Page 20 of When the Stars Rise
He plants his palm on the door to prevent me from leaving. “Hales. I don’t want—”
I turn to face him, and he steps back when he realizes how close we are. I deflate a little but shake it off. “I need to do this. I need to start taking risks.” He opens his mouth to protest,but I stop him with my words. “We’re going to focus on living, remember? I used to be pretty good at it.”
His smile is soft. “You still are. When I see you on that stage, it blows me away.” He shakes his head like he can’t quite believe I’m the shy girl he grew up with. “You amaze me. I don’t think I tell you that enough. But it’s true. You shine so bright. You always have.”
I swallow, lower my eyes so he can’t see the tears gathering there, and blink like crazy to ward them off. “Thank you.” I lift my chin. “But I’m still riding on the back of your bike.”
He grins, finally accepting that this is what I really want, and it’s pointless to try to talk me out of it. “I’ll take it nice and easy.”
“You don’t have to. I’m in the mood for some speed.” I’m riding high on false confidence when we step into the hall, but our progress is impeded by my loyal bodyguard. He takes my bag and then looks from me to Noah before his gaze lowers to the helmet in my hand.
“What are you doing?” Chris asks as if it isn’t perfectly obvious.
“I’m riding on the back of Noah’s bike. See you in Charlotte.” I give him a little wave as Noah hooks his arm around my neck, and we breeze past Chris and the other security guards manning the hallway.
We only get as far as the elevator when Dean appears. Right behind him is Zoe. It doesn’t escape my notice that they came from the same room.
“Noah,” Dean says sharply. “A word.”
I sigh and spin to face Dean. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of me. And before you try to stop me from riding on his bike, just remember that I know what you used to do. Compared to you, I’m an angel.”
He scowls. “Why do you think I became your manager? To keep you from making the same mistakes I did. My job is toprotect you. And I don’t think I’d be doing a very good job of it if I let you ride on the back of a fucking Ducati. You have a show tonight. You still have thirty more shows—”
“And I’ve been touring for over a year. I just want to have some fun. I want to be a carefree twenty-two-year-old girl—”
“You’re not a carefree girl, sweetheart,” Dean says, his voice softer. “You gave that up when you signed that record deal at eighteen.”
Zoe puts her hand on his arm, and he looks down at her, brows furrowed as if he’s trying to figure out what she’s saying without words. He sighs and shakes his head, then runs his hand through his hair, and now I’m wondering if they have a secret language that only they understand.
She squeezes his arm and smiles at me as if it’s all been taken care of. Which is kind of shocking, really. Zoe has been my publicist since the beginning because she’s good at her job, and Dean knows it. But up until… today? They acted like they were enemies.
They could not be more different. Zoe wears designer from head to toe. Never a blonde hair on her head out of place. Even now, at ass crack o’clock in the morning, she looks impeccable in cream wide-legged pants and a silky blouse. Meanwhile, Dean looks like he’s just tumbled out of bed and thrown on whatever clothes he could find on the floor.
He calls her an anal, stuck-up princess. She calls him a slob with the manners of a barnyard animal.
“You haven’t insulted each other once,” I blurt out. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Dean says at the same time Zoe says, “It’s early. I’m still on West Coast time.”
She checks her phone then stashes it in her Louis Vuitton. “I have to get to the airport. My car is waiting.” She arches her perfect brows at Dean. “Dean? My bags.”
I expect him to tell her to get her own fucking bags, but Dean is full of surprises this morning. “Yeah. Hang on.”
His gaze swings to Noah, reminding me why we’re having this little showdown in the hotel hallway. Ready to jump in and defend him, I open my mouth to speak.
“Keep her safe,” Dean says. “If she gets so much as one scratch on her, I will wring your fucking neck and make you regret the day you were born. Got that?”
Whoa. Dean sounded like an actual dad. Not my dad. Not Dale Peterson, the man who raised me. He never talked like that. My parents were a lot more conservative than Dean. They were more conservative than the McCallisters, too. They were good people, though. The best, really.
A wave of grief washes over me, and for a moment, I miss them so much that it physically aches.
“Hales?”
I shake my head to clear it. Noah is holding the elevator door open.
I step inside, smile as if I don’t feel like my heart is being squeezed in a vise and face my reflection in the silver doors.
“You okay?” Noah asks, his voice low, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.
