Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 47381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Running his hand through his dark hair, he let out a sigh of frustration.
Where. The. Fuck. Was. She?
Now he was starting to get worried. What if something had happened to her? What if she was hurt?
Had someone gotten to her?
Sure, there was security, but that didn’t mean that she was entirely safe. There were plenty of assholes out there.
His phone buzzed. There were plenty of people searching for her.
No one could find her.
Frustration bit at him as he came to a supply closet. There was no reason for her to be in here, but he’d looked everywhere else.
Opening the door, his nose wrinkled at the smell of bleach.
He ran his gaze over the shelves of cleaning supplies. Then turned to leave.
But his brain screamed at him to stop and look closer.
Spinning back, he looked again.
Fuck. He’d nearly missed her. All that was visible were her cowboy boots. She loved those boots. He’d never seen her perform without them on.
A whimper filled the room.
His breath stilled in his lungs. Fuck. That noise.
It was like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know when he’d stopped being wary and annoyed by her and began to feel protective.
He wanted to wrap her up tight in his arms.
Keep her safe.
Make sure that she was fed and healthy and happy.
But he couldn’t do any of that. Because a relationship with another musician on tour was a bad fucking idea. If things went downhill… yeah, it could be uncomfortable for everyone.
It wasn’t something he was willing to risk.
However, it was damn hard to keep his hands off her.
Shutting the door, he turned on the light.
Another cry. “No light.”
Fuck. Did she have a migraine or something? His mom suffered from bad migraines, and any sort of light made them worse.
And now he felt like a complete dick because he hadn’t considered that she might be ill.
What was wrong with him?
He quickly turned the light off again and ran his hand over his face with a sigh.
Get your act together, asshole.
“Jolie? What is it? What’s wrong?” He had to blink several times and wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again. Thankfully, there was a small window that let in some light.
He could see that she had jammed herself into a lower shelf. Just her feet were poking out from behind a large box of disposable gloves.
She didn’t reply. But he heard her breathing grow faster.
Fuck.
“Hey, talk to me, Songbird.”
“S-songbird?” she asked after a long moment. “Really?”
“You don’t like it?”
“N-not very imaginative.”
“Hmm. I could try harder. What sort of nickname do you think would suit you?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Shit. She sounded panicky again. He was meant to be soothing her, not upsetting her more.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s not anything to get stressed over.”
What the hell was going on? This wasn’t his Jolie.
She’s not yours.
Right. But this wasn’t the woman he’d gotten to know over the last few months. The one who always had a smile on her face and a kind word for everyone.
Was that the real Jolie, though?
Or was she this scared Little girl, hiding in a supply cupboard, panicking because she didn’t know what nickname she liked.
“Why don’t you come out of there, Jolie? Everyone is looking for you.”
Her breathing quickened even further.
Fuck. It felt like he couldn’t say anything right.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Tell me and I’ll fix it,” he demanded gruffly.
Arrogant? Maybe.
But he didn’t care. All he was concerned with was the girl fighting for breath as she sat on the bottom fucking shelf. The shelves were set far apart but she was still crammed in there.
“Jolie? Can you talk to me?”
“N-no.”
“Why not?”
“You… you wouldn’t understand.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Is everyone mad at m-me?” she asked.
“Don’t try to change the subject. Why wouldn’t I understand what’s wrong? Is it a female thing? I have three sisters and was raised by a single mom.”
“Right. Guess that makes you an expert,” she said dryly.
Okay. He guessed he had sounded like a bit of a dick. “Sorry. I just meant that you could tell me.”
“You’re you so you wouldn’t understand.”
He let out a rumble of frustration. He didn’t appreciate her talking in riddles. “What the fuck does that mean? Just tell me.”
“I can’t go on stage.”
“We’ll get you some painkillers and whatever else you need and—”
“I should have known you wouldn’t listen,” she interrupted him.
Fuck.
Yep. Total dick.
Taking a deep breath, he resisted looking at his watch. He knew the five minutes had to be up and that she should be on stage by now. But it didn’t matter. What mattered right now was Jolie.
“I know I’m letting you d-down. Guess you were r-right about me, huh? Inexperienced and unreliable.”
“What? What do you mean, I was right about you?”
He sat on the floor in front of her.
“You should go,” she said. “I’m all right.”
She still didn’t sound like herself. Unsure and delicate.