Page 1 of Could Be Worse

1

Sadie

My nerves were unraveling the closer I got to home. Doom and gloom filled my soul. Nothing had taken my mind off my predicament—or the lies I would have to tell my family, to explain why I was in Minnesota and not Manhattan. Even the pretty fall foliage hadn’t distracted me, and that was saying something, because I loved all things fall.

Okay, cancel that last statement.

I love all things pumpkin. Pumpkin patches. Skinny, pumpkin spice lattes. Pumpkin scented candles, socks and T-shirts with pumpkins and colorful leaves on them. If I wasn’t on a strict diet, I’d add pumpkin waffles and cookies, and pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting.

Now that I think of it, I was obsessed with pumpkins more than the autumn season.

But I had digressed…

My motorcycle club family had no clue I was coming, and they always knew everything about me. Simply because I would word vomit when I’d talk to my folks, my sister, or my girlfriends. Just showing up without notice would probably freak them out.

Gah! Guilt pummeled me.

After I fled the Big Apple, I drove straight through to Chicago in my loaded-down, cheap rental car, spent the night in a subpar motel, and resumed my travels after I ate the free continental breakfast.

For the last several hours, my knuckles had been white from gripping the steering wheel like it was my lifeline. My parents would be happy to see me but also confused. I should’ve sent a text to give them a heads-up, instead of surprising them. But I couldn’t call; they would hear the devastation in my voice.

No one would ever dream I’d appear out of thin air, with my busy dance schedule for the Nutcracker. Hell, not even I could process being in Minnesota, but then, I could have never predicted what had transpired over the past couple of days…

I squeezed my eyes shut, hating how I could never unsee the pictures. Rage simmered in my veins, each image seared into my memory, and disgust churned my stomach.

My mom in her early twenties, her topless, curvy form wrapped around a pole in a provocative pose… Bright spotlights on stage, illuminating her full breasts and the sparkling G-string she wore… The outfit, or lack of, had been part of her performance when she was a Vegas dancer.

Maybe if I bathed in bleach, it would cleanse my soul and dissolve the anger building in me.

“Why?” I mumbled to myself in a quiet voice. “Why would someone do this?”

My eyes flashed open as a frightening thought hit me.

What if they were hiding somewhere in my bedroom?

I swept my gaze to my closet, where a masked man might be waiting to jump out and kill me. It was the only reasonable hiding place. I had a platform bed, low to the ground. Only a child could fit under it.

Or maybe they were watching me, after hiding a camera in a spot I’d never find.

So many questions bounced off the walls in my head.

How had they gotten into my apartment?

Had someone been watching me, and I hadn’t noticed? There were millions of people in the Big Apple. Of course I had noticed nothing. I lived in my own little ballerina’s world.

I ate, slept, and breathed dancing, especially now that I was the lead in the Nutcracker. I’d finally achieved my childhood dream of being the Sugar Plum Fairy, and now this…

I gulped in a breath and slowly exhaled. Schooling my emotions, I held up the letter I’d found placed neatly on my pillow.

Tremors rolled through my limbs, and tears blurred my vision, both making it difficult to read the thick black ink. But I could make out the gist of their demands.

QUIT THE SHOW

GET OUT OF NYC OR THE PICTURES

WILL BE EVERYWHERE

ON BROADWAY

---