Page 84 of One More Bad Boy

The idea stabbed me so abruptly it stole the air from my chest.

Quit music? Me?

That's what you're doing, remember?I glanced at my bag on the seat beside me.You're leaving this city. You're giving up.I'd only planned to leave because I'd been sure my career was over. How could I have paid off my old contract?

Bach did it for me.

I don't have to leave.

Sweat began to pool in the crease of my stomach. My shirt stuck to me, my nerves going erratic. The reality was sinking in—Bach had set mefree.I didn't have to run from my past anymore. My aunt couldn't control me. Hiding was pointless, too, since Roshio had blabbed about how I'd fled my old record company all over the news.

For the first time since I could remember, I was genuinelyfree.

“Turn around,” I said.

The driver glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“I need to go back.”

“What about the airport, lady? Weren't you going somewhere?”

“I was. I'm not anymore.”

He laughed until he started to cough. “Fine, whatever. You're crazy.”

“I know.” Folding up the letter, I clutched it to my chest.

It feltgoodto be crazy.

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