Page 115 of Rebel

I want to be a Dead Ringer until the end.

Despite everything going on, despite my sister, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Maybe that’s why she left me the tapes. Maybe she always knew I would end up here. Maybe she was giving me the dream I had given up on. It’s both a sad and happy thought, and I grin when arms wrap around me.

A hum reaches my ears. Kolt dances with me, both of us still really drunk. Trav is passed out on the kitchen counter, snoring away with glitter all over his chest, and when Chase sneaks up and starts to draw on him with Sharpie, I can’t help but laugh. He holds it out to me with a wink after drawing a dick on his forehead, and I take it and lean over Trav. Biting my lip to stop myself from giggling, I doodle on his chest, drawing little hearts and stars before signing my name with an X. Trav snorts and rolls over, and we leap back, watching as he rolls right off the counter.

He yelps and sits upright, his eyes bright. “What happened?”

We all descend into giggles.

Hangovers suck. I swear the older I get, the worse they are. We all climbed into bed early this morning and slept until late afternoon, but when I wake, my skin is sticky, my body is overheating, my stomach rolls, and my head pounds. I want to die.

I drag my ass from bed, pop some pain pills, and down copious amounts of water before drowning myself in the shower. My ass and pussy are still sore, so I take careful care while washing them, and when I dry off, I massage lotion on them before slipping on a shirt and heading downstairs.

Chase is there, sipping coffee and looking just as bad as I feel. This is the first time I have ever seen Chase Reed look anything less than perfection. “Coffee,” I grumble.

“Mine,” he hisses, holding it tighter. “I love you, pretty girl, but get your own.”

I gape at him. He seems too tired to notice or care about what he said, and I shake it off. He’s just hungover and hurting. He didn’t mean it. Not at all. That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as I pour myself one and collapse into a chair.

“The house is clean,” I comment idly.

“Smart girl,” he mutters.

“Chase, how is the house clean?”

“Cleaners came in while we slept,” he explains.

Shit, how hard did I sleep? Sipping my coffee, I watch him, wondering if he meant it. Surely not. Chase Reed doesn’t love me. I know he said it before, but it was while he was angry and drunk so it doesn’t count.

“We have today off, right?” I ask, trying to distract myself.

“Yup, then we have back-to-back rehearsals and final fittings over the next two weeks before we leave for the first city. Buckle up, buttercup, it’s about to get crazy.”

“Wait, get crazy? Hasn’t this been crazy?” I gape.

“Oh, my sweet, innocent girl.” He sighs. “You have no idea.”

I gulp.

FIFTY-THREE

Apparently, I can’t handle my hangovers like I thought, so instead, the guys and I just lounge around and relax on what is sure to be one of the last days off we get for another six months, which is scary to think about.

I went from wanting to be gone before tour to looking forward to performing in it. It’s terrifying, but exciting.

The next day, I get up early, determined to be productive, which works out well because as I’m sipping my coffee, there’s a knock at the door. I know only management and stylists come to the house, so I hurry to answer it. I wasn’t aware of anyone coming over, but that doesn’t mean anything since I don’t check the schedule.

Opening the door, I’m greeted by a friendly-looking woman. She’s unfamiliar, but she has garment bags thrown over her shoulder and a huge, rolling suitcase at her side. Her hair is a frizzy brown and her eyes are smoked out, with a slightly smeared red lip. She is tall as hell and skinny, and I suddenly feel very underdressed in my stolen sweatpants and sports bra compared to her blazer, slacks, and heels combo.

“Beck?” she asks, her voice sweet.

I nod mutely.

“Hi, I’m Cara. I’m the one who confirms the final fits of your tour outfits.” She waits as I blink and step back.

“Oh, sure.” I wave her in.

“Amazing, I’ll set up in the living room. Are the guys around?” she asks, keenly sweeping her gaze around the space.

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