Page 21 of Holding On

I didn’t even see it coming because I took my eyes off him for just a second. He grabs the back of my hair and yanks it back so hard, I’m sure he pulled some pieces out before turning and throwing my lower body against the island and granite countertop.

“Rick, you’re hurting me,” I manage to whimper.

“Good, then I have your attention. I own you, Tinsley Sinclair. Your brand, your image, your bank accounts, are mine. No one is going to take that or you from me. I can’t trust you to make the right decisions, and if you want to be difficult, maybe we should celebrate your birthday by revisiting in detail what I will do to your mother and brother if you defy me.”

When I was thirteen, I had the courage to fight back during one of Rick’s beatings. I had stolen a small utility knife from a stagehand backstage at my own concert earlier in the evening. Instead of being threatened by the knife, he told me in gruesome and horrific detail how he would kill the only two family members I had left. It was so specific, I had nightmares for months, not that I could tell anyone why I would wake up screaming in fear. I didn’t need to have monsters in my nightmares—I already had the worst monster down the hall sleeping in my mother’s bed.

“No, we don’t need to do that.”

“And is there going to be an issue when we go and sign these documents in front of my attorneys and their notary?” His grip tightens and I involuntarily yelp in pain.

“No, I won’t make a scene. I’ll sign whatever you want. Just leave my mother and brother alone. Please, Rick. Please!”

People assume that if you don’t have a conservatorship or complicated legal situation, then you must be in full control of your own financial decisions, but Rick has made it painfully clear that the Power of Attorney allows him to take control of any and all decisions—and that I have no control of my own life. At thirty-one years old, I still get a monthly allowance from my own income and it’s measly. If I complain, I know Rick will shrink it even more. I once saw my bank statements in his office and calculated that he had paid me two and a half percent of the income I earned that month.

“Tinsley, the car is here to take us to the hotel,” Allie calls from the foyer, snapping me back to the present. I had zoned out at the memory of my eighteenth birthday, and I hadn’t realized that I was now sitting alone in my bathroom. I look at the reflection and can’t help but wonder if anyone else notices how incredibly sad my eyes look.

Shake it off, girl. You’ve got bullshit to sell.

“Is he serious right now?” Allie asks from the backseat of the car as we both watch the show before us. We’re in the underground parking of the hotel where Roman is staying so we can arrive together at Music Fest, as though we were enjoying each other’s company before arriving.

But no, Roman is clearly enjoying the company of the woman that is wrapped around him like she’s trying to climb him like a tree. Roman kisses her—sloppily—and pushes her up against the wall.

“Do you think he knows we’re here?” Allie asks.

“Oh, I guarantee it. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was all a private show just for us. Aren’t I so lucky to be tied to him?” I deadpan. I’m not jealous of the girl, in fact, I feel bad for her, and she would be wise to go to a clinic to make sure he didn’t give her anything else during whatever they did before exiting his hotel room. “I’m over halfway through our contracted timeline, so just eleven more months and twenty-eight days of his bullshit.”

I roll down the window and call out, “Are you quite done? I’d like to get this over with.”

Roman pulls away from the girl and grins at me. Yeah, he knew I was here the whole time.

“Oh, my bad, I’ll be right there, babe.” He murmurs something to the girl, who is now shooting daggers at me—even though, according to public knowledge, she’s the one kissing my boyfriend—before one of his handlers come and escort the girl away. I’d bet money they will make her sign an NDA before she’s free to leave.

Freedom is an illusion for so many of us.

Roman saunters over and gets in the SUV next to me, turning as the driver takes off toward the festival. “It’s been too long, babe. What, no kiss?”

“I think whoever that was took care of that for me, Roman.” I wave toward the elevators.

“Are you jealous, babe? That’s adorable.” He reaches up to touch my cheek, and I slap his hand away. “Meow. So feisty. I like it.”

I take a deep breath to try and not lose my shit on this guy. “Keep your paws to yourself. We agreed to a joint arrival, walk through the backstage area, and then one song as a pop-up performance before you take the stage.”

Roman nods. “And then you’ll wait for me until we can leave together.”

“No, that wasn’t the deal. I’m leaving after my performance,” I insist.

Roman tilts his head and pouts at me. “Oh, babe, did Rick not tell you? He and Preston thought it would look better if we were photographed throughout the entire evening. But if you want to come up to my room when we get back, I’m totally open to adjusting the schedule. I’ll even end the night early if it means coming back here with you.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I mutter to Allie in the backseat.

“What was that? I’m happy to call Rick and clarify if you want.” Roman’s eyes are cold and calculating. He doesn’t know how Rick controls me, but he’s figured out that dangling a threat of contacting Rick will get me to agree to whatever bullshit he is pushing.

“That won’t be necessary, it’s fine.” I cross my arms and look out the window as a sickening feeling settles in my stomach. I’m going to have to be on guard all night from his unwanted touches.

“Just remember, Roman, you touch me in a way I don’t want, and your testicles feel my wrath,” I remind him as he laughs at my threat.

It’s almost too bad he didn’t believe me, but I didn’t feel any remorse either time I had to follow through with my threats. That’s right, I kicked him in the balls not once, but twice tonight. After all, I wore my pointy cowboy boots on purpose.