Page 56 of The Bridges I've Burned

“Yeah,” I answered, my voice half the volume it had been before. “I’m still here.”

“We’re trying to figure out who leaked it because there is no way it’s a credible source. We’ll get it taken down. In the meantime, I’ve talked to Ridge, the manager for Manic, and he’d like you to continue to keep a low profile.”

In Los Angeles? That was like asking a pink flamingo to hide in a herd of cattle. People there stalked celebrities for sport.

“So, I’m on house arrest.” I let out a sigh. “Do you know when the band is planning on making the announcement?”

“It sounded like they had some ideas,” he explained. “But they want to do it in person, and since a few of the guys are back home in the UK, I’m guessing a couple of weeks at least.”

God, I was going to go fucking mad if I had to hole myself up in my house for that long.

I looked down at my leather jacket spread across the passenger seat and tried not to imagine my brother sitting in that coffee shop this morning, waiting for me.

I said the words before I even had a chance to regret them. “You asked if I was still in North Carolina?”

I was technically in Virginia at the moment, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Hendrix mentioned your hometown was remote.”

“Yeah,” I answered. “Ocracoke is about as remote as you can get. Doesn’t mean I won’t get recognized.” I already had after all.

“Do you want to stay?”

I thought about how I’d left things with Macon. Or how I hadn’t…

And then my mind wandered back to that darkened bedroom, the feel of Elena in my arms.

“Yeah,” I answered. “If I’m gonna be stuck somewhere for a few weeks, I’d rather it be there than cooped up inside.” Especially if these were going to be my last weeks of normalcy.

“We can have Hendrix take over your social media accounts while you’re away,” he suggested. “I’ll keep him regularly posting pics of you in LA. That way, if some Manic Fanatic spots you there?—”

“They’ll think I’m just some really good-looking doppelgänger,” I finished for him. “You’re kind of diabolical.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” He paused, and I could hear the shift in his voice. “So, you’re gonna do it then? Go to your brother’s wedding?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, realizing this was Lance, the dad figure, asking and not Lance, the manager.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I think I at least owe him the chance to try and explain. He basically raised me.”

“You don’t owe anyone shit,” he clarified. “But if you think going back there will be good for you and your soul, then you absolutely should. Plus, Hendrix said there’s a hot roommate?”

“Oh, fuck him.” I laughed.

“Hey, I’m just looking out for you. As your manager.”

“Whatever.”

His deep, familiar chuckle filled my ear. “Let me know if you need anything. And, kid?”

“Yeah, Lance?”

“Don’t forget the NDA,” he said. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Shit. I had forgotten about that.

“Right.” I swallowed hard. “I remember.”

“You going to be okay with that? Being around your family and old friends and keeping that a secret?”

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