Page 36 of One More Made Up Love Song
“Wayne,” I say, turning so I can make direct eye contact. “Are you sure?”
“I texted Cole,” he says. “That’s Margot’s security guard. He says things there are very low key and it isn’t going to be a problem.” He looks over at Freddie. “But you’re staying in the car, man. You agree to that right now, or we aren’t going anywhere.”
“Done. Agreed,” Freddie says. “My butt won’t move from this seat.”
I look over and meet Freddie’s gaze, and he grins, looking annoyingly smug. “I get to control the music, right?” he says. “Do we have time to stop for snacks?”
The drive to Malibu is beautiful. Traffic-filled, but still beautiful, with a view of the ocean on one side of the highway and steep hillsides on the other. By the time we arrive, I’m convinced Freddie mostly wanted to come for the drive. I sometimes forget how infrequently he gets to do “normal person” things. But seeing him relax, windows down, music blaring, I can’t really blame him for wanting to come. We’ve been on tour for months, moving from the bus to concert venues to hotels then back to the tour bus. Always, Freddie is hiding from fans, ducking out of sight as quickly as possible.
But the truth is, if he wasn’t famous, he’d be exactly the kind of friend who would want to tag along on a trip like this. He’s always up for an adventure, and that’s definitely part of it. But he’s also just a really good friend.
And despite how much I protested his coming at first, when I pull up to the gate at the palatial beach house Margot Valemont currently occupies, nerves making me grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, I’m glad he’s beside me.
“I’ll call Cole and see if we can get the gates open,” Wayne says, pulling out his phone.
Freddie reaches over and wraps his larger hand around mine, giving it a quick squeeze. “Relax,” he says. “It’s just Carina. Things will be fine.”
Carina, who hasn’t texted or answered any of my calls. Who must, by virtue of her behavior, have very little desire to see me or else she would have responded to one of my many,manymessages.
I’ve always had a solid relationship with my sister even if I don’t always understand her. We’ve never been close enough that we tell each other everything. But we’ve neverignored each other. We’ve never kept secrets about the stuff that matters most.
“What if she won’t come with me?” I ask.
“She might not,” Freddie says.
“What if she really is Margot’s new best friend, and I’ve lost her to the dark side?”
“Then I’ll knock Margot out with the closest frying pan, and we’ll have Wayne toss Carina over his shoulder and force her into the car.”
I let out a chuckle as the wide gates slowly swing open. “That sounds a lot like kidnapping.”
“All jokes aside,” Freddie says, “you probably should prepare yourself for the possibility. You really just want to know she’s safe, right? She might be fine. And if she is, you might have to leave her here.”
I think of Carina’s jumbled text message.
Maybe it’s just sisterly intuition, but I don’t think Carinaisfine.
“I hope she’s okay,” I say. “But I’m not leaving her here either way.” I turn off the car and unbuckle my seatbelt. “You’ll stay here, right?” I say, even though Wayne made it very clear those were the terms of our trip.
Freddie rolls his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. I don’t want to see Margot any more than either of you. But if you aren’t back out here in thirty minutes, you can’t stop me from coming in after you.”
I look at Wayne. “Please don’t let him do that.”
“Thirty minutes,” Freddie repeats, even as Wayne gives me a reassuring nod that seems to say he’ll keep Freddie under control. As I walk across the seashell gravel to the front of the house, I set a timer on my watch for thirty minutes. Just in case.
An older man dressed in black slacks and a black polo opens the door.
“Cole?” I ask, and he nods.
He looks over my shoulder, lifting his chin in Wayne’s direction—he’s outside the car now, leaning against it with his arms folded over his chest—then cuts his gaze back to me.
“You’re looking for Carina.”
I nod. “Is she around?”
His jaw twitches. “In a manner of speaking. Everyone is out back.”
I follow him through a vast entryway into a living room decorated in classy beach decor. The room is littered with discarded wine glasses and empty bottles and there is a person curled up on each of two sofas. Both look to be asleep, despite the afternoon hour. It’s obvious neither person is Carina, but worry still pools in my gut. This is not the kind of atmosphere I’d wish foranyone’sbaby sister. Especially not mine.
