“Don’t worry about her. I’ll handle that myself.”
The energy from tonight’s show is exactly what I need to shore up my inner reserves. The crowd was amazing, singing along and screaming. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m a vain person, but there’s really nothing like thousands of people chanting your name.
You’d think a girl from Gold Haven, Kentucky, who started off singing karaoke with the smell of fryer grease clinging to her hair and clothes wouldn’t feel perfectly comfortable on a stage in front of ten thousand people, but I do. It’s where I belong. Every time I get up there, it’s with the absolute certainty that this is what I was born to do.
But just thinking about the past reminds me that Mama is coming to visit, and regardless of what Creighton says about taking care of her, she’s going to find a way to dig her hooks into me. I just don’t have thick enough armor when it comes to her. I want to call her back and tell her “hell no, I changed my mind,” but I don’t have any way to get in touch with her.
As I’m falling asleep on the bus, curled into Creighton’s arms¸ the haze of orgasm steals my filter, and I tell him, “I wish I could turn back the clock and tell my mama to go somewhere else, anywhere else. I don’t want her here. I don’t want her messing with my life again. It never ends well.”
Creighton squeezes me against his chest and presses a kiss to my hair. “Go to sleep. You’ve got another long day tomorrow in Biloxi.”
The vibrations from the road and Creighton’s steady, even breathing lull me into a dreamless sleep.
The next afternoon, I pull out my phone and check the time for the twentieth time in the last five minutes. Not because I’m worried I’m going to miss the Biloxi meet and greet, but because I keep expecting Mama to come barreling backstage and wreaking havoc like a raccoon sneaking into a house through a chimney.
Creighton shoots me a questioning look. “What are you doing? You’re not going to be late, so calm the hell down.”
I suck in a breath and release it slowly, trying to calm my nerves. “It’s not that. It’s Mama. I was hoping I’d get that out of the way early so I could get myself together for the show. I hate this feeling of being on edge.”
Creighton’s expression goes blank. “Shit. I forgot to tell you. She’s taken care of.”
I swear, everything in me slams to a halt—my lungs, my heart, the very blood in my veins. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I arranged for her to take a vacation. All expenses paid to Miami. I own a large portion of a resort there, and I figured it would give you the break you need. It was easy enough to get her to agree.”
At his nonchalant announcement, I come unglued. “And you didn’t bother to mention it?” The question comes out as a screech.
He scrubs a hand through his hair, not meeting my eyes. “Fuck, Holly. We’ve been going nonstop today. It slipped my mind.”
“Damn it, Crey. I’ve been dreading this shit all day. You could’ve told me and put me out of my misery.”
I pace the room backstage as I rant. I know I’m overreacting, but Creighton doesn’t understand my mama or the stress that comes along with just thinking about her. He watches me pace, letting me vent, which is probably a smart move on his part. Come near the clawing she-beast and you may lose an important appendage, and wouldn’t that be a shame?
After about twenty trips back and forth across the fifteen-foot-wide room, I’ve calmed down a smidge. I chance a look at where Creighton is leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, wondering if he’s holding in a laugh for all he’s worth. As I stare for a minute, I realize he isn’t. But I also can’t read what he’s thinking.
“What?” I snap. Okay, so the she-beast isn’t totally pacified yet. I just need to channel the energy into my performance tonight. That I can do.
“You called me Crey,” he says.
I shake my head. “Is there something wrong with that?”
He nods slowly. “That’s what people close to me call me, but you never have before.”
I bite my lip and consider. “So?”
“Nothing. I was surprised, is all.” He waves a hand. “Feel free to continue the tirade.”
From anyone else it might sound patronizing, but Crey just seems to be letting me get it all out. Which is exactly what I need right now. And that realization right there is all it takes to calm me down.
“I’m all tiraded out,” I say, stopping in front of him.
“Then maybe this is a good time to ask you if you’re up for a flight back to New York after the show next Thursday. I know we haven’t really talked about how things are going to work after the tour is over, but I’ve got some things I need to take care of at home in person that I’ve been putting off, and I’d like to have you with me.”
I’ve been dreading the what’s next for us discussion, so my question is tentative. “You get that I don’t want to stay in New York permanently?”
Creighton’s expression turns serious. “We’ll figure it out, Holly.”
“Okay. I’ll go.”
His smile is wide and genuine. “I’m glad I’m not going to have to kidnap you then. I really didn’t want to go to the gala alone.”
“Gala?”
“A charity thing. At MoMA.”
When I open my mouth to say that I’m not sure what MoMA is, he says, “Come here.”
I cross the room and stand before him, just out of reach. “We don’t have time for anything dirty right about now.”