Page 20 of Protecting Hailey

“I know. I just heard, too. That’s bullshit and I’m going to fix it. They’re going to edit that part out before the episode airs or we’ll never do the show again.”

I nodded. “I just want to go home, get some rest, and forget about this.”

Frankie patted my back just as my mother raced through the hallway. “Oh sweetie, you looked great out there.”

I smiled weakly. “Thanks, Mom.”

I turned to find Christian standing behind my mother. His face was blank, but his eyes searched mine. “You all right?”

I nodded. Drained from the performance, I could hardly get another word out.

He nodded once, reading the exhaustion on my face. “Ok, let’s get you out of here.”

But just as I was about to put my coat on, the expression on Ingrid’s face stopped me. She pressed her lips together and typed furiously on her phone. She flipped her hair, smiled, and then bit her lip after a new message pinged back.

“What’s happening?” I asked, zipping up my jacket.

“Nothing. Nothing for you to worry about,” she said quickly, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Ingrid, are you working on my social media right now?”

“Yes,” she answered, still not looking up from her phone.

“Well, then I want to know. What are they talking about?”

“Um… your performance.”

“But that hasn’t aired yet. We just taped it.”

“I went live for your performance.”

I closed my eyes. I’d forgotten about that. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “Delete the post. Now.”

“I’m trying,” said Ingrid.

“What are they saying?”

Ingrid pressed her lips together again. “They’re calling you a fraud, saying your whole album must be fake.”

I inhaled sharply and squeezed my fists. I’d worked so hard for this break and because of some technical blip and some stupid cold, one of the biggest opportunities of my career just got flushed down the toilet.

This day couldn’t get any worse.

I stormed out of the studio and toward my car. “Sweetheart, wait!” my mother called, but I didn’t stop. If I did, I would lose it if she tried to put her arms around me and comfort me. I would break down in her arms like a child. And then what would people think? That I wasn’t mature enough? That I couldn’t handle this business? No. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

A heavy footfall followed me outside and when he reached my side, Christian passed me the keys to my car. I inhaled and smiled. That was exactly what I needed. The roar of the engine under my seat and my foot on the gas pedal. “Let’s go,” I said, and Christian climbed into the passenger seat next to me.

I peeled out of the studio lot and took the back roads to the hills. Concentrating on the road helped me forget who I was for precious minutes. Long enough to control my pulse and anger. I’d overcome terrible recitals, bullies at school, and rejection after rejection. I would overcome this, too.

I pulled into my garage and raced into my house, throwing my jacket onto the floor. “Trey!” I shouted, kicking off my heels. “Trey, where are you?”

I needed comforting. Despite my tough attitude at the studio with my mom, in the safety of my home, I wanted to finally break down and be comforted in the arms of someone who loved me.

I ran into the bedroom. The sheets were messed up, the duvet was on the floor, and his clothes were gone. “Trey?”

I jogged into the kitchen, but he wasn’t there. I peeked through the windows at the pool. The water sat as still as a lake and there was nobody in any of the lounge chairs.

“He left?” I asked no one in particular, but Christian answered.

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