Cameras are everywhere the moment I step into the general population area of the terminal. My name is being called, screamed in order to get my attention. I’m told to look left, right, anywhere but at the ground that I’m currently looking at. Someone tipped the press off that I was arriving because the horde of paparazzi taking my picture is triple what I’m used to. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Laura did this, and she did it on purpose.

Levi’s name is said, questions about our relationship are asked. They want to know how Van feels, especially since I’m pregnant. I’m half tempted to take a pregnancy test and post the results online, but that is just feeding into their delusions. I never did anything like that when Van and I were together, and I don’t plan to start now.

Thankfully airport security sees my plight and comes to my rescue. This is another thing that Laura should’ve done, have security meet me at the gate, but apparently, my safety has slipped her mind.

With two guards, one in front and the other flanking me, I pull out my phone and text Levi to let him know that I made it. The entire flight, I stared out the window so that no one would see my plight. Tears clouded my vision while my heart tore into pieces. I did not want to leave Levi and the girls but knew I had to be with Rusty and Gabe. They’re my family, just as Levi, Stormy, and Willow are becoming one as well.

This feels like a test, some evil reality that is proving that I can’t combine the life I’m starting to build and the one that I’ve lived for so long. It’s like everything is playing out the way the critics have been saying, the way Levi’s friends have alluded to—Levi and I can’t exist in the real world together.

I refuse to believe that Levi and I can’t co-exist together outside of his home because deep in my heart, I was meant to meet the Austins and be a part of their lives. Falling in love with them was icing on the cake.

The guard taps me on my shoulder, and I look up. “Miss, I believe he’s waiting for you,” he says, pointing toward a man in a dark suit, holding a sign that says ZARA PHILLIPS. Behind my dark shades, I roll my eyes at the complete bullshit. Everyone in the industry has a pseudonym, but no, my publicist alerts everyone at LAX that I’m arriving today.

“Sure enough,” I mutter under my breath but manage to smile at the guard, so he knows to lead me in that direction.

The driver reaches for my bags, and I hand them over easily. He says something to the guard as we fall in line behind him, and head toward the car. I sigh when I see the ostentatious limo parked in the no parking zone, along with the police officer barking out that he’s going to have it towed. Of course, he’s using much more colorful language and seems rather put off by the fact that it’s parked where it is.

As luck would have it, a group of girls run up to me and ask for my autograph. As much as I want to tell them no, I can’t. I sign each one and pose for a photo before telling them that I really must go. A few of them mention Van, but it’s the one who mentions Levi that brings a smile to my face.

I’m sure to wave to her before I climb into the car. It’s my way of letting her know that I appreciate her support. I thank the guard who is holding the car door and climb in, closing my eyes and resting my head on the back of the seat.

“Hello, Zara.”

My head jerks up, and my eyes slowly focus on the person across from me. I reach for the door handle and pull, only to find it locked and the car moving.

“What are you doing in my car, Van?” My heart thunders loudly, the pounding rings in my ears. I’m not scared of him, but the situation. He shouldn’t be here, and if Laura knew… no, of course, she knew. I pull out my phone, only to find the battery dead with my charger in the trunk with my bags. “Fuck,” I mutter.

“I’m doing the same thing you’re doing.”

I shake my head. “I don’t remember agreeing to share a car with you.”

“We’re saving the band money,” he states, shrugging as if it’s no big deal that we’re together. To him, it’s not. He doesn’t feel like he’s wronged me at all. That cheating on me was okay and that I’m going to forgive him because that is what he wants.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in rehab?” I ask. “Wasn’t that your big save me from me push you tried to get me to buy?”

“I checked out. It wasn’t for me,” he says as nonchalantly as possible.

“Right, cheating on your wife, the woman you’d been with since you were seventeen is more your speed. How stupid of me to forget.”

“Zara,” he draws my name out in the tone he used to use when I was upset with him or when he would need something. I can’t fathom how this man doesn’t understand that I’m beyond my breaking point with him. “I’ve asked you to let me explain.”

“Explain what, exactly?” I catch him staring. I turn toward the door and look out the side window, only to have the scenery blocked by a semi. Not that there’s much to see between LAX and Hollywood, or whatever hospital Rusty and Gabe are at.

“I know I hurt you, that I destroyed your faith and trust in me. I took advantage of a situation and couldn’t stop.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. Not because I want Van back, but because I’m angry that I’m here, trapped in this car with him. I don’t want to hear his excuses, to be blamed for our marriage failing, to find out that I could’ve done something to prevent him from straying. I already blame myself, wondering at what point he thought another woman would treat him better than his wife.

Van leans forward, and I adjust in my seat, pushing me closer to the door. I desperately want to try the handle again, but becoming road kill is not high on my priority list.

“I’m sorry, Z. I’m sorry for everything I did that fucked up our marriage. If it’s any consolation--”

I hold up my hand in a silent plea for him to stop talking. “If you’re going to finish that sentence with ‘she didn’t mean anything’ or ‘they didn’t,' don’t. I don’t want to know, Van. I’ve lost more than enough sleep, wondering if there was only one, and then finding out there were two. I don’t want to know anymore.” I shake my head to fight off an impending bout of tears. I refuse to cry in front of him, to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s reached me on an emotional level.

Surprisingly, he stays quiet for the duration of the drive. Without my phone, I’ve lost track of time. I don’t know if we’ve been driving for thirty minutes, forty-five or longer. What I do know is that I’m tired, I miss Levi and the girls, and I want to go home. Home being Nashville, in a house that is filled with laughter and love.

When the car finally pulls off the highway, I’m actively looking for any sign as to what town we’re in. There isn’t even a hospital sign.

“Where are we going? What hospital are Rusty and Gabe in?”

“I don’t know the name,” Van mutters as he looks at his phone. I’m half tempted to pull it out of his hands so I can call Levi, but giving Van his number is the last thing I want.

Turn after turn, my concern grows the farther we drive into the dessert. I rack my brain trying to come up with what hospital would be out here that would have a trauma unit. Fact is I can’t come up with a single one.

I slowly pull my sunglasses up and glare at Van. He looks away, unable to meet my gaze. “Where are we going?”

He looks out the window, and without looking at me says, “You’ll find out.”

Sure as the sky is blue, the car turns and pulls into a long driveway. Outside looms a Spanish style building. People are walking around, all wearing white coats. Nothing but fear takes over my body as images of me being held here against my will flash through my mind.

I contemplate running as soon as I get out of the car, but can’t recall a single building from the last five miles of the drive. It’s too hot for me to run and with no cell phone, I’m stuck.

My door opens, and a young man reaches for my hand. “Welcome to Paradise Springs, Mrs. Phillips.”

“What is this place?”

“It’s a spa,” he says. “Your rest and relaxation are waiting for you just beyond those doors.”

Turning, I look through the sliding glass doors, wondering what the hell Van has gotten me into to. “Am I able to leave whenever I want too?”

The poor man looks confused, but nods. “Yes, of course.”

I still don’t believe him though until I see Gabe and Rusty coming toward me. They’re smiling, and more importantly, they’re alive and seemingly uninjured. If they were in an accident, it was a fender bender, meaning there was no reason for me to come home. It hits me like a ton of bricks. I’ve been duped. I’ve been set up and brought back to California against by own will.

Van gets out of the limo and hugs Rusty and Gabe. I angle my head, waiting for Darian to show his face so I can beat the shit out of him. I know he’s best friends with Van, but if he had any part in this set-up, I’m going to kill him. Our mother will understand because blood is thicker than the lying-cheating-asshole-best-friend-who-cheated-on-your-sister guy.

“Hello, Zara.”

It takes me a minute to recognize the face of our manager at the record label, Caleb Gilbert, and standing next to him is my agent, Ryan Greene, who does not look pleased.

The car pulls away, leaving me standing in the middle of the driveway, almost as if I’m in a standoff. Van, Rusty, Gabe, and Caleb are all staring at me, while Ryan is focused on the ground.

“What’s going on?”

“We have business to discuss,” Caleb says, motioning for me to follow everyone inside. Reluctantly, I pick up my bag and start to follow until I reach Ryan.

“You’re in on this?” I ask. What this is, I don’t even know, but I have a feeling this is some backward attempt at an intervention. You know, because I’m the one screwing up the dynamics of the band.

“Sorry, Z.”

My throat tightens, and my heart starts racing as I walk into the small conference room. The sight of food makes my stomach growl, but I can’t eat anything. The thought of food makes me want to hurl right now.

I take the lone seat at the end of the table, and the people I once considered my family surround me, except Darian. I look at Rusty and Gabe and shake my head. “I thought you were seriously hurt. You lied to me.” Neither of them say anything, nor do they show any remorse.

Caleb clears his throat and folds his hands. “Zara, we know you’re going through a rough time, but this…” he waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever it is that you have going on with this guy… what’s his name,” he says as he shuffles through some papers. “Oh yes, Levi Austin. It stops now.”

“Excuse me?”

“Zara, what Caleb is trying to say is that your image is taking a beating right now and that is affecting his ability to market Reverend Sister,” Ryan says with a half-assed smile.

“Who I date is none of the label’s business.”

“It is when the label suffers,” Caleb says. “When we signed you, we signed you with the understanding that you were with Van.” He bobbles his head back and forth as if he’s speaking to a four-year-old.

“So you’re saying that I have to be with Van, even though he’s fucking the entire population of Los Angeles, and who knows where else because the label is suffering?”

Caleb sighs.

“You do realize that if he had kept his dick in his pants where it belonged, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, and yet, you’re coming after me because I moved on?”

“It’s not about you moving on, Zara. It’s about who you moved on with. You have an image, and that image screams danger. It’s punk rock, not Holly Homemaker or whatever it is you’ve been doing in Hicksville.”

“Z, what Caleb is saying--”

“Don’t fucking talk to me, Rusty. I thought you were dying. You and Gabe are no better than Van.” Years of friendship, down the drain. “Where’s my brother?”

Van clears his throat. “He doesn’t know we’re here.”

“And why’s that, Van?

Van shakes his head, refusing to answer because he knows that Darian won’t stand for this. When it comes down to it, Darian will always side with me. “That’s what I thought.”

Caleb slides a paper to Ryan, who pushes it toward me. “You have two choices, Zara. End the relationship with the crooner or relinquish your stake in Reverend Sister.”

This time I don’t hold back the tears. People, who have nothing to do with the creation of my band, are forcing me to choose between the man I love and the band that I created with my brother in our garage.

I look at everyone in the room. Their eyes are downcast, looking at the table, all except Van’s. He’s leaning back in his chair, staring at me, waiting to see what move I’m going to make.