Page 74 of Embracing the Beat
My life had already been hell when I left that nasty motel in the middle of the night. But somehow, I don’t doubt he could make it worse.
Suddenly cold, I block him—again—without an answer, lie down, and pull the covers up to my chin.
I can’t go back. I can’t.
What choice do you have?
None. Brad’s right. I should have read the contract more closely before I signed it. Or found someone to read through it for me. But I was so excited to get a record deal, I didn’t think much beyond that.
The thought of being around him again, about what he could make me do, makes me sick to my stomach.
“Kay?” Mom’s voice comes through my door, startling me. “I’m headed to the store, and your dad decided to go with me. You sure you don’t need anything?”
“Nope. I’m good, Mom. Thanks,” I call, hoping my voice sounds normal.
I wait for the garage door to open and close before stumbling out of my bed and into the bathroom. I turn the shower on as hot as it will go. My legs give out as I step into the tub, and I sink to the porcelain, letting the water rain down on me until my hair is soaked through. In a daze, I wash my hair, mesmerized by the suds as they swirl around the drain. I repeat the process with conditioner, and finally with body wash, numb by the time I shut the shower off.
I wrap one towel around my body and another in my hair before I head back to my bedroom, sinking down on my bed in exhaustion as anxiety swirls in my stomach.
West finds me there several hours later, burrowed under my blanket and hiding from the world.
“Hey, I wasn’t serious this morning,” he jokes, his smile fading when I don’t return it. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
I am, but not because of any illness.
I shake my head.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes are so full of concern as he lies on the pillow next to mine, I can’t stop the tears from overflowing. “Michaela?”
His thumb comes up to brush one tear and then another from my cheek.
“I can’t go back,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
“What do you mean? You heard from Reverb?” My head jerks in a nod, but the tears don’t stop. “I…I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
His fingers against my cheek tense, and I flinch before pulling away.
“What?” The warm concern is gone from his voice, and all that’s left is a flat, emotionless copy.
“I—” Closing my eyes, I bite back the sob that wants to escape but meet his gaze with my next words. “I’m not famous, West. Not by a long shot. And it gets worse.”
“Define worse.”
I pull up Brad’s text messages and hand him my phone. By the time he’s done reading the short exchange, his knuckles are white, a muscle in his jaw ticking furiously.
“Who the hell is this?”
“M-m-my label rep,” I stutter out.
“Baby.” He tosses the phone to the side, drawing me into his arms and pulling me against his chest.
“He-he-he…” I close my eyes, more tears leaking out and onto West’s shirt.
“Did he do something to you?” he asks me gently.
“He tried. The night I came home,” I whisper. “I couldn’t remember anything Sawyer taught me.”
“Shh.” He rubs a hand along my back, his tone soothing.
