Page 13 of Stolen Voices
“When are you leaving?”
“Starting tomorrow. We leave next Monday.”
Fuck. This is all happening too fast.
“I know it’s soon. Tomorrow, I’m spending the day with Penny before we help Mom pack up the house. Not that she’s taking much. She is serious about a fresh start. I can stop by at the end of Callie’s rehearsal. Check in on things. I’ll have Penny with me, but she loves Callie, so maybe I’ll score enough big-brother points until I see Penny for the holidays. Then maybe she won’t hate me when I can’t be there for her.”
“Penny will love that, and she’s not going to hate you, Hud. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. I just don’t want her thinking I’m abandoning her like our disgrace of a father.” Hudson sighs and scratches his chin.
My friend is struggling. The thought of his sister moving must be killing him. He’s been like a father to Penelope since their dad disappeared into thin air after the allegations came to light.
“She’s fifteen, not five. She understands,” I remind him.
He nods, but I know his head is elsewhere.
“Any word on his location yet?”
“No, the slimy bastard still hasn’t surfaced.” He runs his hands over his face, exhausted from the situation. He’s done everything he can to help the authorities find his father. No one knows how Harold disappeared without a trace.
“They’ll find him,” I assure my friend. Although, I’m not sure anymore. It’s been almost two years.
“I hope so. Anyway, you good?”
My stomach churns, and I’m not as confident as I sound. “Yup. All good.”
If only I could believe that because, deep down, I’m not sure I can hide how being near Callie affects me. Distance is the only way I know how to keep the vow I made to myself when Hudson and I started Blaze.
Never mix business with pleasure.
Never get too close to clients.
Never be like Harold.
four
Callie
“Ms.Wright,we’rehere.”
I open my eyes to the sound of my driver’s deep, rumbling voice. Pushing the melody and lyrics I was replaying in my head away, I glance at my driver, Mike, who is watching me with a curious brow in the rearview mirror.
“Are you okay, miss?” He’s in his mid-forties, stands about six-foot-five and probably weighs two-fifty. The man could be a linebacker for the NFL, but according to the security company he works for, he’s one of the best security guards out there.
Mike seems like a decent enough guy, kind even, but I don’t trust him. He could be another one of Silla’s transplants who reports my daily comings and goings to her. It’s not just him. I don’t trust anyone, not with the way Silla gets her claws into people. She poisons even the best of them.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I reply with a tight-lipped smile.
Mike nods and climbs out of the driver’s seat.
As I glance out the window, my heart races and sweat coats the back of my neck as dread pools heavily in my stomach at the sight of the rehearsal space Hudson reserved.
The Ricochet Lounge is an old brick concert hall that was made famous in the seventies. It’s a gorgeous space with a vintage feel. In another time, I would have loved to have performed here, with just my guitar on stage, under the lights and glittering disco ball hanging above me.
Unfortunately, that time doesn’t exist. My future, my life—everything—was torn apart the moment I lost everyone who mattered to me, and I’ll never be able to get that back. My throat closes and tears prick my eyes.
Mike opens the door, chasing the vision of her soft face and empty eyes away.
