The Tour Read online

  And that night, while all the other winners at the EMAs are celebrating with celebrities and drinking fancy champagne, Kolton and I are sipping chocolate shakes and eating a hamburger and a grilled cheese sandwich on the hood of a limousine, looking out from the view on Mulholland Drive.

  I feed him a French fry, and he feeds me one, too. I lean into him as we watch the sun just start to peek over the horizon. The city from this high up looks like random winding paths that run into one another. There was no real plan to this city. It just grew and expanded—kind of like our relationship.

  For the first time, I realize I’m not worried about the future. “The future is us,” I say before he kisses me.

  “My future is you,” he replies. Then we sit in silence and watch the sun come up, casting orange heat over the mountains.

  How symbolic a new day is—especially after what we’ve been through to be here together.

  EPILOGUE

  Eight Months Later

  December 8th, 2014

  “Happy birthday,” he whispers up to my ear. When I open my eyes, Deloris and Riley are bringing me breakfast in bed. Thank God I have a T-shirt on. But, if I remember correctly, he gave it to me after our second time last night. He said I would get cold. Now I know he’d planned all along to feed me breakfast in bed from a tray and that I’d need to be modest when it happened.

  “Thank you, guys,” I say beaming, just before I take a bite of a strawberry, and notice there’s a champagne flute with orange juice in it. “This is fancy,” I say picking it up to taste it.

  “It’s a mimosa,” he clarifies. “Because you’re twenty-one now.” I put it to my lips and take a taste.

  “It’s yummy.”

  “I have another surprise for you,” he says.

  “What?”

  “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you,” he teases, taking a bite of my fruit ensemble. I look at Riley, who’s giggling.

  “Do you know what his plan is?” I ask.

  “Yep.”

  “You little—” I say, and reach for her so I can tickle her, but she moves away too fast. Then she points at me pinned into the bed with this tray and laughs. She looks so pretty in her school uniform for Page Private School here in Beverly Hills.

  “Happy birthday,” she says, kissing me on the cheek before running off to school. We moved to a house on Mansfield Avenue, and it’s only ten minutes for Devon to take Riley to school. She loves it there and has many new friends. She’s even taking swimming lessons and joined a computer programming club after school.

  And our new house is a stunningly modern home with large glass windows and a heliport on the roof of the garage. There’s a room for Devon, Manny, and Deloris, too—all of us living together as a family. There’s even a guest room where Kaya came to stay when she brought her boyfriend Don to come hang out with us.

  I understand now that Kaya was put in an impossible situation. Knowing the secret, but also knowing me well enough that I needed to find out from Kolton was a difficult place to stand. Being my best friend hasn’t been an easy job. I didn’t deserve her to, but she accepted my apology as soon as it passed my lips. Then we spent a few weeks hanging out in the house Kolton and I bought together. It’s my first house.

  I helped Kolton invest in it after he sold the apartment with the money I made when we released the single, “Call me Angel”. The best thing about this house, though, is there are no bad memories here. Only the ones we create together—and so far they’ve been only good.

  Since then, we’ve also recorded more live songs just like we did when we recorded our single. We choose our songs from one of mine that he admired from my YouTube channel—but he has a lot of songs he’s written for his new album that we can use for a duet—and then Kolton adds the piano, or I add the guitar. He listens to me, and I listen to him—a lot. He offers suggestions that I don’t always take. He gets frustrated sometimes, but, in the end, he loves my autonomy—and how feisty I can get when I disagree with him. Most of all, we both love our creations and how well we work together. I couldn’t ask for a better producer.

  His album, More Than Skin Deep, came out after he won his EMA for Best Pop Male Vocal Performance. His timing was perfect. It debuted on Billboard at number five and got up to number one for two straight weeks. He did some mild press but we traveled together. Neither of us has been willing to let the other go for too long a period time. Not because we’re insecure—but because we’re happy when we’re together, and we’ve had enough unhappy times between the two of us to keep us balanced out with all this happiness for a long, long time.

  We’re also fixing up his parents’ place by adding on to it. It’s getting a few more rooms and a larger living room. Their things are being incorporated into the new design—to honor them, not to enshrine them. It’s not going to be a place to hide away, but a place to get away. There’s a real difference.

  The day I signed with Bad Heart, Tedd confided in us that Vivien had been sent to a mental institution. Tedd’s lawyers had Vivien sign an agreement that keeps her institutionalized indefinitely in exchange for our discretion. It was the best way to keep what she’d done to Kolton private, but also get her treatment and keep her off the streets. We both signed the NDA that day along with all the paperwork I signed to bring me into the Bad Heart family.

  The relief on Kolton’s face when he found out she was gone was a mixture of emotions. He was eased by it, but also sad. Most of all, he was thankful for Tedd’s discretion and loyalty. There were some tears—from all of us, but a lot of relieved smiles, too. I’ll never forget what Tedd said that day. “Thank you for telling me what she’d done, Kolton. It took me a long time to accept what she’d done. But now we all have a chance to heal.”

  Since then we have started to heal. I’ve started seeing a therapist, and Kolton went back to seeing his. Those days are the hardest—because we have to look in the mirror and see our true selves. We have to examine our triggers and make changes in our behaviors. But we’re getting better. I even wore sandals last summer when we went to the beach, and posted the picture on Instagram.

  From that, I was offered an interview by Denise Chung from Minute by Minute. But, for now, I’ve declined it. I’m just not ready to air our pain for the world to examine, and then forget once the next scandal comes along. Our lives don’t have to be fodder for the masses without a clear message. When I’m sure of what I want to share, I know I can do it. It won’t break me. It won’t break us.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  “Wear layers,” he says.

  “That’s your hint?” He turns, giving me the side smirk, and huffs.

  “Your hint is, I promised this to you once a long time ago. I said this was what I was going to do for your twenty-first birthday.” As I contemplate this new hint, he pulls his shirt off, gifting me with his six-pack abs, and then drops his jeans and jumps in the shower.

  From the site of him, I feel the rumble of need that constantly pumps through my blood stream, but when he opens the glass door and crooks his finger at me in invitation, I climb out of bed to go take care of both our needs.

  * * *

  “Put your headphones on,” he says, as he’s checking the helicopter’s cyclic, circling it between my legs, as we’re parked on top of the modern garage.

  “I don’t see my headphones,” I say, looking around for the green ones that look like they were used in World War II.

  “What about these?” he asks, handing me a set of Bose, just like his.

  “You got me my own fancy pair?”

  “Yep. Because you’re the co-pilot,” he clarifies.

  “And where is the co-pilot flying to today?”

  “To Turlock,” he laughs, right before I feel the pressure as we lift up.

  “What the fuck are we going to do in Turlock?”

  “Do you trust me, Mia?” he asks. I smile and nod, and then listen as he speaks some foreign language into the headset as he commun
icates with air traffic control.

  He flies us over the Grapevine, which in winter is green and lush, and then along the flat valley dotted with squares for farms, houses, and then larger cities like Bakersfield and Modesto.

  He talks some more into his headset and we descend into an airport with a whole bunch of hangers in rows atop of black and grey cracked asphalt. The sign says ‘Turlock Municipal Airport,’ and then near one of the hangers it says, ‘Central Valley Helicopter School’.

  “Are you giving me a helicopter lesson for my birthday?”

  “That’s a great idea,” he says, contemplating it. “But not today. We’re just refueling, and they have the best fuel around here.”

  Then we’re off again and this time, he flies us along the coast so that on our left is the ocean, and on our right is the land. I giggle a few times when he catches my eye and gives me the side smirk.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask him again, and he just shakes his head and chuckles a little.

  Then I see the Golden Gate Bridge, and hear him say into his headset something about the “…China Basin Heliport…” before we come down to land. When we pop open the doors, both Manny and Devon come walking out of a building. “Welcome to San Francisco,” Manny says.

  “How did you guys get here?” I ask.

  “We flew out last night,” Devon answers. “I hope you brought a light jacket,” he says, as the crisp ocean breeze comes, getting itself all up inside of the light fabric in my shirt. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.

  “I did bring a jacket! Kolton warned me,” I say, just as Kolton comes up and helps me into it, and then helps me tie it around my waist. His touch and the look in his eyes give me more chills than the air outside.

  “I brought you this, too,” he says, grabbing a fedora from the back of the helicopter and placing it just so on my head before kissing me like nobody’s business. Once I’m wrapped up and kissed breathless, we hop into a car and they drive us into the touristy part of San Francisco.

  We eat at the Rainforest Café for lunch, and then we walk over to the Ripley’s Believe It or Not, where we dance our asses off inside the disco hallway, and run around inside the mirror maze getting lost before he pretends to be jealous of the size of the whale penis inside the glass cage. “That whale ain’t got nothin’ on you,” I tease, forcing him to kiss me right then and there.

  Then we walk over to the Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. He pulls me past Princess Diana, Anne Hathaway and the like, until we’re in the music section with Lady Gaga and Madonna. He’s shuffling his feet as we turn a corner and I gasp. “It’s you!” I say pointing to his replica.

  He blushes a little. “Two years ago,” he says, as I examine the tattoos on his wax arms, and they’re the exact same as the ones on his real arms.

  “This is amazing,” I say, as a group of tourists come around the corner and the two teens with them do a double-take before squealing his name and begging to take selfies with him and his wax twin.

  “We love you two so much,” they say, begging me to come and pose with them, too. All I can think is what a difference time has made for me and his fans. It seems like they’ve accepted me, at the same time I have accepted this new life, too.

  After they walk off, giggling and posting their pics on social media, I say, “God, I’m starving.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he says. “Because that’s your real surprise,” and his eyebrows go up. I watch as he tries to tell if I’ve correctly guessed his secret. “Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand and walking with me toward the sidewalk. “Do you like the trolley?” he asks.

  “I love it,” I say. So we wait a few minutes and all four of us hop onto a red trolley, but I still don’t know where we’re going.

  He pulls the red cord, and we hop down in a familiar street. He takes my hand and we walk, with him glancing at me every so often to see if I know what’s going on. We cross a busy intersection, and climb up what feels like a hill when a devious looking ghost garlic catches my eye.

  “The Stinking Rose!” I exclaim. That’s when it all comes back to me. I’d told him about Kaya’s and my trip to this very restaurant on day-one of this journey toward stardom. And in his parents’ house the first time he took me there when we were running from the press, he’d promised to bring me here on my twenty-first birthday to eat too much garlic and have my first glass of wine. I’m hopping up and down and clapping my cold hands as he picks me up and kisses me so warm and soft that I melt into him, nearly asking him to take me to the nearest hotel instead.

  “Are you guys starving?” he asks Devon and Manny.

  “We could eat,” they say, so he sets me down and we all walk in together. They sit down at the bar near the door to order, while Kolton and I are ushered to a room I’d never seen before when I was here with Kaya.

  It’s warm and lit softly with candles inside booths lining the walls and a few tables placed in the middle. There are pictures on the wall of families and Italy. There’s one of Sophia Loren next to the wall where we sit down after he helps me with my coat. He hangs them on a coat rack near the entrance to the room like the natives do.

  My heart jumps when they bring us the glass jar filled with chopped greens and garlic. “Okay, let me make you one,” I say, ripping a piece of bread and spreading the concoction on with a small spoon. “Try it,” I say, handing it to him. I watch as it hits him and he’s shocked for a second from all the garlic, but then he closes his eyes and savors it.

  “You’re right,” he says.

  “About what?”

  “It’s so bad, it’s good,” and then he takes another bite. “No one’s going to be able to stand us after this, though.” I take a bite, too, and giggle a little.

  “It’s okay. Last time Kaya and I had to ride the bus home. No one would sit anywhere near our bench.” And he laughs so genuinely I tear up a little. I don’t know if it’s the garlic, or Kolton that makes me want to laugh so hard that I cry.

  He orders for us. I get the Portobello mushrooms and veggies, and he orders the garlic chicken, and some wine I didn’t understand. “The port. Your best,” he clarifies, “I don’t care about the cost.” Our waiter agrees with him before going to put in our orders.

  “No seafood?” I ask. “We’re in San Francisco.”

  “Nope. I want comfort food, you know?” he asks, and I do know exactly what he means.

  When our waiter comes back, he pops the cork of the wine and pours a little for Kolton to taste. He circles it in his glass like a pro, and seems pleased when he tastes it, so the waiter pours some for me, and then more for Kolton before leaving us the bottle.

  “Go ahead,” he says. “It’s your first real drink,” he says. So I tilt the glass back and let the liquid fall down my throat like velvet. I taste so many things at once. “Do you like it?” he asks. “It will go great with what you’re eating tonight.”

  “It’s really good, but I need to get used to it. It’s a little strong,” I clarify. Something about what I’ve said makes his eyes twinkle a little from the candlelight or from the love we feel. Probably a little of both.

  The wine warms me. He warms me, too. I watch people as they trot up and down the sidewalk outside of the windows along the wall, and we order garlic ice cream, and then the tiramisu. “Sorry, but they didn’t have the mayonnaise chocolate cake,” he teases.

  “But you know it was actually good.” He nods, and pulls a blue Tiffany’s box out from somewhere under the table.

  “Kolton?” I question.

  “Calm down, Mia. It’s not exactly what you think,” he explains as he opens the box showing me a large red gemstone on a silver band. “You’re young—too young to marry me,” he says, as my heart palpitates, and I watch as his eyes light up. “But this ring is a promise,” he says. “I’m not asking you to promise you’ll marry me,” he says, earnestly. “I’m promising you everything this ring represents. Rubies protect and open the heart and support lov
e.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, as he slips the ring over the finger on my right hand. “I—I love it. It’s perfect,” I say, moving it from my right hand to my left, where it should be as that finger is a direct line to one’s heart. He watches me, and I know that he understands what my gesture means. As soon as we’re ready and I’m old enough to make such a commitment, I am promising to accept his proposal. I have no doubt that we will be married in the near future.

  As he picks up my hand, placing a kiss on the top of my hand, I can’t help but reflect that I’ve come full circle. The girl, who walked into this place as a scared orphan a year and a half ago, will walk out of here as a woman in her own right tonight. For him, he’s learned how to earn trust. How to put someone else’s needs above his own—and what real love actually feels like. We’ve gained so much—and we’re a family.

  In the places where there used to be scars and fissures that could easily break, now the weaknesses are stronger than ever before. I do this for him, and he does this for me.

  I am like a phoenix rising from the ashes, and he’s helped me fly. I wouldn’t be who I am without him. I know that. I tell him that with my eyes.

  I put my hand over his, and when I thank him, I’m thanking him for believing in me; I’m thanking him for fighting for us.

  I thank him for this unending love.

  The End

  About Shelby Rebecca

  Shelby grew up between two mountains and a lake in Wasilla, Alaska. She used to run around in the tall grass, catch frogs, rescue dragonflies, ride horses, and ice-skate during recess. She still likes adventures and has even gone skydiving. Today she lives in Northern California with her husband, John and their daughter, Elise, and their two dogs.

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