Page 162 of Rush

“Oh God, you don’t think I’m some kind of pampered pony, do you?”

“No, no. Not at all.”

“Good. Because you know we work hard. What our bodies go through? Take it from me—if you want to be in this for the long haul, you must take care of your mind, body, and soul.”

As much as I hate to admit it, she—and Philippa—are probably right. The last few weeks of shows have left me shattered. My set isn’t nearly as long or as demanding as Ava’s—I’m just the opener—but the travel, the appearances, the rehearsals…it’s all starting to wear on me.

I’ve never really paid much attention to what I eat or whether I work out. But now that I’m pushing my body like this, I can feel every bit of it. And if I want even a sliver of what Ava has, I need to get serious about taking care of myself.

Adulting 101 starts now.I think. Or at least, figuring it out.

“How does one get acquainted with Dr. Bronte?” I ask, curious.

“I’ll have my manager reach out to Mark—get you set up with the good stuff.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve got you, girl! I still can’t believe it’s your first time in Vegas,” Ava says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Anything you’re dying to see or do after tonight’s show? You’re not flying out tomorrow, right?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I leave the day after.”

She grins like a Cheshire cat. “Excellent.”

Night two’s show is somehow even bigger than the first—if that’s even possible. Ava brings me out fornot onebut two songs, and the crowd goes absolutely wild.

Ava’s entourage pile into the back of a limo and head back to our suites at the Venetian, the limo’s lights strobing through the night. “Time of Our Lives”by Pitbull blares through the speakers. One of the backup dancers pops a bottle of champagne, tilting it into our open mouths between fits oflaughter. Ava takes a hit of coke; I pass—but she doesn’t miss a beat, yanking me up through the open sunroof.

The moment I rise, my eyes are flooded with a million twinkling lights. My mouth drops open. The Strip stretches before us, pulsing with color and life, bodies packed on sidewalks, flashing signs, endless movement. I’ve never seen anything like it.

It’s a feast for the eyes.

Riley would love this—a little pang catches in my chest. I wish she were here.

“Woo!” Ava screams, shaking my shoulders. “Go wild, Elena!”

I don’t know how she still has the energy to speak.

“Woo! Hello, Vegas!” I scream back, my throat not as raw or raspy. And surprisingly? I don’t feel as tired as I usually do after a show.

Thanks, Dr. Bronte.

We’re a tangle of limbs and laughter as we pile into Ava’s penthouse suite. Some of them are already stripping down, diving straight into the plunge pool on the balcony. Room service arrives minutes later: trays of pizza, steaks, lobster—the works. I’ve never seen so many bottles of champagne...or bags of cocaine.

“What’s your poison of choice, pretty lady?” Ava asks, chowing down on fries, her makeup smeared halfway down one cheek.

“Tequila.”

“Ooh, well—ask and you shall receive.” She fumbles with her phone. “Frank! Patrón. Six bottles. Limes and salt. Stat!”

“Oh my God, Ava, you don’t have to!”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Gotta loosen you up somehow.”

It’s strange—I should be on my best behavior. She’s technically my boss. I am onhertour, after all. But Ava keepschipping away at my walls, bit by bit. I can’t help it. I never had many friends growing up. Riley’s always been my one and only constant.

“I prefer other ways of loosening up,” I say, offering a playful smile—my first real attempt at this whole ‘letting go’ thing.

“You minx! Who is it? Wade, the drummer? Christian on bass?” She giggles, scanning the room. “No...Pedro.”