Page 66 of Heart Break Her

“Amen,” Rumi says.

“You’re having doubts again?” Merry turns to Rumi with a worried expression.

Rumi shrugs, making her orange-red curls bounce around her shoulders. “Maybe. You know I’ll stay at least through the end of this tour. But after that… I’m thinking about going back to school.”

“Didn’t know you were feeling that way.” Merry frowns.

“Only kind of,” Rumi says, seemingly worried that she’s upsetting Merry. “I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“Don’t feel bad. You know I love you, and I get it,” Merry says. “Not all of us are lifers like me.”

Merry reminds me a lot of my brother when she says things like that. He was a lifer too, as she calls it. Touring until the day he died. And even if it was way too soon, I’m also positive that’s exactly what he wanted.

“You don’t think you’ll ever leave?”

“And what?” Her face pinches. “Settle down in the suburbs and pop out some children? No fucking way. I’m perfectly happy living my life just like this. And when you ladies get tired of your suit-wearing husbands someday, call me up, and I’ll hook you up with some smokin’ hot rock stars.”

I roll my eyes because, to Merry, the difference between what we want in life and what she wants is black and white. Either you’re living life on the edge about to fall over, or you’re settled nicely at the bottom being boring. There’s no in between. And there’s no world in which Merry can believe that leading the life of a regular, normal person would be something she’d want.

Not like me.

At least, that’s what I always saw for myself.

The trouble with being on tour is that I’m starting to understand more and more why Myth kept me away. It isn’t the exhaustion, although that’s definitely there. And it isn’t the drugs because I’m not tempted by them like he was. It’s the rush of standing this close to the sun. That invincible feeling when it doesn’t immediately burn you. It’s feeling untouchable in a way I never have before.

You don’t have to be part of the band to get hooked. Simply being around Enemy Muse makes people treat you differently. They move your name to the top of the list, they give you anything you want, they beg to spend time with you. It’s dangerous and alluring, and I have a fresh understanding of how it pulls you in.

My phone pings, and I look down to where it’s sitting on the table, just as my manicurist finishes the last nail and steps away.

“Speak of the devil.” Merry smirks, and I look down to see Sebastian’s name pop up on the screen. “Surprised he’s texting you.”

“Because he’s so busy with his groupies?” I roll my eyes.

“Because he’s Sebastian Kane,” Merry says.

I tilt my head her direction. “And that’s different from what I said how?”

“Rock stars don’t text,” Rumi cuts in like it’s a fact, and she’s surprised I don’t know this. “At least, they don’t text just anyone.”

I try not to let that thought bury itself too deeply in my head as I grab my phone and open the message.

Sebastian:You’re not on your bus?

Cassie:Girls’ Day

Sebastian:When will you be back?

Cassie:After lunch

Sebastian:I’ll already be at sound check

Not that I asked for his schedule or anything. I’m not sure what he expects. Me to just sit around, waiting for him to be groupie free so we can hang out in his room and watch another movie?

Sebastian:Will you be at the show?

Right now, I’m tempted to tell him I won’t and hide in the bus. But after giving them the paint idea last night, Adrian’s actually been involving me in the details to make it happen, and I’m the one who found the local artist who’s going to help, so I really don’t want to miss it.

Cassie:Yes

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