1

Hailey

My mother's blonde hair shook as she read the latest gossip on her phone aloud to me. "Hailey Jones is a talentless upstart who got lucky with her first album. I've got no time for drama."

She slammed her phone on the table and turned to me. "What the hell is Kendra's problem?"

I pushed up from the couch and shook my head. "I have no idea. But it sounds like she's the drama."

Despite my nonchalant response, my thoughts raced through possible reasons why the pop star, Kendra, hated me. When no clear explanation came to mind, my lungs tightened. Rubbing my chest, I crossed the marble foyer and walked toward the front doors of my home, a Spanish Colonial style in California.

"Hailey! Where are you going? We need to talk about this."

"I need some air." I grabbed a sweater from the closet and wrapped it over my shoulders.

My mother shoved at the tattooed man sitting on the couch. "Go with her."

My bodyguard reluctantly pulled his eyes away from his phone and looked around the room. He sighed when he saw me standing at the door. I cocked my hip and waited for him to shuffle his feet in my direction.

In the meantime, my mother grabbed a prescription bottle and passed me a pill. "Here, this will help."

I tossed the pill down my throat and swallowed it dry.

When his slumped shoulders were less than ten feet away, I turned and walked out the door.

"Hey, where are you going? The car's this way."

"Yes. But I need some air. You can stay back if you want."

His footsteps receded for a minute, but then I heard him jog up behind me. He muttered something under his breath, but I wasn't paying attention.

My thoughts centered on Kendra's comments. Why would she come after me like that? We had a great conversation backstage at the America's Choice Awards. After I won the Fresh New Artist award, she was kind to me in the press room. So, this 80-degree turn made no sense.

A car honked, and I stepped back from the intersection. The light had turned red, but I hadn't noticed.

"Watch where you're going!" my bodyguard shouted several steps behind me.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"How much longer is this walk gonna be?" he asked, with his hands on his hips.

I checked my watch. It'd been only ten minutes, but the fresh air had worked and I breathed a little easier now. Removing my sweater, I tied it around my waist. I wore only a tank top underneath, but I felt warmer now.

I spotted a popular coffee shop across the street. "Let's get something at JJ's and then we can head back."

He exhaled and mumbled, "finally" under his breath.

The light turned green, and I crossed the street. A man leaning against one of the stores pushed off against the brick wall when he saw me. He whipped a camera from his backpack and started clicking as I strode toward JJ's .

I ignored him but put my sunglasses on. It was a cloudy day in Los Angeles, but that never stopped most residents from wearing shades, sometimes even indoors.

The photographer waited outside as JJ's had a no-paparazzi policy, making it a popular celebrity hotspot. However, that also meant you would find at least one pap outside waiting to take your picture.

Upon entering the shop, pop music blasted from the speaker, replacing the camera clicks. It was a welcome change. If people recognized me, they didn't show it, as most stared down at their phones. Besides, this was L.A. and celebrity sightings weren't that rare.

The line to order was five people deep, and I stood and waited at the back of the line.

My bodyguard sat at one of the booths, grinning at his phone. Instead of shouting across the room, I texted him: What can I get you?

A decaf vanilla latte with oat milk

He ordered the same thing every time, but being this early in the morning, I had expected it to be regular coffee instead of decaf.

I faced the front and surveyed the black and green menu posted on the wall. I always tried something different each time.

The front door chimed and a young man wearing a yellow college hoodie and blue shorts walked in. He was probably in his mid-twenties, just like me. I returned my gaze to the menu.

When he reached the back of the line behind me, he sighed.

"I don't fucking believe it. That stupid bitch," he muttered low under his breath.

The venom in his voice sent chills down my back, and I rubbed the goosebumps along my arms.

He shuffled his feet behind me, and his restlessness made me just as jittery. Fortunately, the line moved quickly, and I was the next one to order.

A few more minutes and I could get away from this creep.

He stomped behind me. " Fuck, fuck, fuck ."

The barrister's voice made me jump. "Hi, can I take your order?"

"Yes," I said, relieved to get moving. "I'd like a large decaf vanilla latte with oat milk and no sugar. And a small caramel latte with lots of foam."

"That'll be $2.85."

With my card already in hand, I tapped it against the machine. "Thank you," I said. Then, spotting the wooden utensils by the cash register to my right, I picked up a spoon to scoop up my foam.

I moved over a step to wait for my drinks.

"Hi, can I take your order?"

I stared straight ahead to avoid making eye contact with the shifty stranger.

"Sir? Sir? What—"

The woman screamed, and I snapped my head back, but a streak of pain shot through me. A throbbing pulse hammered at my shoulder and a warm stream trickled from the spot down my back.

"That's for what you said about Kendra, bitch," the man sneered, then ran out the door.

My legs went numb, and I dropped to my knees. My whole body trembled as I slowly reached behind me to touch the throbbing in my shoulder. Something was there. Running my fingertips along the object, my lips trembled when I realized a wooden knife protruded from my shoulder. He had stabbed me in front of a room full of witnesses and got away.

My bodyguard stood beside me and tried to remove the knife, but I cried out in pain.

"Someone call an ambulance," he shouted. "Hurry."

A blue haze formed around the periphery of my vision, and my stomach flipped. Using both hands to cover my mouth, I begged. Please don't throw up .

Everyone in the coffee shop surrounded me. Some consoled me and told me I would be okay, while others took pictures with their phones.

I didn't know how much time passed until a paramedic crouched down beside me. "You're going to be fine. We're taking you to the hospital. Can you walk to the ambulance, or should we get a stretcher?" Her sympathetic eyes calmed me.

I shook my head. "No. I can walk."

She held my uninjured shoulder and elbow, helping me stand. "Take your time."

I nodded and swallowed another wave of nausea. Using my back muscles to stand intensified the pain. But I bit down on my lip and took one step at a time toward the ambulance.

Once inside, the paramedic laid me down. "I'm going to set you up with an IV. Close your eyes and rest for now."

I nodded and let my eyes droop. Someone started the engine and then we were moving. The paramedic held my body still as the ambulance tore down the busy streets of Los Angeles.

Her gentle touch was the last thing I remembered before the world went dark and silent.

***

"How the hell did this happen?" my mother's voice pierced through the fog. "Her bodyguard was there, but somehow this psychopath managed to stab her. With a wooden knife!"

My eyes fluttered open, but the room was hazy.

"She'll be all right." That was my father's voice and my lips curved at the sound.

"How do you know that? What if she can't perform again, huh? What will we do then?"

Their arguing hurt my brain. "Dad?"

A figure rushed toward me. "I'm right here, sweetheart." He grabbed my hand and patted it.

I tried to nod, but my head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

"Oh, thank goodness you're all right," my mother cried. She paced the room. "You'll be happy to know we've fired that bodyguard."

Considering my present state, I wouldn't describe myself as happy.

I licked my dry lips. "He stayed with me until the ambulance came."

"Really, Hailey? You're going to defend the guy?"

I shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. I'm hiring a new bodyguard today. Nothing like this will ever happen again."

Then she snapped her fingers. "What about that military friend of yours? Didn't you say his son started a bodyguard business?"

My father pursed his lips. "That's right, he did."

"Call him today and find out the details. I want someone who isn't afraid of stepping in the line of fire."

"Darling, it was a knife, not a gun," my dad said.

"This time. What about next time?"

Next time? Would there be a next time?

I never thought there would be a first time. When I first picked up a guitar and imagined playing in front of a stadium full of people, it had never occurred to me that someone would want to hurt me.

He had said it was for Kendra. But I'd never said or done anything to Kendra.

I wanted to believe this was just an isolated case, that this man had made the whole thing up in his head, but something didn't sit right with me. What if there was more to this? I needed to find out what the hell was going on.