Page 17 of Mending Hearts

“You sure it was his costume designs she was talking about? I’ve heard she and her husband have a very loose arrangement.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it was Phillipe who started that loose arrangement. If Sarah wants to screw around, I’m not judging.” I shrugged, but inside darkness swirled. Stupid, irrational jealousy. Sarah hadn’t slept with Tyler; she’d never met him. But the idea of them together was a scab: rough, hard to ignore. Other than being the father of whoever was growing inside of me, Tyler meant nothing. A warm body on a cool October night, that’s all he should have been.

The door to the bus hissed, and Mom’s heavy footsteps trudged up the stairs. I braced myself. Would this performance be the doting mother or the irate manager? Even in my head, I could never figure out if I should call her Mom or Laura. I knew what I wished for, but I was also aware of the person she’d become.

When she rounded the corner of the entrance, Laura smiled, her gaze raking over me. Our blue-green eyes and our smiles—the only two physical traits that labeled us mother and daughter. “You look tired. Long trip?”

Looks like doting mother today. I grabbed one of the silver throw pillows and traced the circular design with my finger. “You know Sarah. Always a party.”

“We leave in twenty?” Laura eyed the clipboard in Taryn’s hand.

“At least I don’t have to get dressed.” I flipped my long hair to the opposite shoulder.

“Yeah, you do.” Laura moved to the closet near the back. “There might be paparazzi or fans. Leaving this bus is a commitment to those people to be your best.”

“Is it? Or is it just a commitment to go talk on some radio show?” Doting mother was quickly morphing into irate manager.

“Do you want to go back to being poor?” Laura turned on her heel, her eyes blazing. “’Cause when you treat your fans like shit, they stop buying your shit.”

“I could be poor. I wouldn’t mind.” I crossed my arms and sank deeper into the couch.

“Spoken like someone whose mother protected her from feelingtoopoor.” Laura yanked a patterned dress off one of the hangers and laid it over a chair. “If you remembered what it was like, you wouldn’t go back there. No one wants to decide between eating and buying medicine for their kid.”

Without thinking, my hand strayed to my flat stomach. I’d heard the baby’s heartbeat, which made him or her more real than they’d been before, but the burning desire to put the baby above myself didn’t exist. Had my mother been like that five years ago, before this all started? Had she put my happiness above her own? I couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t imagine it was true. Once the money train had started to chugalong the tracks, Laura had become desperate to keep it going. At any cost.

Bitterness sat on my tongue as I watched her pull out underwear, a strapless bra, and some accessories for the dress she’d selected. My mother might have sacrificed a lot when she was poor, but I wondered sometimes if she’d sacrificed more once she’d gotten rich. I had, still was. But I loved the music, the stage, lived for it or at least lived this life for those two things.

“I’m old enough to dress myself.”

“Tell that to Bonita.” Laura rummaged around in a jewelry box that housed most of the inexpensive things. Anyone on the bus with light fingers wouldn’t get much. The good stuff was locked away.

My gaze slid to Taryn, who had been silent during our exchange. Taryn raised her eyebrows, prompting me to spill the Tyler beans.Good fucking luck. Even if Laura was in the right frame of mind to hear it, I wasn’t in the mood to beg or make my case. There’d be no pleading. Taryn and Rebecca were masters at building stories to win over Laura Malone. They could be the architects of this one, too. To make sure my lie to Taryn stuck, I couldn’t seem too invested in Tyler. No one could put the pieces together like Pasha had done in the car that morning.

“I need to chat with Rebecca about a couple of things. I’ll be back in fifteen to round you two up.” Taryn slid the clipboard into its spot by the door and gave me one last encouraging look before slipping out.

Laura flipped through a set of necklaces before selecting one and draping it over the dress. “How is Sarah?”

“Same as always.” I tossed the pillow onto the opposite side of the couch and wandered over to where the stack of clothes and accessories lay.

“You really do look exhausted. Are you going to fix your face, or should I text Gina to get her ass over here?”

“I’m exhausted.” I stared at her while she was focused on a box filled with bracelets. “When we’re done with the tour, I think I need a break.”

“We can chat about that when we’re closer to finishing.” Laura plucked a silver bangle out of the box. “We have financial commitments.”

“We’re not going to be poor if I take a break.”

“How long? A few weeks?”

I laughed. “No, more like a few months. For God’s sake. I’ve been working flat out for five years. Albums. Tours. TV shows. Talk shows. Fan appearances. Private concerts. That doesn’t include the diet, haircare, body treatments, and whatever else you’ve piled on.”

“Someday, you’ll look back on these years as the best of your life.”

That was always her defense for this frantic pace, as though cramming so much into a short time would make me nostalgic one day. I knew what would come next from her arsenal of guilt trips. It was the most effective one, though lately, I had developed some resistance.

“You know, there are lots of young girls out there—hell, not even young girls, but grown women—who would literally murder someone to be you. The success you have, the audience, your fan base. It’s almost unparalleled.”

Off the top of my head, I could name several artists who’d had a similar record of success. The only difference? I hadn’t yet shaved my head or chopped off my hair and bleached it blond or even written albums full of breakup anthems. Nope. So far, my image was squeaky-clean, even if my day-to-day vocabulary landed in the gutter.

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