Amina

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I flew back to LA alone.

I didn’t waste time with saying goodbye to Bach. There was no point, and the idea of dragging this process out was torture. My Tesla was waiting for me in the airport lot. The sight of it made my heart choke.

It’s not mine, not really.

I’d drop it off at his house in the morning. The screen lit up, telling me it was after midnight. If I go back now, he won’t be there yet. Violet might be. Seeing her was no better; she’d tried to call me multiple times, I’d ignored each.

Drumming my fingers on the wheel, I made a decision: if I was going to have to abandon this Hollywood dream, I might as well enjoy what I could before I returned to Portland. I hoped Korine could get me hired at Caffeline again.

The engine hummed as I curved along the 101 freeway. It was dark, but I could still see—and hear—the ocean with my windows down. I drove all the way to Malibu. It was the emptiest I'd ever seen the freeway.

Parking in the empty lot, I walked across the sand towards the water. Halfway there I kicked my shoes off, enjoying the feel of the grit between my toes. It was nice... but the gentle waves, the wet sand hugging my feet, was better.

I wonder what it would have been like to see this with someone else. It was a lonely thought. I put it in the jar with all the others. I had a lot of them lately. For an hour, I walked up and down the beach. Exhaustion swallowed me up soon after.

Climbing in my car with a yawn, I checked the time. Could I stay awake long enough to watch the sunrise? That would be nice. Reclining my chair, I stared out at the dark ocean and imagined the sun dusting its red hue across the clouds.

Something tapped loudly on my window. Gasping, I thrashed in my seat-belt. “Ma’am,” the police officer said, tapping again. “Are you okay?”

Sunlight blinded me; I scrubbed my eyes. “Yes, sorry, I dozed off.” It’s morning already? I must have passed out.

“You can’t sleep here,” he said, frowning at me.

“I’m really sorry, seriously.” Wiping drool off my cheek, I turned the engine on. “I’ll move along right now and go—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Home isn't here anymore. I waited for him to move, then I started back onto the freeway.

I turned on the radio to distract myself with music. Instead, Roshio's voice boomed out. “—unsure why she abandoned her contract, but Amina is a good example of read your paperwork, folks!”

I was so surprised I nearly rear-ended the car in front of me. What the hell? I twisted the volume up—Roshio was definitely talking about me. “You said you shared a past with her?” another man asked. A sound effect blared out a ridiculous Whhhooooooo!

“Come on, Chuck. It wasn't like that!” Roshio laughed. “Don't be so embarrassing.”

“Speaking of embarrassing,” Chuck said, “That video you showed me... wow.”

Video? I wondered nervously.

Roshio was laughing all over again. “Meow, you mean. Those cat ears! How could anyone take her seriously.”

“Aya Summer's lawyer sure is. There was mention of a wrap party for Amina's debut CD. Did you hear it?”

“Only a little, just snippets. But I heard more than the rest of the world ever will.”

“Then you're quite confident Beats and Blast won't be paying off her old contract to keep her on their roster?”

“Chuck, I'm—wait for it—Hashtag Roshionfident!”

I turned the radio off before I had to hear another second of the show. How does he know about the contract fiasco? Roshio must have reached out to Pickadillie Records. He'd probably spoken to my aunt. He'd definitely done his research if he'd found my videos on Caffeline's Instagram. What a scum bag, chasing the latest gossip.

My anger gave way to misery. Roshio's certain Bach won't help me out. I didn't want Bach to pay my debt. I would never be able to live with myself if he gave up his company just because of me. But it still hurt to hear such a cold fact from another person's lips.

It was still early when I pulled up Bach's driveway. Parking in the garage, I curled my hand around the Tesla's keys. This was the last time I'd hold them. I wasn't much of a car fan, but it was another nail in the finality of my situation to know this, too, was over with.

Quietly, I entered the house through the garage's side door. I was hoping to head upstairs without being seen. Then I could pack my bag before I spoke to Violet; I wanted this done quick, like ripping off a bandage.

When I got close to the stairs, I heard a masculine voice that set my heart racing.

Bach is home.

My fingers brushed the banister. I should have resisted, but... his claws were still hooked in me. I needed to see him, even if it was in secret. One more time wouldn't hurt.

The voices became clearer as I approached the kitchen. Craning my head, I spotted Bach and Violet. They were facing away from me, her shoulder near his, her voice quiet but certain. “You have to do it, Bach. It's the only way.”

“Why does everyone believe they know what's better for my company than me?”

God, he sounded tired. Did he fly back this morning or last night?

Violet's hair shifted as she hung her chin to her chest. “Think about it.”

“I have.”

“No, really, really think. Bach, you barely know her.”

They're talking about me.

“I know enough,” he said curtly.

“Everything Laurence left to you... all of it... will be gone if you decide to keep her. Bach, I'm begging you.”

His laugh was humorless, the edges tinged with defeat. “When I used to tease you about begging me, this was never what I meant.”

“No more jokes. This isn't funny. None of it is funny.” Her shoulders trembled—I realized with horror that she was crying. Bach noticed, too, and I caught the shock in his profile when he turned towards her.

His arm came around, nervous at first, then resting firmly. “When I made my promise to save this company, I didn't know there would be something I wanted to save more.”

“Selling off Beats and Blast to Sherman won't do Amina any favors. She might be free of her contract with Pickadillie, but you'll be broke, done for. There are other people to think about here besides her. I hate it, too, but if you care about this empire your father built, brick by brick... we need to cut her loose and focus on the musicians we have left. It's the right thing to do.”

His silence went on for an eternity. I wanted him to speak, and then when he did, I wished he'd remained quiet forever. “You're right,” he said softly. “That would be the right thing to do.”

My hand sparked with pain—the Tesla key was cutting into my skin. I eased my grip, then backed away. Don't be sad, I told myself. This is what has to happen.

There was no way a dream like this could go on forever.

Halfway through packing, I heard an engine through my window. Glancing out, I spotted Bach's tell-tale orange Mustang with Violet in the passenger seat. They either hadn't noticed the Tesla in the garage or had decided to give me some privacy. Free of the fear of drawing attention to myself, I finished packing my things.

A few taps into my fancy phone, and I'd ordered a Lyft to pick me up. They'd take me to the airport. I hated having to spend anymore of Bach's money, but I had no other way to get back to Portland. I'd cut the card up once I land, then mail him a check to pay him back.

It would take me a few weeks working at the café to do it. That is, if they even hired me back.

My phone buzzed—my ride was here. There was only one thing left to do.

Walking across the silver music note that, once upon a time, Bach had spread out on top of with me beneath him, I entered the kitchen. Carefully, I placed the Tesla key on the counter.

It was time to go.