There’s a fluttering in my stomach. “Rose, what do you think? Do you think Zach is a bad guy?”
“From what I saw of him with you—very briefly—he seems like a good guy.”
I can feel my body heat rising. I grimace, feeling the confusion converting to rage under my skin. It’s not directed at Rose, but at our friends.
Why are they acting so weird around Zach?
Clenching my teeth, I finish the conversation. “I have to go,” I say.
“See you tonight at Firehouse, though?”
“I think so,” I say, somewhat reluctantly. “But I have to take care of something. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take.”
I end the call. Tossing the phone on my bed, I feel my insides boiling.
I’m pissed at Cole and Sebastian for going along with my dad’s idea. But at the same time, it makes sense that they would be so vehement in trying to stop us from hanging out. They weren’t just being protective—it’s definitely something bigger when my father has intervened and told them to keep me away from Zach. In a weird way, I admire them for the way they respected my father’s wishes. But in a much bigger way, I’m angry.
My appetite has gone away even though I was starving before the call with Rose. My dad has always been my number one fan and my biggest hero. But if he can’t handle me making my own life decisions, we have a big problem.
Clenching and unclenching my fists, I realize that, like it or not, I’ve got to do something that makes me uncomfortable, or get used to living in fear.
I head down the stairs, looking for him. But I only find my little sister Janie sitting on the couch playing on her iPad.
“Hey,” I say. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s gone,” she says, not looking up. “I think he went somewhere with his friends.”
I nod slowly. “Where’s y—where’s Mom?”
“She’s outside, doing something in the garden, I think.”
Wringing my hands, I head out the back door and into the garden area, finding my stepmom sitting in the back, smoking a cigarette.
“Hi,” I say as I walk toward her on the grass.
“Hello to you,” she says from her lawn chair without turning to me. “Nice day today.”
“Really nice day. Where’s Dad?”
“Your father went to poker night. It’s the first Saturday he’s had off in quite some time, and he’s had his hands full outside of work lately too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, honey,” she says, biting the word honey out in a way that makes it sound the opposite of sweet.
“I’ve had to make sure he kept that bad boy—Zach, right?—away from you. Thank God he listened to me.”
My hearts skips several beats, and I clutch the pendant on my neck.
“You did what?”
She waves her hand in the air, standing up. Looking me in the eye, she continues, “Honey, I told him all about how Zach was trying to make a move on you that first night, and how you had to fend him off. Once I told him Zach used to be in prison too—boy, that set him off. He’s dangerous, and you need to stay away from him. For your own good!”
Looking down, my insides swirl with rage.
My dad wasn’t the one with the idea to get Mason and Cole to keep Zach away.
It was Lisa.
My blood boils, and I run my hand over my forehead, replaying the first night when Zach dropped me off.
The ironic truth is that Zach was so insanely respectful of me that he wouldn’t even hug me goodnight.
And two days ago, he was the one who stopped in the middle of things getting hot and heavy to slow it down.
“Why on God’s green Earth would you say that?!” I spit out. “You know that’s not true, not even close!”
Stepping forward, she patronizingly pats me on the head. “We need to protect you, little one,” she says. “I mean, after what happened in Nashville, I think we all know that you can’t really look out for yourself.”
My jaw falls, and I blink in disbelief. I’ve never told Lisa the full story about what happened in Nashville. The story that my ex-boyfriend and his new girl had robbed me of a number-one hit was so preposterous, I figured there was no way they’d believe me.
“What happened in Nashville has nothing to do with this,” I say. “Zach is a good man, and I want to see him. And I’m going to see him.”
She clears her throat. “That’s very well, I suppose, since it seems you are hell-bent on screwing your life up.”
With my hands on my hips, I open and close my mouth, but no words come out. I don’t even know what else I would say to her.
“By the way,” she adds. “Sebastian’s personal assistant came by and dropped your guitar off this morning. He left it on the porch, but I was cleaning up out there, so I put it outside in the front.”
My heart drops. Sebastian is Blackwell’s only billionaire, and one of the only people around with a personal assistant. It boils my blood that he didn’t make sure it was delivered inside.
“But—it rained this morning.” I gulp, feeling my body start to tremble. No. She wouldn’t have left my guitar out in the rain. She wouldn’t do that. “My guitar didn’t get wet, did it?”
Turning to me, she flicks her cigarette. “If you cared so much about it, you would have made sure nothing happened to it. You would have brought it home yourself instead of hanging out with that convict.”
Pacing back and forth, my eyes feel like they’re about to bulge out of my head. “But I was out looking for jobs in town this morning! Which you and Dad wanted me to do!”
She scoffs. “Well, if your guitar was so important to you, you would have planned things better.”
My expression sours. “Is my guitar still there?” I ask desperately.
She shrugs. “I think so.”
Sweating, I run around front, and sure enough, my guitar is leaning against the house. The outside of the case is covered in a slick layer of moisture. It’s been humid and rainy for most of the day.
Frantically, I set the case on the ground and open the latches.
When I look inside, my heart drops down to my feet. Shakily, I reach into the case and grab the guitar by the neck.
There’s at least an inch of water in the case, and I might as well be taking the wooden acoustic guitar out of a puddle.
Feeling my stepmom behind me, I try to wipe the tears from my eyes, but my hands are as wet as the tears from gripping the slick guitar.
Whipping around, I turn to her, guitar in hand. “Why would you do this? This is just—outright mean! It’s ruined! Do you see!” Flipping it around, I try to play a few chords. It sounds like I’m playing a fifty-dollar, out-of-tune children’s guitar.
“Please settle down. You know you weren’t meant to be a guitar player. It’s time you moved on to something more sensible. You’re twenty-three. It’s high time you leave those silly Nashville dreams in the past and do something with your life, Harmony!”
Tugging at my hair, I stare at her, then at the guitar again, and then at her. “Do you understand what this means to me? I worked as a cocktail waitress for months to buy this! And now I can’t play it. The acoustics are ruined. The wood’s warped.”