Trouble : Boston Bolts Hockey

Track 1

LOSE YOU TO LOVE ME

Worst Human Alive: You really can’t do anything right, can you? The first track was due to the label last week. Now you’ve up and disappeared for the holidays? What the hell are you thinking?

Worst Human Alive: You can’t really believe you can hide from me.

Worst Human Alive: You’re breaking your mother’s heart. It’s CHRISTMAS.

Worst Human Alive: Please, baby. I’m sorry. I promise things will be different. But you need to tell me where you are. Come home. We can fix this.

I stare at the new round of texts in an almost steady stream that hasn’t stopped over the last two weeks. They’ve been coming in at regular intervals since I ran out of my apartment, leaving behind everything I owned, foolishly believing that I could just break up with him, and this would all end.

Worst Human Alive: I’m your fucking agent. I’m legally entitled to know where you are.

A scoff full of rage bursts from me. The heat in my lungs makes me want to roar at the insanity of this situation.

He is my agent. He’s also the person I loved for nearly a decade. My brother’s best friend. The man my mother considers a second son. And my abuser.

God, why did it take me so long to figure out who he really was?

The tougher question is: If he hadn’t done what he did the last time I saw him, would I have ever left? I don’t want to even think about my answer. It’ll only show how truly weak I am.

Melina Rodriguez: International Pop star. Three-time Grammy winner. Coward.

I power my phone off so that I don’t have to be taunted by his constant musings tonight. Should I block him? Probably. But that will only make him more desperate. More dangerous. He’s already more unhinged now that he doesn’t know where I am.

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t be here.” Pushing my chair back from the counter, I clasp my hands in front of me and prepare to tell my best friend that I’m going to find a hotel in a city where no one will find me and lie low there.

“Of course you should be,” Lake replies with a flip of her hand. As if she can magically change my mind.

Normally, she could. Lake gets her way with just about everyone. To the rest of the world, she’s Lake Paige, the greatest female musician of our time. People are too enamored with my beautiful bestie to tell her no.

But to me, she’s the girl who stayed up late after our shifts at the Bluebird to write music together. Who dreamed about sold-out bar shows while we ate ice cream on our worn brown couch in our tiny apartment in Nashville. The woman who made me her opening act when she headlined her first tour, where we sang to sold-out stadiums.

She’s my ride or die. My soul sister. And yet, even now, I’m lying by omission. Because I haven’t told her just how bad things are with the man I’ll continue to call the Worst Human Alive.

Swamped by a wave of guilt, I open my mouth to tell her the truth. But I snap it shut again at the sound of creaking floorboards in the other room. We spin at the tap of footsteps at the entry to the kitchen and find her husband Ford Hall—who also happens to own the label I owe music too—holding their five-month-old son Nash against his chest. “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” Lake says.

At the same time, I mutter, “I think I should leave.”

My best friend turns her blue eyes on me, mouth turned down in a frown. “You aren’t leaving.”

Her husband shifts a squirming Nash in his arms and studies me. I’ve known Ford for years. I signed with him before Lake did, in fact. In a strange turn of events, when she did sign with Hall records, she went on to date his son Paul. Oddly, the father and son could not be any more different. While Paul was an unmotivated man child who didn’t believe in fidelity—though he’s come around recently, I’ve heard—Ford Hall is one of the most devoted people I’ve ever met. That extends to his clients and his wife.

Which is good. If not, I’d have to hurt him. Even if he is like a dad to me. Kind of weird considering my best friend now calls him Daddy, but it’s fun to tease her about it.

“I agree with Lake.”

I snort, even as my heart sinks. “Of course you do.”

Lake bites her famous red lips and smiles.

Shit. It’s pointless to argue with the two of them. Ford will do whatever makes Lake happy. Happy wife, happy life and all that jazz.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“It’s the holidays. You should be with family for the holidays,” Lake starts, stepping up beside me and squeezing my hand.

Just the thought of my family has me taking a step back.

Ford is on my other side now, gently cupping my elbow. “And you’re family. Right Nash?” he adds in that higher tone people only reserve for babies.

“Of course he’s right,” Lake replies in a similar tone as she pulls me into a hug.

“Oh my gosh, you’re squeezing me so tight I can hardly breathe,” I whine, though I snuggle into my best friend’s chest.

With a chuckle, Ford presses a kiss to my forehead, then steps back. “We’ll always be here for you, Mel. I know you don’t want to stay here⁠—”

I shake my head. While Lake doesn’t know the extent of what’s going on, I couldn’t hide it as easily from Ford. Since the Worst Human Alive is my agent, I had to inform Ford that I’d fired him, so he found out pretty quickly that things had gone south. If only the jerk would listen to a word I said and accept that he’s been relieved of his position.

“I appreciate you reaching out to your friend. Staying at his house will be just fine.”

“I really wish you’d just stay here.” Lake pushes her bottom lip out in a dramatic pout.

“Nah, I heard my roomie is a hottie,” I say with a shake of my head, trying to lighten the mood. I’ve always been the wiseass of the two of us. The tease. The girl with a smile. I refuse to allow my ex to steal that too.

Ford snorts. “Who told you that?”

I point to Lake, who merely shrugs. “What? Obviously, I like older men.”

Her husband, who is the definition of a silver fox, pulls her into his side and nuzzles her neck. “You’re going to pay for calling me old, Red.”

She winks at me, then turns a haughty eye at him, mindlessly grasping Nash’s wrist gently when he tugs on her hair. “Who said I was talking about you? I was referring to our fire chief, broody Declan Everhart.”

Just the sound of his name stirs a sensation to life inside me. Maybe it’s the promise of a new beginning, or the thrill of letting go. All I know is that, in this moment, I decide I’m not going to live in the past anymore.

“Okay, family,” I tease. “Tell me more about this chief.”