Page 5 of Catch
Thirty more shows?
“She’s getting harder to control, but I’m learning to let her think she has a little, just to keep her happy.”
Glancing at my wrist, I huffed at Sam’s idea of control. He’d only laid his hands on me one other time, and that was when he pulled my ankle to force me out of bed last week. I’d fallen right onto the ground and had a bruise on my shoulder and hip that still ached.
What would it be like if I had to do this for another three months? Forty-five more shows? I felt a chill at the thought, and the weight of it was already suffocating me. I couldn’t imagine going on like this, my voice barely holding together, my body on the edge of collapse, and my spirit… well, my spirit was already slipping through the cracks. I wouldn’t have any time to write the music Iwantedto create—songs that were mine, not dictated by someone else’s agenda.
I laid on the horn, making Sam jump up and turn around to face me. He held up another finger, still unaware that the window was slightly down, and I could hear details that he’d undoubtedly lie about until the last possible second. He’d slip in a "just one more show" like a hidden trap, then another, and another, until I was completely smothered under the weight of promises he never intended to keep. He didn’t care that I was running on fumes, that I was barely standing. To him, I was just a machine with a pretty face, something to be pushed and exploited until it broke.
But not this time.
No way.
Without thinking, I put the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. Sam tried pulling on the handle, yelling for me to stop, but I had locked the door and didn’t care that his feet were in danger of being run over. I put the car in drive and pressed the gas, making Sam jump back to save himself.
I tore out of the parking lot like I was fleeing the cops, pushing the car harder as I sped down the empty road. I drove for miles, my hands clenched tight on the wheel. Finally, I pulledinto a rest stop, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. Tears started to escape as the reality of my future started to seep in.
It was never going to end.
It wasn’t just the exhaustion. It was the hollow ache of being trapped. Trapped by contracts, by expectations, by people who saw me as a product to sell. I could feel my future being stifled by the greed of others.
A few minutes passed. Then a few more, before I cranked the car again, knowing I needed to get back to the bus. Sam would be there, knowing I’d show up with my tail between my legs, sulking over the stale coffee he’d made me drink. He knew the label held my dreams in the palm of their hands, and at the end of the day, I’d be a good girl and get back in line.
Was it worth it?
I didn’t think so, not anymore.
“When was the last time you were happy, Lox? Where was the last place you remember smiling? That’s where you need to be.”
That was easy; it was the one place on the tour that felt like going home to where I was meant to be. It was also the last place I’d felt inspired to write.
Before putting the car back in drive, I threw one of Sam’s old hats on, tucked my hair up into the rim, and then put on the jacket that he’d left in the backseat. If anyone looked into the car, they’d be less likely to notice it was Loxley Adams making a getaway.
I wasn’t going back to Sam, or the label, or the expectations that had swallowed me whole.
I was heading to Harmony Haven.
Because maybe it was time to find myself again. Time to remember what it felt like to breathe.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had made the right decision.
Chapter Two
MILES
I’d been parkedon the same stretch of highway for a solid hour, and not a single speeder passed. No one was weaving through traffic, no busted taillights, no expired registration.What was with all these damn law-abiding citizens?
I mean, I definitely didn’t wish for anyone to get hurt. Butcome on. Couldn’t someone just forget their turn signal for once? Just enough to remind me that I was actually doing something with my life?
Instead, there I sat, staring out at an empty road like it was some kind of metaphor for my own life.
All those years of training, all the hours I spent in the academy, running drills and filling out reports, just to end up with my biggest decision being which radio station to listen to while I sipped on stale coffee. The irony was enough to make me groan.
“Stop complaining,” I muttered under my breath, turning the volume up on the radio with a flick of my wrist. “Stop looking for trouble.”
The sharp click of the dial was my cue to settle down, but the second the music hit my ears, I found myself leaning forward. Alltension drained out of my shoulders as the sweet and sassy notes of Loxley Adams filled the cab of my patrol car.
She was singing about how much she hated men, about how they’d all done her wrong. The lyrics were filled with stories of revenge, of scars left on her soul, but there was something in the way she sang it that made it sound less like an anthem, and more like a confession. The words were sharp and defiant, yet the melody was smooth, as if she was trying to soften the blow.
