Page 13 of You Give Wine a Bad Name

I wanted to argue, to tell her that I didn’t care about the consequences, that I would do anything to protect her. But the look in her eyes stopped me. She was already terrified, already on the edge, and I didn’t want to push her any further. So I nodded, pulling her into my arms once more.

“Okay,” I said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll figure this out together, Angie. You’re not alone anymore. I promise.”

Chapter Seven

Angel

I stared at the phone, my hands trembling as I held it, trying to figure out how to breathe again. The tension in my chest tightened with every passing second, and I knew I had to make the call. Bowie stood quietly beside me, his presence the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling. I dialed the number to the jail, my fingers shaking as I pressed each digit.

The voice on the other end was clinical, detached, as they confirmed what I already feared. Trace had been paroled for good behavior. Good behavior. The words felt like a cruel joke, like a knife twisting in a wound that had barely healed. I thanked the person on the line, though my voice was barely above a whisper, and hung up. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor as my knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the couch in my Airstream trailer.

I felt like I was spiraling, the world closing in on me. My heart pounded in my chest, and mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. How could this happen? How could someone like him be allowed to walk free? The memories I had tried so hard to bury flooded back, overwhelming me until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

Bowie was beside me in an instant, his hand on my back, rubbing gentle circles that were meant to soothe, but all I could feel was the panic rising in my throat. I couldn’t stay here, not with all these people around, not with the noise and the chaos. I couldn’t pretend to be okay, not after this.

“Can you take me somewhere?” I whispered, my voice trembling as much as my hands. “Anywhere. I just can’t be here right now.”

Bowie’s eyes softened, and he nodded without hesitation. “I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“Where?” I asked, desperate for a place where I could escape, where I could breathe again.

“My place,” he said simply, the confidence in his voice calming me in a way I didn’t expect.

I nodded, trusting him to guide me out of the trailer, out of the festival, and away from the noise that threatened to suffocate me. The drive was a blur. I couldn’t focus on anything outside the car window, my thoughts still stuck on the fact that Trace was out there, free, and there were no guarantees I wouldn’t see him again. He’d said that we’d always be connected, but what did that mean? What was he doing at the hotel, and what did he want from me now? The fear I had worked so hard to overcome had come rushing back, making me feel like I was right back where I started six years ago.

Bowie didn’t press me to talk. He kept his hand close, resting it on the center console of his Ferrari, just in case I needed the comfort of his touch. But I couldn’t bring myself to reach out. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. All I could do was let him take me away from everything.

When we finally pulled up to his house, I was taken aback. It wasn’t the grand mansion I had expected from someone like him. It was almost cozy, with a warmth that immediately put me at ease. The house was well-appointed, in a private neighborhood where the homes were spread out, each with its own large plot of land. And the view...The view of the ocean over the cliff was breathtaking, the sunlight making the sapphire water shimmer and sparkle. It looked like a picture postcard or photo from a travel magazine. Even though I had enough money now to buy a house on my own, I’d never made the splurge, instead keeping a condo back in L.A. for when I wasn’t on the road. However, I’d never really considered it home, since I’d been on tour for the better part of each year ever since making a name for myself as Angel. My travel trailer was the closest thing to a home I had.

Bowie led me inside, and I felt the tension in my shoulders start to ease. The house was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and comfortable furniture. It felt like a refuge, a place where I could finally let my guard down. We sat on the couch, the silence between us thick with unspoken words, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that allowed me to gather my thoughts, to process everything that had just happened.

After a long moment, I found my voice. “I met Trace right after my parents died in a car accident,” I began, my words slow and careful, as if speaking them aloud would somehow make them more real. “I had just finished high school, and he was twelve years older than me. He seemed perfect at first. He had a good job in real estate, plenty of money, and he told me he would take care of me.” I paused, swallowing hard against the memories that threatened to choke me. “But then he started to change. He became controlling, obsessed. At first, it was just little things, but then it got worse. He became emotionally abusive, and then…”

My voice faltered, and my fingers instinctively traced the scar on my face, the reminder of just how far things had gone. “Then it got physical. I got a restraining order against him, but he violated it. He almost killed me.”

Bowie’s hand tightened around mine, his gaze never leaving my face. “I found out later that I wasn’t the first. Other ex-girlfriends came forward after I did. He had hurt them too.”

“Why weren’t you notified about his parole?” Bowie asked softly, his concern evident in his voice.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, shaking my head. “They probably mailed something, but I didn’t get it. I’ve been traveling so much for work…” My voice trailed off, the reality of the situation sinking in. I had been so focused on moving forward, on building a new life for myself, that I had let my guard down. And now, the past I had fought so hard to escape had come crashing back into my life.

Bowie nodded, understanding in eyes that resembled pools of molten chocolate as he gently squeezed my hand. We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us. The television was on in the background, a faint murmur that neither of us had really noticed until the news segment caught my attention.

The reporter was talking about the festival, about how pop star Angel hadn’t shown up for her performance. My heart skipped a beat as I heard the words, the reality of my situation hitting me like a freight train. The camera panned to the stage, where my absence was glaringly obvious. The reporter said that my manager had informed that I wasn’t feeling well and had to cancel, but I knew the truth. I had let my fear control me, had let it dictate my actions, and now the world was watching.

Bowie turned to me as the realization dawned on him, his expression morphing from surprise to serious. “Angie,” he said, the sound of my name feeling like an arrow to my heart. “You’re Angel, aren’t you?” he asked bluntly.

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything I had been hiding. I knew this was the moment of truth, the moment that would determine whether I could trust him with the secret I had guarded so fiercely.

“Yes,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I took a shaky breath, feeling the tears start to well up in my eyes. “I have to hide my face because of the scar. No one knows who I really am, and I’ve been so scared of what would happen if they found out.”

Bowie’s expression softened, and he reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “You are beautiful, Angie. That scar...it’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s a part of your story, a story of survival. You should wear it like a badge of honor. A battle scar that shows just how strong you are.”

His words washed over me, soothing the fear that had taken hold of my heart. For the first time in a long time, I felt seen…Truly seen, for who I was, not just the persona I had created to protect myself. But as much as I wanted to believe him, as much as I wanted to embrace his words, the fear was still there, lurking in the shadows of my mind.

I was too scared to agree, too scared to let go of the walls I had built around myself. Instead of responding, I leaned in, closing the distance between us, and kissed him. It was a desperate kiss, a plea for comfort, for connection, for something real in a world that felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

Bowie responded immediately, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. All the fear, all the tension, all the emotions I had been holding back poured into that kiss, and I felt something inside me begin to shift, to soften.

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