaze drops to the lines of coke Jacob’s busy laying out on the table, then back to his new buddies.
Which one is responsible for the party favors?
As I watch Jacob chop up those pristine white lines, the ghost memory of a burning rush haunts my nasal passages.
I haven’t touched coke or even thought about it much since I kicked my habit in New York. Yet, here I am again, thinking I’m different from other addicts who struggle every day. What an arrogant miscalculation.
Jacob peers up and catches me watching him. He gives me a slow, sly smile. “Come on, golden boy. You’ve been so good. You deserve a reward.”
The fact that I’m craving it so intensely, and actually considering leaning over and inhaling the contents of the entire table jolts me out of my trance.
Ignoring him, I jump up and pace a few feet away.
Across the room, the phone rings.
“Chaser, it’s for you!” Brian bellows across the room.
“Who is it?” I shout back.
He shrugs and mouths something I can’t quite catch.
“Take a message!”
He leans over and scribbles something down on a pad. I glance over, watching Jacob hoover up a line as long as the table.
I swear I can taste it on my tongue.
One time. I gave it up before easily enough.
Forget those sweaty coke demon nightmares so soon, asshole?
The angel and devil taking up residence on my shoulders this afternoon are clearly in a bickering mood.