Page 4 of Catch
“How does it feel to be on the road for so long?”
“What’s it like playing for such passionate fans?”
I answered them all without thinking, my words sounding distant even to my own ears.
I glanced up once, catching Sam’s eyes across the room. He was standing like a statue in the corner of the small radio booth, arms crossed, a neutral expression carved into his face. But I knew better than to mistake that calm demeanor for indifference. His eyes were locked on me, sharp and unblinking, his silence a constant reminder that I couldn’t—wouldn’t—dare to go off-script.
We were somewhere outside of Nashville, in a town whose name I didn’t know, but I knew we’d driven all night to get there. And I knew I wouldn’t find a decent coffee when I left for my morning walk. That realization, that petty little detail, had sent a pulse of frustration through me. It was the last straw in a long line of little things that kept pushing me closer to the edge.
I could run away, I thought to myself.I could hide.
Of course, the entire world would come looking for me.
Unless I was in some kind of danger, or broke a leg, I was expected to be on that stage in a few hours, singing the songs the label had written and picked out for me.
I could break my own leg, I thought again, then shook that thought out of my head. There was no way I’d ever be able to do that. As desperate as I was, I wasn’tthatcrazy.
When we were finally leaving the studio, I could tell Sam was relieved and happy that everything went as planned. He tossed the keys to his rental car around in a playful manner, and that gave me a little courage to ask for a small favor.
“Hey, Sam? Can I drive?”
“Do you know how to drive?” He asked wryly, not even humoring me with a smile.
“I haven't always been the princess of country music, Sam. I used to drive myself everywhere.”
“Princess?”
“Ok, a Baroness,” I waved a hand in the air. “The magazine article said ‘Princess.’ But either way, I haven't always been driven around. Let me behind the wheel.”
Sam took a deep breath and ran a hand through the greying edges of his hair. He didn’t work for me, he worked for the label, and despite being the reason I was wearing long sleeves on a warm day to cover my bruised wrists, he occasionally tried to temper my weary spirits.
“Please,” I added, batting my eyelashes and pouting my lip.
“Fine.” He lifted his hand from his pocket and held out the keys. “But straight to the bus. We have to get ready for the photo shoot.”
Dammit, I almost forgot about that.It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him it’d be hard to cover my bruises during a photoshoot, but I didn’t want to poke the bear.
Surely, we had time to drive a little farther into town for a coffee, though. It was the dark magic that could turn my mood around with just one sip.
“Don’t even think about looking for a coffee,” Sam snapped at me as I snatched the keys. I hate that he could read my mind. And I hate that he was pissed again at the idea of me wanting something he couldn’t control. “We can make one on the bus.”
“That stale shit?” I huffed, rounding to the driver’s side and grabbing the handle to the door. “You need to get laid, Sam. You’d be a lot happier if someone sucked that limp dick of yours.”
Sam started choking, his face turning red as he sputtered, clearly caught off guard by my words. But if I couldn’t have my coffee, the next best thing was watching him squirm. My words cut through the air, sharp and biting, and I almost found a twisted satisfaction in watching him choke on his own surprise.
It didn’t last long. He cleared his throat, still reeling, when his phone rang, breaking the tension. He yanked it out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Holding up a finger, his usual “I’m in charge” gesture, then he shot me a look that made it clear I was supposed to wait.
I slid into the driver’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel, and started the car, the engine humming to life beneath me. I flicked the radio on, my fingers searching for something that could drown out the sound of Sam’s voice.
After several minutes of him pacing outside the passenger side of the car but never getting in, I decided to roll the window down and yell at him. If we waited any longer, I wouldn't even be able to get the sludgy coffee from the bus, and that wouldreallyruin my day.
With the window down an inch, I began to yell when Sam turned his back and leaned on the door.
“Yeah,” he spoke quietly into the phone, unaware I could now hear him. “Add two more months to the tour, thirty more shows. She can handle it.”
What?
Two more months?
