Page 52 of Aria

“I fucking hate Los Angeles.” Miles tossed his half-eaten donut back in the box.

“Suck it up, princess,” Sean replied. “The fans eat you up there. I’m working on the set list for El Rey. I’ll e-mail it over tonight.”

I sighed, depleted, glancing up at our manager as he typed away on his device. Sean was a good guy. He was the one who had taken a chance on us when we were struggling artists playing at dive bars and local clubs. With an alarmingly tall stature, Sean was a big guy—slightly overweight with black-rimmed glasses and a crew cut, always chipper and happy-go-lucky. Above all, he treated us right.

“Back to the Grammy’s,” Sean said, looking up from his screen. “I’ll admit, I’m nervous.”

Devon scoffed. “We’re all nervous. It’s the goddamn Grammy’s. I’m probably going to piss myself in front of Beyonce.”

The group chuckled.

“I’m serious, kids,” Sean scolded. “You’re not ready. I’m noticing a seriously lack of professionalism and dedication lately. You’re sloppy, you’re preoccupied, and you haven’t even mastered the new song yet.” He shook his head with a flicker of disappointment. “I believe in you, boys. But it’s time to get your shit together.”

With another long sigh, I gulped down my coffee and stood from the chair. The new song was calledHometown Girland it was about Chelsie Combs. Devon wrote it while on tour the month prior, and it was about to hit the radio. “Let’s practice tomorrow after my Gibson shoot,” I suggested. “We’ll get it done. We need to nail down a few others, too.”

Everyone nodded.

I pushed my chair in and tossed my empty cup in the trash can. “I’m off. I need to spend some time with my kiddo before diving into this crazy ass week. Later.”

It was true. I desperately needed bonding time with my son. I also needed to make childcare arrangements for my hectic traveling schedule. These were the moments I resented Ruby the most—Sam didn’t have a mother to take care of him when I was gone.

Strolling to my car, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to call Chelsie.

Her voice was low and raspy when she answered. “Hello?”

“Sounds like you finally got some sleep,” I said with a smile. “I was calling to see if you wanted to keep an eye on Sam tomorrow. I totally forgot about this guitar photoshoot I have downtown.”

I heard Chelsie rustling around the room. “Oh, sure. Yes, of course,” she replied. “Sorry, I don’t even know what year it is right now.”

Chuckling, I confirmed, “Eight o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

Chelsie

I tossed the phone onto my bed covers and plopped down with an exaggerated yawn—but my plan to go back to sleep was interrupted when my phone began to buzz again. Snatching it back up, I opened the text message, letting a gasp slip when I recognized the name. It was the name of a woman I hadn’t spoken to in five years.

Riley Hoffman.

Riley:Hey girl, I hope this is still your number. It’s been a while. Please call me.

It had certainly been a while. Our friendship promptly ended when Riley took my ex-boyfriend’s side when I had needed her most. Riley was dating Ian’s brother, Brad, at the time, and it was an equally volatile relationship.

What could Riley possibly want after all these years?

Memories of my old life came rushing back. Memories of a completely different Chelsie Combs. It was hard to believe that life had even existed—it all felt like a bad dream.

I gathered my wits and pressed the call button. If Riley was reaching out, it had to be important.

“Chelsie?”

The familiar voice sent a shiver down my spine. Visions of double dates, drive-in movie theaters, and epic sleepovers sluiced me in nostalgia.

But those visions quickly evaporated into haunting memories of coerced threesomes, raves, and abuse. Riley was there through it all.

And then she wasn’t.

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