As he makes his way stage left, he catches my gaze and smiles. My cheeks burn in response, but he’s already returned his attention back to the crowd. Stop, Darya. I try to force myself to turn away. But I don’t, not because I can’t, but because the view is too good to pass up. And really, what harm could it do? It’s not like I’m acting on anything, just having a little fun daydreaming, that’s all.
“Khoshteepeh, nah?” Mike whispers in my ear and he laughs when I jump, startled.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry. Just thought I’d let you know that you’re drooling. It’s very unbecoming.”
“Khafeshoh!” I shove him, pouting playfully. This insta-connection I have with Mike is pretty cool. It makes me long to feel it with more people. Oddly, it kind of reminds me of the connection I have with Anthony. That’s if I were actually admitting I have a connection. Which I’m not.
“Telling me to shut up, how rude.” He feigns offense. “It’s okay, khahar. No one would fault you for thinking he’s a good-looking man.”
“I don’t.”
“Uh-huh. Harchee toh meegee. Whatever you say.”
My phone rings, pulling me out of our current debate. I look down to see Niloo’s name flashing across my screen. Dread drops into my stomach.
“I have to take this.” Mike nods as I pick it up, pressing the receiver to my ear and covering the other, trying to drown out the concert.
“Niloo? Is everything okay?” I can’t hear a word she’s saying; the music is too loud. “Hang on, I need to get somewhere quieter.” I rush backstage where the dressing rooms are located. I catch a glimpse of Mike’s now scrunched features as concern claims his expression.
A few security guards are spread out along the hall, keeping groupies out of the band’s personal space. But they know me and let me pass. I make my way to the far end and lean against the wall.
“Darya?” Niloo says. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. How’s Maman?”
Maman had her first treatment yesterday. I had a few days off so I was able to be there for her port insertion, but Ternura was leaving the city, and I needed to be ready to go with them. My sister was left with the unimaginable task of helping Maman face chemo without me.
“Not good,” Niloo answers. “She was fine yesterday, just a little tired. After we talked to you, she went to bed. But today she’s really nauseated. She’s thrown up a few times. And I can’t get her to eat anything.” The tremble in my sister’s voice causes my heart to break. I should be there with her. I’m the older sister, and the doctor.
“It’s okay, Niloo. It’s normal for her to feel like this.” And it’s going to only get worse. “Did you give her the anti-nausea pills?”
“Yes. But how long will this last?”
“I don’t know. Everyone is different.”
“I have to go to school. How do I leave her like this? What do I do, Darya?” She’s in complete panic mode. If I could crawl through the phone and hug her, I would.
“First, take a deep breath. Don’t freak out. She’s going to be okay.”
“How do you know? You’re not here!” Her words cut through me, the sting of my absence burning a hole in my chest. “I’m sorry,” Niloo whispers. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just overwhelmed. I’m not good at this stuff, Darya. You are.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be there. But you know I have to do this. For us.”
“I know.” Her voice is small and childlike. It squeezes my heart. “I just wish you were here.”
“I know. And I will be soon. Till then, you have to stay strong. Maman’s fierce. She’s got this.” I wish I believed my own words as much as Niloo is feeding on them. But I don’t. And it kills me. “I’ll call Khaleh and have her come be there while you go to your classes, okay?”
Sending my aunt in my place calms Niloo a bit. “Okay.”
“Where is Maman now?”
“She’s in bed watching her Turkish soap operas on her iPad.”
“Just make sure she stays hydrated,” I direct. “Let’s pray she doesn’t feel bad too long.” Sounds of laughter and commotion increase as the band makes their way around the corner. “Niloo, I have to go. But I’ll call you first thing in the morning, okay? Just let Maman sleep. And try to get some rest, too. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Chapter Eighteen
Anthony
“That shit was lit! I fucking love the Vegas crowd.” Mateo high-fives Hugo as we jog down the stairs, heading to our dressing rooms. “Wish we had one more show scheduled.”
“I swear, I could ride this adrenaline high forever,” Carlos adds. “It’s better than drugs.”
I glare at him.
He smirks and I realize he’s messing with me. Little shit.
The band is buzzing from our last set, the intense energy of the crowd still vibrating through us like electricity. The guys are messing around like they always do, shoving and bumping one another. They annoy the hell out of me most of the time, but they’re fun to have around.
Their carefree attitudes help me let loose, get me out of the steel box it sometimes feels like I’m locked in. Carlos tells me all the time that I’m too serious. I argue with him because I feel judged, even though I know he’s right. But if I wasn’t the grown up, who would be?
Hugo smacks Mateo in the head and he returns it with a punch to the arm. Carlos jumps onto Mateo’s back and the three of them run down the hall to Carlos’s dressing room. I shake my head.
Carlos may be my only real little brother, but Hugo and Mateo feel like they are, too. I don’t mind being the responsible one—it’s a role I’ve played for a long time. I grew up fast, took Dad’s place, so I don’t even know what being a reckless teenager means. Watching these three act like idiots makes me happy. We’re a family bound not by blood, but by our loyalty and dreams.
It’s loud downstairs, the boys still laughing and joking, the crew running around trying to tear down the show. Emmanuel is back to barking orders as usual. I’ve got to remember to tell him to take a day off or something before he has a stroke. He jams his hand through his hair and his nostrils flare. Someone is about to get their ass handed to them. Poor sap.
I’m so distracted by the commotion that I almost don’t notice her. But as I head into my dressing room, I happen to spot Darya crouched against the far wall, staring at her phone. She’s upset and I rush over but she’s too focused to notice me.
“What’s wrong?”
Her gaze whips up in my direction. There’s so much pain flooding her eyes that it breaks me.
“It’s my mom,” she answers. “She’s sick.” Her voice shakes, and she can’t stop the tears.
I reach out and offer her my hand. She hesitates but then grabs my fingers, letting me help her up. Without a word, I lead her back to my dressing room so we can have some privacy. Once inside, I gently help her sit on the couch and grab her a bottle of water. I’m not sure what good that will do, but it’s something Mamá always did when we were upset. I pull up a chair and sit across from her, not wanting to crowd her.
“What’s going on?”
“She has cancer.” My chest tightens. “Stage 3 lung cancer. It’s bad.” She drops her head into her hands and starts sobbing. “I don’t know why it’s suddenly hitting me this hard,” she chokes out.
Darya has helped me so much by taking the best care of Carlos. I’ve finally been able to stop worrying about him nonstop since his diagnosis. It means even more now, knowing what she sacrificed to be here with us. I wish there was something I could do to repay her for the kindness she’s shown my family. But I don’t know how to cure cancer, and it kills me that I can’t fix this.
Not thinking, I sit beside her and wrap her in my arms, pulling her to my chest. She doesn’t fight it or push me away, she ju
st rests her head on my shoulder. I can’t save her from this horrible reality, but I can offer her some comfort. She sinks into her grief and I hold her tighter as she cries. She doesn’t hide her pain and fear from me like most people would.
After a few minutes, she brushes the tears from her face and pulls away. My chest feels cold where her body just was, and I can feel the disappointment of losing her. I let my arms drop to my sides, fighting the urge to reach for her again.
“I’m sorry.” She sits back, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“Don’t be,” I say, lightly squeezing her hand. “What can I do?”
“Do you have a magic wand?”
I give her a grim smile. “I wish.”
“Me too. I’d give anything for a sprinkle of fairy dust.”
“How is she doing?”
“As expected. She had her first round of chemo yesterday and my sister says she’s feeling terrible. But that’s chemo, I guess.” She shrugs.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” This is already too much for anyone to handle, but having to deal with this while on tour seems impossible.
Is this my fault? Maybe I pushed too hard? Or maybe she felt like she couldn’t say no because I’m famous? I can’t imagine her leaving her mother at a time like this unless she felt like she had no choice.
“I feel like a huge asshole for taking you away from your family. You should be at home. Your mom and sister need you. First thing tomorrow, we’ll have your contract canceled. I’ll pay you for your time so far and get you a flight back as soon as possible. I’m sorry I pushed you so hard to come.”
Instead of being relieved, she looks like her heart just dropped to her toes. And not in a good way. “I really appreciate it, Anthony, but I can’t go home.” She shifts on the couch and twists her fingers in her lap. “I need the money.”
Fuck me. I hadn’t even thought of that, and now I’ve made her admit it out loud. I feel like an even bigger ass.
I want to tell her I understand, that I haven’t always had money, and that doing whatever it takes for your family is something I’m all about. But I’m afraid it will come off insincere in this moment. “Okay,” I say instead, and try really hard to keep my face calm, knowing that she’ll get mad if she thinks I feel sorry for her.
“It’s going to be fine. My mom’s strong and she’s going to kick cancer’s ass.” She nods.
“I bet she is. When is her next treatment?”
“In two weeks.”
Right then, Emmanuel pops his head in. “The tour buses are ready to go when you are.”
“Em, I need you to check our schedule.” I don’t take my eyes off her. “Darya needs a few days to fly home in a couple of weeks. Can you take care of that?” Before she has a chance to fight me on it, I add, “On payroll, of course.” I watch as her eyes widen in disbelief. I get the distinct feeling that she’s not sure whether to hug me or punch me.
“Sure thing, boss.” He nods at Darya before he leaves.
“What about the tour? And Carlos?”
“He’s doing okay, right? I’ll bring in someone else while you’re gone. You’ll have to vet them for me, though, because I have no idea who’s as smart as you.”
She smiles a little, her face relaxing for the first time since I brought her into my dressing room.
“This way, we will have a sub anytime we need one,” I add. I don’t want to assume her mom won’t do well, but I want her to know she can leave when she needs to.
“That’s really kind of you, Anthony. I’d need only two or three days. My sister can handle the rest.”
She takes a deep breath, and a little bit of weight lifts off my shoulders. I’ve found a way to help her even if it’s only a small gesture. If it makes her feel less stressed, I’ll take it.
“And Emmanuel doesn’t have to waste his time. I can book it myself if he just tells me where we’ll be.”
“No. I’m taking care of it. That was part of our contract. All expenses paid.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t an expense related to the band,” she argues.
“It is to me. Don’t worry about it, Darya. Seriously. All that matters is that you’re home. Family is everything.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Anthony. Again.”
I know what it’s like to have to carry the burden on your own, to hold up your family alone at all costs.
“It’s my pleasure.”
Chapter Nineteen
Anthony
The boys roar with laughter as Emmanuel explains some less-than-flattering run-in Mateo just had with a groupie at our Phoenix show.
“Let’s not have a repeat in Santa Fe boys, okay?” Emmanuel demands.
“Boys? The only idiot is Mateo. I have my game under control,” Hugo says. “He’s the only one stupid enough to call a woman by the wrong name. And then let her trash his room.” He smirks.
“Leave it to this prick to throw a woman into a fit of rage,” Carlos teases. More laughter. He’s kicking back on one of the plush leather couches. I’m relieved to see he’s sipping on sparkling water, and not his usual rum and coke.
“Don’t get me started on the hotel room,” Emmanuel huffs. He’s perched on a stool near the kitchen and points at Mateo, who’s standing in front of the open refrigerator door, searching for something to eat. More crap, I’m sure. “You dicks really need to remember you don’t own the damn hotels. Those damages were ridiculous.”
“We should totally buy our own hotel,” Carlos throws in.
Emmanuel glares at him. “With the way you spend, you don’t have enough money for that. And God knows I’m not managing a fucking hotel on top of everything else.”
“You guys really need to give him a break,” I warn. “Emmanuel’s whole head is going gray at the ripe old age of thirty-two.”
“It’s because of you pendejos,” Emmanuel says.
I glance at Darya and find her observing our male banter. Coming from a house full of women, I can’t imagine shit-talking is very familiar to her. Her expression is hard to read—that is, until she starts speaking.
“You called her by another name? You’re such an asshole.”
Everyone freezes, eyes wide, mouths open.
She ignores us. “It’s not that hard to keep a name straight. Just because you guys have women throwing themselves at you doesn’t mean you can disrespect them. Call the girl by the right name, for God’s sake.”
Mateo opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a fish. I don’t blame him. We’re all staring at her.
She scoffs. “What? It’s like two hours. Surely you can keep your women straight that long?”
“Pretty doctor lady just told us off,” Carlos says.
She tries to keep a straight face, but she can’t. Everyone cracks up, including her.
“Two hours?” Hugo shakes his head. “That’s being generous for Mateo.”
I can’t take my eyes off Darya, and she catches me staring. I don’t try to hide it. She blushes, turning her attention back to Mateo, who’s finally found his tongue and is trying to redeem himself. She listens to his side of the story, nodding like he’s got a point, and he looks pleased with his explanation.
“You’re full of crap,” she says when he’s finally done. His expression falls but she doesn’t back down. “And if what Hugo says is true, then remembering her name is the least you can do. Less than two hours…that’s just pathetic.”
Mateo narrows his eyes at her and she grins. But when he stands up and stalks toward her, the cockiness in her expression loses confidence. She presses farther into the couch.
“Pathetic, huh?”
She doesn’t have time to react as he grabs her around the waist and throws her over his shoulder. She squeals and playfully bangs on his back as he runs circles around the bus while everyone cheers
him on. Finally, he dumps her back on the couch, her face red with delight, in a fit of huffs and giggles. She’s still laughing when he drops back into his seat.
It takes five minutes for the guys to settle down this time, everyone grabbing their stomachs. Carlos even has to wipe tears from his eyes.
“You have to be my favorite woman,” he admits. “Aside from my mom, that is.”
Her smile gets wider. For the first time since the night started, she seems carefree.
Carlos continues, throwing his two cents in on how hot Mateo’s girl was. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mike sitting at the far end of the bus on the recliner, staring daggers in Carlos’s direction. He seems pissed, which I find puzzling. It’s not like this is the first time the guys have talked about the women they’ve been with while on tour. It’s their favorite tour bus pastime. And it’s obvious we’re all joking. Even Darya’s jumped in on it.
Mike must feel the weight of my gaze and looks at me. Instantly, he changes back to the carefree guy I’m used to. He smiles, chuckles, and rolls his eyes in Carlos’s direction, then shakes his head. I nod, not entirely sure what I’m witnessing, but too tired to try to figure it out.
After everyone settles down and drifts into smaller groups, Darya curls up on the couch, watching the traffic lights flash by as the tour bus drives on to our next destination. I make my way over to her and sit down.
“Thinking about your mom?” I’m close enough that her shoulder brushes against mine. The heat coming off her is comforting.
“Do you ever wonder what’s going on in a stranger’s life?” she murmurs. “There’re so many of us on this planet, and we each have our own stories. I mean, at any given second, it’s the best moment of one person’s life and the worst of another’s. I find that fascinating.”
“I remember when I was younger I used to think about that stuff, too,” I admit. “My dad wasn’t the greatest guy, so I’d sit on the steps of my porch watching the neighbors, wondering if they hugged their kids at night or took them out to get ice cream.”
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