Sing For Me by Rachel Schurig

Will

Iexpect the media furor to die down after a day or two. It doesn’t. The photographers remain camped out in front of Eva’s house and on the street in front of my shop. Luckily, the security team my dad hired is able to keep them away from the private property surrounding the apartment building, so we escape there and spend the next two days getting progressively more stir-crazy in my place.

For four days I only leave the apartment to go to work, fighting my way through the paparazzi outside the shop. Eva doesn’t leave at all.

“I seriously don’t understand why they aren’t dropping this,” I mutter to Rose and River on the fourth night. We’re talking softly in the kitchen so we don’t disturb Eva, who fell asleep on the couch about half way through the movie we were all watching. “How is this such a big story?”

“It doesn’t surprise me at all,” River says. He’s leaning against the kitchen cabinets, arms crossed over his chest, and he looks just like his dad. Out of his three boys, River looks the most like Uncle Daltrey—tall and lanky with ice blue eyes and a shock of white blond hair. He used to dye it a darker color back in high school, tired of the comparisons between him and his famous father. But he’s been wearing it his natural shade lately and I hope that means he’s feeling more sure of himself.

“You’re both celebrities,” he continues, and I cut him off.

“I’m not a celebrity,” I argue. “No one even knows who I am.”

“If they didn’t before they do now,” Rose points out, and I scowl at her. She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying. Your face was on the cover of half a dozen gossip magazines this week.”

“Celebrity Hound wrote a whole article about you,” River says cheerfully. “It was pretty good, actually.”

“Why in the hell are you reading that crap?”

“Someone needs to keep track of your press.”

I groan, burying my head in my hands. “I don’t want press.”

“Will, like it or not, when the son of American rock and roll royalty starts dating the highest selling female recording artist of the past decade, it’s going to be a story.” Rose’s voice is gentle. “Eva’s massively popular. If you would have dated her two years ago, it still would have been a story. But now?”

“That fire was really high profile, man,” River says. “I know you’ve had your head buried in the sand for the past few years, but that shit was everywhere.”

“And then Eva basically disappeared off the face of the earth,” Rose goes on. “She didn’t have a public appearance for more than a year. No one even knew if she was injured or healthy or what. It was this huge mystery.” She rubs my tense shoulder. “And then she shows up with the son of one of the most famous musicians in the world. Of course people are going to be talking about it.”

I groan. “So it’s just going to be like this? Indefinitely?” I ask. “Because that really sucks.”

“Eventually it will calm down,” Rose says. “All stories lose interest at some point.”

“Great,” I mutter. “We’ll just camp out in this apartment for the next few weeks until that happens.”

“You’re more than welcome to do that,” Rose says. “I love having Eva here.”

“Girl makes a mean margarita,” River agrees. “And that Raider of Galaxies show she makes us watch isn’t half bad. Besides, we’re not even going to be around after tomorrow.” He pushes off from the counter, flipping his hair back from his face. “Speaking of that, I should probably finish packing.”

“Don’t remind me,” Rose moans. “I’m nowhere near done.”

“You always put it off until the last minute,” River says and I tune out their sibling bickering.

Tomorrow, River and Rose will be joining the rest of the family heading to our property out in Tennessee for an annual summer vacation. An annual vacation I haven’t been on in four years. I had actually considered trying to make it over the weekend at least, but then all this shit happened.

At least there will be a little more space in the apartment with the two of them gone. And maybe enough privacy to finally have the talk I wanted to have the day everything went to shit. Eva has been so on edge with everything that I haven’t wanted to push. But the purgatory of our relationship being unsettled is getting to me.

River nudges my shoulder with his, pulling me from my thoughts. “You should come, man. You know your parents and siblings would freak the fuck out, they’d be so happy.”

“All the cousins would, too,” Rose adds.

I stare at them like they’ve lost their minds. “You think I’m going to leave her right now?”

River’s lips twitch. “You know, you don’t really talk about her like this is some kind of friendly relationship.”

“Shut up, Riv.”

He holds up his hands. “I’m just saying. It’s sounding more and more serious. Have you guys had the talk yet?”

I’m going to strangle him.

“We’re here for you, Will,” he says in a mock-serious tone, placing a hand on my shoulder. “If you ever need to talk out your feelings—”

I push his hand off and scowl at him. “Shut the hell up, River.”

Rose rolls her eyes and pushes her brother away. “Stop being an idiot. I was trying to talk to him about something serious.”

“Rose, I’m not going to leave Eva in the middle of all this. She can’t even walk out of her house without having cameras shoved in her face.”

“I said nothing about leaving her. I think you should bring her.”

I stare down at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

She crosses her arms. “I’m not. I think it’s the perfect place for you guys to hide out for a while.”

“You want me to bring Eva to the Tennessee house?” I ask, aghast. “With our entire family?”

“Our family is not that bad, Will,” she insists.

“Santana literally screamed in her face when they met at the gala.”

“I can talk to Santana.”

I run a hand through my hair, the very thought of the trip making me nervous. “Our mothers will be hounding her about wedding dates and babies within twenty minutes.”

“He’s got a point there,” River says, grinning like he can’t think of anything more entertaining. I flip him off.

Rose raises her hands. “All I’m saying is that the Tennessee property is a really good place to get away from all the shit in the real world. I mean, why did my parents buy it in the first place?”

That shuts me up. My Uncle Daltrey bought the farm in the mountains of Tennessee for Daisy before they were even married. Aunt Daisy used to have a really hard time with crowds and the masses of Ransom fans. The original farmhouse was meant to be her escape from all that.

I think about my Aunt Daisy. And my Aunt Haylee. And how Eva has a lot more in common with them than I really let myself consider.

“You’ve both been cooped up,” Rose says. “I think a trip away might be good for you.”

“Yeah, but Rose—it’s our whole family.” I don’t understand why she isn’t getting this.

She watches me for a minute. “You’re going to have to forgive them eventually, Will,” she finally murmurs, and my body goes rigid. Behind her, River is wearing an oh shit expression.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I force out, voice tight.

“Oh, please. You’re still furious with them about Skye.”

“We’re not talking about this right now.”

She shakes her head, looking sad now. “We never talk about it, Will. And I think we should.”

I want to push her out of the way, want to storm off out of the kitchen, out of this apartment. Want to drive and drive until I stop thinking about Skye and my dad and my uncles and their stupid fucking record label.

But Eva is here. And I can’t leave.

I release a long breath and meet her eyes. “Not right now, Rose. Please.”

She holds my gaze for what feels like forever before nodding, her expression defeated. “I’m going to go pack,” she mutters. But she stops on her way out of the kitchen to squeeze my arm—whether in apology or as a sign of support I don’t know. Maybe both.

River is uncharacteristically quiet as he gives me a brief nod and follows his sister out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with thoughts I don’t want rushing through my brain.

I pull out my cellphone and stare down at the blank screen, trying to make my fingers do the thing I’ve been avoiding for weeks now. Finally, I pull up a search engine and type her name. Eve Lidell.

The first page of hits are all about the two of us. I leave those links alone and scroll back another page, looking for articles about the fire. With a sick feeling in my stomach, I click one.

Mass speculation continues to swirl surrounding Grammy award winning artist Eve. The pop star surprised the crowd at the Booker Club one week ago when she appeared on stage for a special, unannounced performance at the intimate venue. The excitement didn’t last. Halfway through that performance, fire broke out in the lighting system behind the stage.

I scan the next few paragraphs, mostly details about the fire that I can’t bring myself to picture. Halfway through the article, the focus goes back to Eva.

The mega popular star hasn’t been seen since the disaster. Her representatives will only say that she’s recovering and request privacy. Meanwhile speculation online is at a fever pitch, with fans wondering what could be keeping Eve out of sight for so long. Many argue that if she is, in fact, in stable condition, that her team would be eager to get her out in front of cameras to set the music world’s mind at ease.

I click back to the search results, eyes scanning the article titles.

Eve Not Seen For Three Weeks.

Report: Eve Majorly Disfigured in Shocking Fire.

Where’s Eve?

I feel like throwing up. Somehow seeing it all here, in black and white, drives home the magnitude of the incident in a way even talking to Eva hadn’t. I swallow hard and go back to the search box. This time I type in her name and add the year before the fire happened.

The screen once again fills with hits. Stories about her meteoric rise to fame. The explosion of her first album. The critical success of her second. Sold out tour dates. Bidding wars over resale tickets. Grammy nominations. Grammy wins.

The pictures of her give me pause. She looks so different, her hair a platinum blonde, makeup heavy on her face. Thick enough to block any sign of her freckles. Eva rarely wears make-up around me.

There’s a short clip of her performance at the American Music Awards. She’s on stage in a skimpy, sparkling jumpsuit, moving in unison with the dancers behind her.

I think about the Eva that I know, the red-headed girl who lives in casual sundresses and makes me watch terrible sci-fi shows. I would hardly know this is the same person.

Somehow, these stories, these pictures, make me feel almost as nauseous as the ones about the fire. I finally understand what River and Rose have been trying to tell me for weeks. Eve Lidell is a really big fucking star.

The media freak-out over us dating suddenly doesn’t seem so unlikely.

“Will?” Eva’s groggy voice calls from the living room and a flood of relief goes through me at the prospect of a distraction from the shit running through my head. I pocket my phone and leave the kitchen.

She’s sitting up on the couch, blinking around and looking adorably rumpled and confused. Her face relaxes when she sees me. “Hey.”

“You know you snore when you sleep?” I ask, trying to keep things lighter than how I feel.

She scowls at me. “I do not.”

“You do. It’s adorable.”

She narrows her eyes. “I hate you right now.”

I slide onto the couch next to her and she immediately leans into me. “Did your cousins go to bed?”

“Packing for a trip,” I tell her, then raise my eyebrows. “We’re going to have the place to ourselves for a week.”

I expect her to make some flirty remark, or maybe blush, but instead she scowls.

“What?” I ask. “You don’t want to be alone with me?”

“No, I’m just tired of being in this apartment!”

“We can go back to yours,” I offer.

“And be stuck inside there, too.” Even the private beach stopped being a safe refuge for us after paparazzi started taking pictures from boats with ultra zoom lenses. Unfuckingbelievable.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” I say, rubbing her arms. “We could always say fuck it, hire some security, and go out and do whatever we want.”

She nestles a little closer. “I want to say I’m strong enough for that, but I honestly don’t know.”

She admitted to me the other night that one of her biggest fears is that a crowd of photographers will cause her to have a flashback—and they’ll capture the entire thing on camera.

“I know I’m whining,” she says, blowing out a breath. “I’m just frustrated. I want to go outside.”

Unease settles deep in my belly. I’m perfectly capable of giving her the opportunity to go outside as much as she wants. To socialize a little bit, to swim and bike and kayak and a hundred other things my cousins and I grew up doing at the farm.

But we would be with my family. And not just for a few hours.

I would be with my dad.

“You okay?” she asks, looking up at me. “You seem kind of pre-occupied.”

I close my eyes. Am I really going to do this?

“I know somewhere we can go,” I say through gritted teeth. “But we wouldn’t be alone.”