Tyler’s messages are more worried-sounding. Sis, are you okay? I’ve seen the pictures and no judgment from me. At least, what I mean to say is that I’m good if you’re loving life. Just want to check that you are loving life, and the pictures aren’t anything a big brother should be worried about. Not even sure if what I’ve just said makes sense. Love you baby girl.
I smile at his rambling because I can tell he’s treading on eggshells, not really sure how to be toward me. There was a time when he would have just said exactly what he thought, but we’re not there right now. Maybe one day we will be.
There’s a message from Sandy, Tyler’s girlfriend too. Just to let you know that your momma’s doing well in the facility. She’s talking about a release date, but I think she needs to stay longer. Oh, and by the way, I’m pregnant. Ready to be an auntie?
Auntie Luna. It has a cool ring to it.
For a second, I wonder if she knows that it’s definitely Tyler’s baby, but then I realize that it doesn’t really matter who the biological father is. All the men in their relationship will step up to be a parent to their child. That baby is going to have six amazing daddies. How cool is that?
I type out congratulations and tell her how happy I am. Then I sign off Love Auntie Luna with a smiley emoji, but inside, slithering jealousy takes place in my gut. Sandy has everything I really want. Men who love her. A home that’s safe and secure. A family on the way. Her life is illuminated with a soft yellow warmth that I want to climb into. By contrast, my life feels as though its tinged with icy blue. Glancing around the vehicle, I’m struck by the emptiness, the coldness, and the absence of all the things I crave.
Where is the fun, the warmth, the laughter, the love, and the affection? Where is the safety and security? Where are the people to rely on when times get tough or to giggle with when life is great? I’m back to being alone.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I keep scrolling. Beneath is a message from Greg, Tyler’s friend. He’s a hulking great man who’s covered in tattoos and has eyes as dark as hell itself, but underneath the fierce exterior, he’s a stand-up guy with a heart of gold. Luna, girl, I hope you’re looking after yourself. Let me know if I need to break any bones. Remember that you’re a queen and that any man who comes near you should be treating you like royalty.
As I said, he’s the kind of guy that every girl should have in their lives.
No bone-breaking required, I reply, but thanks for the offer. Do relationships ever get any easier?
Even though it’s the middle of the night back home, I see Greg begin to reply. Baby girl, relationships are a journey, not a destination. All we can hope is that we’ll find the right person or people to walk next to. You okay? Those men in suits treating you well?
Blueday fired them, I type. Relationships in the public eye are a whole different ball game.
I’m sorry about that, he replies. Your focus has to be on your job right now, but you have time. Look at me. I just found my girl.
You’re gonna make a great dad, I tell him. I’m so excited to hear your news. I sign off, blaming my schedule, but really, it’s because I can’t deal with the feelings of longing for home and for people who are familiar to me.
At the hotel, it gets even worse. My new security detail doesn’t consult me on our food order. They just use the nutritionist’s plan. I end up with an avocado and chicken salad, which I want to throw out the window more than I want to eat. Just the smell makes my stomach turn. What I’m craving is a green tea and a plate of steak and fries. They talk among themselves as if I’m not even there, so I leave the plate on the table and return to my room, closing the door behind me.
There’s no Jax to make me laugh or Asher to draw something pretty. There’s no Mo to make me see the philosophical side of life or Connor to step in like a big brother to sort out any situation. There’s no Ben with his kind hands or Hudson with his voice like silk. There’s no Elijah to encourage me to stick up for myself. The Steel 7 men made me feel at home wherever I went in the world. Knowing they were around made this tour bearable, but now I’m out on my own.
I glance at my phone, tabbing through my contacts and looking at the profile pictures for each of the Steel 7 men, longing to be in their arms again and wishing that they’d contact me. Just one little message to find out how I’m doing. That’s all it would take for me to know they care.
But there’s nothing.
Then the phone lights up. It’s a Blueday Records number. My heart skitters, knowing that when I pick up this call, I’m going to have to face up to what’s being said about me. I’m going to hear how disappointed the record company is about my behavior. I’m going to be told how much I’ve damaged my reputation.
But I can’t put it off any longer.
The next ten minutes are the worst of my life. I have to bite my lip until it bleeds to stop myself from telling the five balding assholes on the conference call to fuck off. My manager doesn’t support me. It’s clear all he’s interested in is securing his percentage. I want to tell them that they loved making me into some kind of ingénue sex object, but when I actually have sex, they don’t like it. I want to scream that my body is mine to decide what to do with. They might contractually own my singing voice and my performances, but they don’t own me. I want to tell them to shove their contract up their asses. I want to rage and sob and throw expensive objects in my hotel room and take no responsibility for my anger.
I don’t do any of those things.
I swallow it when they insinuate that I’m a slut who’s allowed men to use my body. I swallow it when they tell me I cannot talk about it. I even agree when they tell me that I’m not allowed to be seen with another man for the rest of the tour.
I let them talk about me as though I’m an object and not a person and I appreciate the irony. My Steel 7 bodyguards never made me feel like an object. They saw me, the real me behind my ridiculous public image, the real me behind the toughened exterior I’ve fashioned to protect myself. They saw the good and the bad and didn’t ever make me feel lesser.
My manager and the Blueday Record Executives say they have my best interests at heart but what they really mean is that they want me to sit down and shut up so that their best interests aren’t damaged any further.
The next evening, I perform in a huge stadium in London. It should be one of the highlights of the tour, but inside, I feel dead. The crowd whistles when I dance. There’s a raucousness about their cheering that I sense is leery and disapproving rather than appreciative. In my skimpy costume, I feel like a sex object rather than sexually empowered. Around the edge of the stage, my new bodyguards watch with crossed arms. When I go to get a drink, I’m handed one from Mr. Wright’s pocket. He watches me with a cool expression as I take a tentative sip. It’s water, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t flinch when it passes my lips.
After the show, my dancers all disappear quickly, and Angelica keeps a frosty distance.
Nothing feels good now the men I love have gone.
27
ELIJAH
London is a city of contrasts. One moment, you can be walking down a street flanked by buildings as old as Dickens, and the next, you’re faced with a huge skyscraper in the shape of a cucumber.