“Musician? That’s what we’re calling it?”
“Call it what you want, but your music is popular,” Lola insists. “Have you at all considered a tour with Ashley? Or recording some music with her? I know KMG would be all over it.”
“Enough.” I stand, pissed, and raise my hands, signaling for them to back off. “I’m never working with Ashley again, in any capacity. And, Kirby, I won’t even consider this contract until you listen to my new stuff. Understood?”
Before they can answer, my phone starts buzzing. Looking at the screen I see it’s a call from Emmy.
I answer. “Hello? Everything okay?”
“No, Jack. Tess fainted at her apartment. The security guys insisted on her being brought to the hospital.”
My stomach drops. This is the last thing my girl needs. “Is she okay?”
“I think she’s totally fine, but they were insistent.”
“Shit.” I run my hand over my jaw. “Why did she faint?”
“I don’t know, but she’s at Christ Memorial. Claire is in the ambulance with her, and I’m driving there now with JoJo and McQueen’s mom.”
“Fuck, okay. I’m on my way.”
I pocket my phone and see the concern on Kirby and Lola’s faces.
“It’s Tess. She fainted and was sent to the hospital. But they say she’s going to be all right.”
They visibly relax upon hearing it wasn’t some fatal situation.
“Speaking of Tess,” Lola says, “we need to talk about your relationship, and what you were doing for the past two weeks.”
“Lola, drop it. I was with my woman, who is now in a fucking ambulance. Until you start listening to me, I’m done with this bullshit.”
I grab my wallet and keys, and head to the front door. My bodyguard is trailing me, and it’s taking everything in me to keep my shit together, because I want to go off the rails.
I’m done with Kirby’s fucking pressure, and Lola’s stupid-ass comments about working with Ashley, and the reality of needing to sign that shitty contract if I want my parents to have it easy.
As we fly down the freeway toward the hospital, I see a crew of bikers rolling past. Flags wave behind some of the bikes—red As, with a circle around them.
Anarchy Motorcycle Gang.
Shit. Apparently the motherfuckers never left town.
TESS
The doctor calls it “emotional shock.”
I call it what the actual fuck.
Lying in the hospital bed, my head is dizzy with flashes of memories.
Am I crazy? Imagining things? How could I not know I was kidnapped? How could anyone forget something like that?
The room is quiet and I’m alone. The doctor sent my friends away, mostly because I was hysterical as Teri looked in my eyes, trying to see what I already saw.
The doctor said I need to rest, that I need to calm down. They gave me a shot of something meant to dull my emotional shock, but it’s impossible. Nothing can stop the current that the revelation has brought on.
I’m replaying the memories in my mind when Jack comes in the room. Pulling back the curtain, he sees me and instantly slides the curtain back in place, giving us more privacy.
“Baby,” he says, rushing to my side. Sitting on my bed, he wraps his strong arms around me, holding me close, smelling of fresh air and salt water. Smelling like mine.
“I was kidnapped, Jack,” I whisper, the words foreign on my mouth, impossible to believe but true.
Pulling back, he looks confused.
“What do you mean, Tess?”
“When I was a little girl. I think I’m McQueen’s kidnapped sister, Rachel.”
“Oh sweetie,” he says, patting his hand over my hair. “You’ve had a long day.”
“What?” I shake my head, pushing his hand away, realizing he doesn’t believe me. “No, it’s true. I kept having those memories at dinner last night, because I was sitting across from Teri. And then she put this ointment on my hand at my apartment, and it all became clear. She’s my mom.”
“Hey, Tess, it’s okay to be confused. You’ve been running from your father for a few years, you grew up traumatized, and it makes sense that you’re in shock.”
“That’s not what this is, Jack.”
“Okay, what is it then, honey? You’re saying you were kidnapped and just now remembered? Does that make any sense to you?”
“I know it’s improbable ... but it’s true. I’m not crazy, I swear.” Even as I say the words, I know they are the very sentences that could be used to prove that I am, in fact, bananas.
But I’m not crazy. I’m not.
“You have to believe me.”