I couldn’t imagine suffering through all this work to end up empty-handed in the end, without even the money to console me.

No wonder she’d tried to climb onto my tour.

Tours were where you made the money. And Ernie was right, she wasn’t capable of her own. Hell, I was barely capable of it, and I had my shit together. There was no way her label would make a tour investment for her in her condition. But latching on to me? That was easy. Three duets on my set and she was done for the night. And if she bailed, the show went on.

It was the perfect solution to her problem. It was probably the only solution. What other choice did she have? She couldn’t even quietly slip into obscurity, get a job doing something else. She was Lola fucking Simone.

“Have you eaten today?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Okay,” I said. “Why don’t we get you into bed and order some lunch.”

She studied me with those fractured green eyes I barely recognized, like a beaten dog, bracing to flinch.

I stood and put my hand out to her. “Ready to go?”

She looked at my outstretched palm, my small white flag, and her chin quivered. Then she folded over, put her face into her knees and cried.

I sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her. “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I whispered. “You just start over again. Start now.”

She sobbed uncontrollably and I sat there, holding her on the cold tile.

Jessa came back in with a coffee and a water and sat on the other side of Lola until she calmed down.

“Lola, look at me.” I waited until her glassy eyes held mine. “I will do whatever I have to do to help you. Do you understand? If we can get you into rehab, will you go?”

She paused a long moment before she nodded at the floor. Then she blinked up at me with wet eyes. “You can’t tell them where I am. They’ll send cameras. Will you take me?” The question was so childlike it made my heart constrict.

“Of course I’ll take you. And I won’t let them know where you are. I promise.”

I ordered her a sandwich and sat with her while she ate it wrapped in a blanket while Jessa made a call to a private rehab center she recommended.

There was still no word from Sloan. Courtney came back empty-handed. Sloan wasn’t at the airport and we were all still going to voicemail.

I got my clippers and buzzed the rest of Lola’s head for her. Then I handed her off to Jessa and Courtney so they could clean her up before we left for the rehab, and I went back to my room.

As soon as I sat on my bed, someone knocked on the door. I ran to open it without checking the peephole.

Sloan stood in the hallway with Tucker.

I grabbed her in my arms and dragged her inside without a word. The second I had her, I was instantly whole again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, crying. “I was so upset and I didn’t know what to do and then I thought about it and I knew you’d never cheat on me…”

My fingers raked into her hair and I clutched her to my chest. I felt like I was collapsing at a finish line. Tucker whined and cried, jumping at my legs. I put my forehead to hers with my eyes closed. “Sloan…”

“I drove halfway to Kristen’s and then I drove back because I knew you had to have an explanation. I’m sorry, Jason, I should have trusted you.”

“You didn’t finish your painting,” I whispered.

She shook her head. “I’m not going to. I’m staying to be with you.”

Every breath I took of her, I held. I broke away to look at her. Her red nose, her puffy eyes. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. The woman I was supposed to marry but never got the chance to ask because my job had robbed us of romantic evenings and perfect moments and finally a life worth sharing. My soulmate.

And someone I needed to let go.

It was going to take everything I had in me to do it. But I would do it. The price for being with me had officially become too high.

She wasn’t safe. I knew that now. It would only be a matter of time before they tried to separate us again. There was no telling how they’d do it, and I couldn’t protect her. Maybe next time their warning would be a violent one. They’d break her hand and she’d never paint again.

This wasn’t some deranged fan that a few armed bodyguards and a house in a compound could take care of. The threat came from within. They knew where I was at all times—where Sloan was. They had access to us. It could be a roadie they paid off. The person who cleaned our hotel room, anyone. And the more famous I got, the bigger the incentive to do it. There wasn’t even anyone I could confront about it. Who was the face behind this? I would never know.

And this wasn’t a life.

All the sacrifices were hers.

This wasn’t what I’d promised her and it never would be. We’d never have a house near Kristen and Josh because we’d just be transients, living in a bus. We’d never raise our kids with theirs. We’d never have anything normal.

I wanted her to have everything. I wanted her to be able to cook and update her blog, sleep in the same bed for more than two nights in a row. I wanted her to be the great artist I knew she was, to have children she wouldn’t have to raise alone or take on the road for them to know their father. She deserved it all and more.

And I could never give it to her.