by Erika Kelly
It just felt wrong not to include her youngest sister in that sentence.
“We’re all very grateful for the opportunities you gave us,” she said gently.
“You don’t sound grateful.” With a worried expression, she checked the rearview mirror again.
“What’s going on?”
“For the past couple of miles, I’ve been watching this guy on a motorcycle. I think he’s following me.”
Gigi slunk lower in her seat. “Oh, great.”
“You think it’s paparazzi?”
“Of course. My manager says I’m ‘trending.’”
“He’s coming up fast.” Her mom’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Don’t worry. It’s not like he can take pictures while he’s riding a motorcycle.”
“He could have a GoPro on.”
“Oh, come on,” her mom said. “This isn’t a James Bond movie. Besides, it doesn’t even make sense—what kind of footage is he getting of me driving you to the airport? You don’t think he’d try to cut us off, do you?” Determination set in, pulling her mouth into a tight line. “Well, we’ll just see about that.” Her mom accelerated, veering into the opposing lane. “I’m going to take the Old Preston Road. It’ll drop us out a half mile past the air strip, but so what? If he’s not from here, he won’t know where we’ve gone. I just need to get ahead of that truck, so he won’t see me turn off.”
Smiling, Gigi sat up, not even caring if someone got a shot of her. She wasn’t missing her mom’s badassery, not for anything.
Joss Montalbano, the world’s biggest supermodel of the Eighties, gripped the wheel, edging the Mustang into the other lane. Satisfied she could make it, she shot around the truck. The driver gave her the finger, and Gigi burst out laughing. She braced her hands on the dashboard to keep from flopping around like a rag doll, but she was no stranger to her mom’s driving. She trusted her.
“Okay, big boy. Let me pass.” Her mom pressed the pedal down, arms stretched taut, as she passed the flatbed truck piled with hay bales.
But it seemed like the driver in the oncoming lane wanted to play a game of chicken, because he accelerated, too. The distance grew smaller, and Gigi wasn’t laughing anymore. “Mom. Oh, my God.”
“Don’t worry.” As always, her mom seemed calm and collected. “I’m in a Mustang, and he’s in a truck. I got this.” Her mom floored it, easing ahead of the flatbed and dropping back into her lane with hardly any time to spare.
Gigi let out a breath. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe, but I’ve put some distance between us and the motorcycle, so I’m calling it a win.” Her mom flicked the turn signal and headed down an unmarked road, surrounded on either side by an aspen colony. “Lost him.” She slowed, since this little-used road was known for animal crossings.
Heart racing, Gigi said, “You literally just took ten years off my life.”
“I just added to your emotion file.”
“Sure, Mom, I’ll jot it down.” Her mom thought all artists should keep journals so they could write down their emotional experiences. She thought it would make Gigi’s lyrics richer.
I have Cassian. Believe me, that’s more than enough fodder.
After driving a few minutes in silence, her mom said, “So, you really think I was too hard on you girls?”
“I didn’t say you were hard on us. I said you kept us busy. I remember coming home from Ariana’s birthday party in sixth grade, and telling you how much fun I had dancing, and the next thing I knew, I was spending the summer in New York City in some famous dance academy. Or how about that time Coco took a picture and you made her spend a month apprenticing with that photographer?”
“I didn’t make her. I encouraged her.” She looked pissed. “That was nice of me to provide you with those opportunities.”
“It was. But sometimes we just wanted to hang out with our friends and with each other.” She knew her mom had the best intentions, so she’d never told her any of this before. She hadn’t meant to sound that worked up, but the conversation had really unearthed some old resentment.
Because she also believed Stella would never have betrayed Lulu like that if the focus had been more on hanging out as a family instead of chasing their individual passions.
“I can see that.” Her mom looked upset. “I just wanted a different life for you girls. I guess I gave you the life I’d always wanted.”
When a modeling scout discovered her in a mall, fifteen-year-old Jocelyn Montalbano had thought it was the coolest thing ever. She’d begged her parents to let her have this amazing opportunity.
“My parents…well, you know, life on a farm…they needed me. But I made such a fuss, and the agency made it sound like a year’s wages could basically pay off the mortgage and debts, so they let me go. I was fifteen and living in New York.” Her mom had a faraway look in her eyes. “I was eighteen and traveling the world. I was twenty-two and making more money than I could ever spend…” Resolve settled over her features. “You know what I remember? I came home for Christmas when I was twenty-two, and my friends were talking about boyfriends and frat parties and their dream jobs, and I just felt so lost. Like I’d missed out on finding out what I might be good at. I never did find that out.” She flashed Gigi a smile filled with regret. “I didn’t want you girls to miss out.”
“You were—are—a great mom. We felt loved every day of our lives. If the very worst thing you did was send me to LA to intern with a sports agent”—that was when Gigi had considered a job in sports management just to stay close to Cassian—“then I think you did all right.”
The roar of a motorcycle interrupted the conversation. Gigi whipped around. “It’s him. He found us.”
“We’ll just see about that.” Her mom’s grip tightened on the wheel.
“What does he want? Maybe we should stop and let him take a picture of me. I’m not doing anything.”
“We don’t know who he is, and he’s in hot pursuit. I’m not stopping.”
With a burst of speed, the guy caught up with them. He lifted a hand and pointed to the side of the road.
Recognition hit her. “It’s Cassian.”
“Are you sure? Be very sure.”
With the helmet it was impossible to see much, but she would recognize those broad shoulders anywhere…and those muscular thighs. “I’m sure.”
As her mom slowed and eased to the side of the road, the motorcycle pulled ahead of them and stopped, a boot heel smacking the kickstand. One long leg swung over the bike.
Cassian yanked off his helmet and shot her mom a furious look.
Body buzzing with excitement, Gigi got out of the car.
“What the hell were you thinking?” With his hair all tousled, he stalked toward her mom, who was just coming aroundine the front of the car. “You could’ve killed her.” He’d never been anything but respectful to her parents, but now he was practically shaking with anger.
“I thought you were paparazzi coming after my daughter.” Her mom spoke kindly but pointedly. Which is your fault.
“Jesus.” He wrapped an arm around Gigi’s back and hauled her toward him. She fell hard against his chest. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Warning flares went off in her brain—resist! Resist! But, instead, she burrowed into the space between his arm and his ribcage. His T-shirt smelled fresh out of the dryer, and with that particular quality of Cassian—masculine, pine, and fresh mountain air—like a perfect day on the trails—she melted into him. More.
She always wanted more of him. It was never enough.
He pulled back so he could address her mom but kept one arm slung around her. “Where are you going? There’s nothing along the Old Preston Road.”
Gigi wasn’t going to let her mom handle this one. She gave her a look that asked for some privacy. With a nod of understanding, her mom said, “I’ll wait in the car.” And left them alone.
The afternoon sun beat down on Gigi’s head, not a single breeze stirring t
he leaves on the trees. “I’m going to the airport.”
He took a step back. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry, Cassian. I need to get back to work.”
“You can work here. I will protect you.”
“I know you want to, but you’re just not getting it. Last night proved it.”
“Wait. Just hang on.” Hope enlivened him. “I’ve hired a private investigator. My security team viewed the footage of both hotels, and we found the same rental car in both lots. I’m on this, Gigi. I’ve got this guy.”
“It isn’t about a guy, Cassian. It’s about you. Your celebrity makes you a target, for sure. But you’re the one who got on that diving board and carried Amie off. You’re the one who got in the hot tub with her, not Dean, not Andre. You. You’re not seeing what’s right in front of your face.”
“You keep talking about Amie like there’s something there. There isn’t. There never will be.” He lowered his head, the tip of his boot kicking the asphalt in frustration. “We just found our way back to each other. Don’t bail on me after one day.”
“I’m not bailing. I’m going home to salvage my career. That’s all. And, while I’m trying to get a contract from Dale, I need to keep my distance. I have to focus on the duet Grant and I are going to record and on the demo I’m making for Clean Beatz.”
Emotion wrenched his features, and her heart twisted. But she had to stay strong. “I hate this as much as you do, but you have to let me go. Let me get my career on track.”
“I want to deserve you.” His shoulders pushed back in resolve. “I’m going to deserve you.”
Unwinding from a long day, Cassian sat across from Dean in the Jacuzzi. The jets hit his lower back and burbled hot water around his feet.
The party in the pool area raged on, but for the first time in his life, Cassian couldn’t do it. Couldn’t pretend to be okay.
Because, no matter what she said, returning to LA meant she’d given up on him. They could stay in touch—and you can bet your ass I will—but his gut told him she was done.
Here he was, this powerfully built and mentally strong man with tremendous discipline, and he felt listless and empty without his Gigi.
No surprise, really. She lived in his heart and ran through his bloodstream. With her, he felt whole. Without her, his entire body ached like it was gripped with the flu. “How do you do it, man? Live with Genevieve on another continent?”
The big, grumpy linebacker gave a soft grin. “Once she’s done with these last two classes, she graduates, and then she’s moving in with me in Boston.” He shrugged. “We talk every day…couple times a day. Text. We stay connected.” He reached for the water bottle and tipped it back, draining it. “It’s not over with you two.”
“I know her. She wouldn’t have left if she hadn’t made her mind up about us.” About me. “But I’m not giving up.”
“Oh, I know.” Dean’s toes popped out of the water, and he stared at them for a moment. “You want to know how I can stand the distance? Vivi’s the only person I want to talk to. She’s the only face I can’t live without seeing. So, I deal with it.” He cut Cassian a look. “And you will, too.”
“Hey, you guys.” Amie dropped her tote on a table, reached for the hem of her coverup, and whipped it over her head. “I’m beat.” She got one foot in the water, before Cassian shot Dean a look.
I have to do this, don’t I?
And Dean held his gaze. You do.
This is going to suck. He got out of the Jacuzzi. “I need to talk to you.”
“Is everything all right?” She came up close. “What’s up?”
“Can you please put your dress back on and come with me?”
“Of course.” She picked up the dress but didn’t put it on.
“We haven’t identified the photographer, and neither of us needs more attention in the press.” And I won’t have Gigi see one more picture of me and Amie. “So, please put your dress on.”
“I mean…okay. But, as long as we’re not making out, there’s nothing wrong with me wearing a bathing suit at the pool.”
“There’s nothing wrong…except I’m being targeted.”
“Fine.” She threw the dress on and gave him a look that said, Happy?
He ignored her and continued on. Holding the door open, he followed her into the hallway.
She swung around to him. “So, what’s going on?”
He didn’t know a nice way to do this, and no matter what he said, she was going to be upset. “We need to make some changes. From now on, I’m going to need you to work remotely.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “Remotely? What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means we can’t work together. Both of our jobs are on the line right now, and neither of us can risk another photograph going viral.”
He could see the struggle play across her features. She wanted to argue, but what could she say? He’d been there when she’d talked to her agent about losing her job.
After a tense moment, she looked resigned. “Where do you expect me to go?”
“Boston.” He braced for her response.
Her eyes went wide. “I can’t run camp from two thousand miles away.”
“Amie, you just told me Steve’s not speaking to you. The Mavericks have their attorneys looking at your contract.” He wasn’t going to tell her his issues. “The only way to put an end to this crap is to stay away from each other.”
“I have to be here. Are you going to handle food deliveries? Is Dean going to become the point of contact with the parents? We just had a major issue with Walker.” She looked more than disappointed. Maybe even hurt. “Do you not like the way I handled it?”
“You’ve been great.” Especially with Walker. Since he hadn’t started performing until close to the end of his session, they couldn’t invite him back for the elite week. Instead, after a last-minute cancellation—they’d let him stay on for the second session. It was Amie who’d thought to give Walker the spot. “I can’t run this camp without you, but I also can’t risk my career. That means we can’t work at camp together.”
“Then, I’ll stay in a hotel or rent a place in town. But I have to be here for deliveries and all the other issues that pop up.”
He needed her to understand the full implications. “As long as you understand that it means you can’t hang out with the guys at night.”
“Well, wait. If you think it’s Zach, then kick him out. He doesn’t get away scot-free, while I get banished.”
“The fact is, I don’t know who’s behind it, but I can’t fire my backup quarterback from his volunteer job. He’s on my team, and I have to work with him every day. I’m sorry, but I don’t have a choice.”
“I don’t like this at all.” Looking defeated, she peered through the window. “This sucks. They’re my guys.”
“I know. But there’s one more thing.”
She tilted her head. What now?
“I’m cancelling the trip.”
“Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous. You can’t cancel it. That’s one of the reasons the guys volunteer here. For your outrageous trips.”
“Yeah, I know.” The guys would be pissed, and he was sorry to disappoint them. But he had to do it. He wasn’t going to put a target on his back.
“So, what, they’re just going home? You’re not doing anything?”
“I’m going to invite them to stay in Calamity for a few more days. We’ll plan some outings.”
“They’re going to hate this. I’ll bet half of them won’t even bother staying.”
He shrugged. That’s their choice.
Because my choice is to win Gigi back.
Chapter Sixteen
During the break, Gigi checked her phone again. In the week and a half since she’d left Cassian on the side of the road, he’d checked in with her every day. Mostly, just brief notes to say he hoped her day was going well or to show her a picture of the guys doing something funny.
Guil
t pinched her heart. He’d tried to FaceTime, but she’d blown him off. If she saw him, she knew she’d fall right back into him. And she was doing really well. Not only was she recording, but she was writing. Something she hadn’t done since becoming a Lollipop.
Four of the songs in her notebook were advanced enough to make a demo, but she’d found many more worth working on, which surprised her. She’d have thought songs written a decade ago would be too immature, but they were actually pretty good.
Besides, what kind of future did she and Cassian really have? Even if they’d made it through the summer, once he flew back to Boston for training camp, he’d get swept back into his world. And she knew herself. With them living so far apart, she’d be consumed with worry. Seeing him in the tabloids with women all the time, caught in questionable situations, would drive her nuts. She’d spend all her time wondering where he was and who he was with.
That’s the thing about trust. Once lost, it’s so damn hard to get back. She knew he had the best intentions, knew he cared about her, but doubt was a constant flickering light at the back of her mind.
And she didn’t want to live like that.
Grant came back into the studio, setting her licorice root tea down.
“Thank you.”
He put his headphones back on, picked up his guitar, and smiled at her. “Ready?”
She took a sip of the hot beverage and let the heat and honey soothe her throat. “Sure.”
Grant eyed her phone but didn’t say anything. He fiddled with the panel. And, then, when he was ready, he said quietly, “Use it.”
The fact that he understood the unrelenting doubt that cycled through her, the agonizing conflict of loving a man who wasn’t good for her, just made all the excuses she kept telling herself collapse. Why did she feel the need to keep validating her choice to leave him? She should just accept that she wanted him but couldn’t have him. Not at this point in her life.
