Page 107 of Deliverance

“Ehh.” Santiago’s enthusiasm drops in an instant. “Not sure it is going.”

“I thought you two were getting along.”

“We are, but I’m not feeling it anymore.”

I sense there’s more to the story, but it’s not a conversation my friend would want to have on the phone. “Tell me tomorrow at lunch? Same time, same place?”

“You got it.”

I end the call and stare out the window as the vehicle takes me through a bustling Westside neighborhood. It’s a nice day that doesn’t seem to match my mood. The sun beats down on the buildings and sidewalks, causing metal and glass fixtures to gleam gold.

My heart is the opposite.

Obsidian.

Dark.

My phone heats up in the curl of my palm. My mind continues to work double-time. Eventually, when we leave the posh boutiques of Beverly Hills behind and enter the flamboyant streets of Hollywood, I feel brave enough to make the call I’ve been needing to make for a few days now.

“I was about to file a missing person’s report,” Tina says, her voice on the line dry, contrary to the content of the sentence that leaves her mouth.

“I told you I needed time.”

My words are met with comatose silence, which is so unlike the Tina Bandini I know. For the briefest moment, I allow myself to consider that the offer is off the table, and relief rushes through me. But it’s mixed with fright, which is a feeling I loathe so much.

“I’ll do the tour,” I say firmly. “But I have conditions.”

“As long as you’re open to doing press, everything else is just a technicality, Drew.” Tina sounds happy.

“Then let’s meet and talk about those technicalities.”

When the Uber drops me off in front of my apartment building, a feeling of something between excitement and dread knots my guts.

You made the right decision, Drew, I give myself a mental pep talk as I walk into the lobby.You can’t keep hiding forever.

“Ms. Kadence.” The security guard waves at me from behind the reception desk. “There’s a delivery for you.”

It’s useless to ask him to call me by my first name. God knows I’ve tried. “How are you, Bidal?”

“I’m great.” He grins and shifts to grab a flower arrangement sitting in the back, then places it in front of me.

My body begins to shake. I swallow over the lump that forms in my throat and carefully look through the rosebuds.

No note. Again.

“Throw them away,” I say finally, my voice a pathetic squeak.

Bidal’s eyes grow wide. Wider than damn saucers. “Are you sure, Ms. Kadence? They’re beautiful.”

“They’re a rotten way to intimidate me, Bidal. Please throw them away.”

With that, I make my way to the bank of elevators.

18 Zander

I hateto bethatguy.

But what I hate more is the clusterfuck that usually follows these mishaps. Bad press and a bunch of rumors are always a given, and they’re not something I care about at this point of my career. However, having a bad rep among my own peers, especially the team that’s been working with us on the album, is another story.

---