Page 17 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ivy

“Freddie, you can’t come with me,” I say, hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Too late.” He tugs the Appies Hockey cap he stole from Adam a little lower on his forehead. “I’m already buckled in.”

“Then unbuckle, ” I say, voice rising. “Does Wayne know you’re out here?”

“Relax,” Freddie says. “Wayne basically knows. Or he will as soon as he realizes I’m not getting the massage you booked for me.”

“Freddie.”

“Just drive, all right?” he says. “It’ll be fine.”

I shift the rental car from reverse into park.

I had one delivered to the hotel in Los Angeles this morning and cleared my travel with Wayne.

He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of me going by myself, but since his connection within Margot’s security detail knows I’m coming, he begrudgingly agreed.

Not that I gave him any choice in the matter.

I’m not his responsibility like Freddie is his responsibility. If I want to go somewhere on my own, I still have that luxury.

But Freddie doesn’t.

“I’m not driving anywhere with you in the car,” I say. “This is not like going to CVS where you only might get into trouble. This is going to see Margot where you will absolutely get into trouble.”

“What kind of car even is this?” Freddie asks, tugging at the strap of his seatbelt.

“It’s a Honda. The kind of car normal people drive.”

“You’re saying I’m not normal?”

I let out a little laugh. “Yes, Freddie. I’m saying it’s not normal that you aren’t familiar with the interior of a Honda.”

“I wasn’t judging,” he says. “It’s fine. Nice, even. How long will it take us to get to Malibu?”

I groan. “Freddie, please don’t do this. I covered for you when you went to North Carolina on your own, but there’s more at stake here. Carina is my sister. Just let me handle this.”

His jaw tightens. “No,” he says simply.

“Why are you being so stubborn about this? If you don’t get out of the car, I’m not going. It’s really that black and white.”

“Why are you being so stubborn?” Freddie shoots back, eyes flashing.

“It’s my fault you’re even having to deal with this in the first place.

Do you know what it feels like to always have other people fix your problems?

Clean up your messes? To just sit, idle, because going anywhere or doing anything is too risky?

I care about this. I care about you. And I’m going with you. Now drive.”

My heart rate spikes at the vehemence in his voice. Freddie is always so good-natured, so chronically optimistic, it’s not very often I see this side of him.

“Margot’s security detail knows I’m coming,” I say, my tone gentler now. “If Wayne trusts that I can do this on my own, you should too. I appreciate you wanting to come, but there’s a lot more at stake for you than there is for me.”

Before he has the chance to respond, the back door of the Honda opens, and Wayne climbs inside.

It takes him a minute—he is a very large man, and the backseat of the Civic I rented is not particularly accommodating.

But after a few seconds of struggle, he pulls the door closed with a grunt and buckles his seatbelt.

“Seriously?” I say, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. He looks ridiculous squeezed into such a tiny space, his knees almost up to his ears.

He shrugs and motions toward Freddie. “If he goes, I go.”

“Wayne,” I say, turning so I can make direct eye contact. “Are you sure?”

“I texted Cole,” he says. “That’s Margot’s security guard. He says things there are very low key and it isn’t going to be a problem.” He looks over at Freddie. “But you’re staying in the car, man. You agree to that right now, or we aren’t going anywhere.”

“Done. Agreed,” Freddie says. “My butt won’t move from this seat.”

I look over and meet Freddie’s gaze, and he grins, looking annoyingly smug. “I get to control the music, right?” he says. “Do we have time to stop for snacks? ”

The drive to Malibu is beautiful. Traffic-filled, but still beautiful, with a view of the ocean on one side of the highway and steep hillsides on the other.

By the time we arrive, I’m convinced Freddie mostly wanted to come for the drive.

I sometimes forget how infrequently he gets to do “normal person” things.

But seeing him relax, windows down, music blaring, I can’t really blame him for wanting to come.

We’ve been on tour for months, moving from the bus to concert venues to hotels then back to the tour bus.

Always, Freddie is hiding from fans, ducking out of sight as quickly as possible.

But the truth is, if he wasn’t famous, he’d be exactly the kind of friend who would want to tag along on a trip like this. He’s always up for an adventure, and that’s definitely part of it. But he’s also just a really good friend.

And despite how much I protested his coming at first, when I pull up to the gate at the palatial beach house Margot Valemont currently occupies, nerves making me grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, I’m glad he’s beside me.

“I’ll call Cole and see if we can get the gates open,” Wayne says, pulling out his phone.

Freddie reaches over and wraps his larger hand around mine, giving it a quick squeeze. “Relax,” he says. “It’s just Carina. Things will be fine.”

Carina, who hasn’t texted or answered any of my calls. Who must, by virtue of her behavior, have very little desire to see me or else she would have responded to one of my many, many messages.

I’ve always had a solid relationship with my sister even if I don’t always understand her. We’ve never been close enough that we tell each other everything. But we’ve never ignored each other. We’ve never kept secrets about the stuff that matters most.

“What if she won’t come with me?” I ask.

“She might not,” Freddie says.

“What if she really is Margot’s new best friend, and I’ve lost her to the dark side?”

“Then I’ll knock Margot out with the closest frying pan, and we’ll have Wayne toss Carina over his shoulder and force her into the car.”

I let out a chuckle as the wide gates slowly swing open. “That sounds a lot like kidnapping.”

“All jokes aside,” Freddie says, “you probably should prepare yourself for the possibility. You really just want to know she’s safe, right? She might be fine. And if she is, you might have to leave her here.”

I think of Carina’s jumbled text message.

Maybe it’s just sisterly intuition, but I don’t think Carina is fine.

“I hope she’s okay,” I say. “But I’m not leaving her here either way.” I turn off the car and unbuckle my seatbelt. “You’ll stay here, right?” I say, even though Wayne made it very clear those were the terms of our trip.

Freddie rolls his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. I don’t want to see Margot any more than either of you. But if you aren’t back out here in thirty minutes, you can’t stop me from coming in after you.”

I look at Wayne. “Please don’t let him do that.”

“Thirty minutes,” Freddie repeats, even as Wayne gives me a reassuring nod that seems to say he’ll keep Freddie under control. As I walk across the seashell gravel to the front of the house, I set a timer on my watch for thirty minutes. Just in case .

An older man dressed in black slacks and a black polo opens the door.

“Cole?” I ask, and he nods.

He looks over my shoulder, lifting his chin in Wayne’s direction—he’s outside the car now, leaning against it with his arms folded over his chest—then cuts his gaze back to me.

“You’re looking for Carina.”

I nod. “Is she around?”

His jaw twitches. “In a manner of speaking. Everyone is out back.”

I follow him through a vast entryway into a living room decorated in classy beach decor.

The room is littered with discarded wine glasses and empty bottles and there is a person curled up on each of two sofas.

Both look to be asleep, despite the afternoon hour.

It’s obvious neither person is Carina, but worry still pools in my gut.

This is not the kind of atmosphere I’d wish for anyone’s baby sister. Especially not mine.

At the back of the room, a set of French doors are open onto the patio, where a dozen or so people are stretched out in similar fashion. The air is thick with the smell of booze and weed, but based on the paraphernalia covering the tabletops, those aren’t the only drugs in play.

My eyes scan the patio, but I don’t see Carina anywhere.

I don’t see Margot either, and I can’t decide if that makes me more or less comfortable.

But then laughter sounds from across the yard, and my heart rate spikes. I’d recognize my sister’s laugh anywhere.

I look across the sparkling pool to a gazebo nestled next to a row of orange trees and hurry in that direction.

It’s good that she’s laughing, right? Laughing is so much better than passed out on a couch next to a bong or a discarded needle.

I see Margot before I see Carina. She’s in a black bikini, her blond hair piled on top of her head, a gauzy cover up draped over her shoulders.

She looks flawless. And entirely sober. Her eyes move up and down my person, her gaze calculating, but before she has time to say anything, a gasp sounds from the other side of the gazebo.

“Ivy?” Carina stands and runs toward me, throwing her arms around my neck. She reeks of alcohol, something that makes my heart pinch with pain, but she’s at least whole and alive. “What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say. “I’ve been worried about you.”

Her head lolls forward and drops onto my shoulder. “Oop. I don’t feel so good,” she slurs.

I tighten my grip around Carina’s waist, and sweat breaks out across my forehead. She was a lot younger than I was when Daphne died. But she wasn’t too young to understand what killed her. To get that if not for Daphne’s idiot boyfriend having too much to drink, our sister would still be alive.

We’ve had the conversation a thousand times. Mom whispered her pleas like prayers before we went to bed every night. That we would be safe. Leave alcohol alone. Make smart choices because we were still alive to make them when Daphne wasn’t.

I’ve never been able to touch the stuff. Mom’s words are etched into my heart as deeply as the image of the ambulance pulling away with my sister inside.

I thought Carina felt the same way.

But I guess I was wrong .

“I’ve been trying to call you,” I say, repositioning us both so I can hold her up without toppling over.

“I know!” Carina says. “My phone is broken. But I texted from my watch. I told you not to worry.” She holds up a wobbly finger and points it at Margot. “It’s all good. Margot’s getting me a new phone. Isn’t that nice? She’s so nice.”

I look at Margot, eyebrows raised, but she only shrugs.

Something in her expression makes me think she has exactly zero intention of getting Carina a new phone. She has the money—she could probably make one phone call and have a dozen iPhones on the doorstep in a matter of hours—so if she hasn’t already, she probably won’t.

“That’s nice of her,” I say to Carina, not breaking eye contact with Margot. “But I’m happy to get you a new phone. We can go get one right now, actually. Then you can spend a couple of days with me in LA.”

Carina’s head pops up, her eyes wide and glassy. “Really? You’re in LA?”

I nod. “I’d love to see you and hang out for a bit.”

“But you’re on tour with Freddie,” Carina says.

My eyes dart to Margot, who is still watching us, her gaze cool.

“Not right now,” I say, trusting Carina will forgive the lie as soon as she understands what’s at stake. “I just came here hoping to spend a little time with you.”

Luckily, Carina sighs and smiles. “You’re such a good sister.”

“You should just stay here,” Margot says from behind us. “The house is huge. Plenty of bedrooms are still empty.”

“You should!” Carina says, giving me a little shake.

“The beach is right there! We would have so much fun.” She spins and points toward the ocean, just visible through a line of palm trees at the edge of the property, but the gesture throws off her balance just enough that I have to reach out to keep her from falling over.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. “I already have a nice place. And I think a little sister time would be good for us.” I tug her toward the house. “Want to help me get your stuff?”

It takes a long time to gather Carina’s stuff.

Mostly because she’s only half-present, her mind focused one minute, then completely vacant the next.

She’s clearly been drinking, but I’m not sure that’s the only thing in her system.

She seems too agitated, too manic. Not that I would know.

I’ve never been around Carina when she’s drinking. Maybe this is just how she is.

Either way, I have no idea how to process what this means. It isn’t about me—but it feels like it is. Like it’s about our whole family.

Losing Daphne almost killed me.

I can’t lose Carina too.

For her to be so careless, to make such stupid, reckless choices, it feels like someone has pulled the rug out from under me.

How am I supposed to deal with this? To help her? How am I supposed to keep her safe?

By the time we make it downstairs, Carina seems worse off than she was before. Maybe all the exertion is finally getting to her? Fortunately, the entryway is empty, so there’s nothing stopping us from making a clean escape.

I hoist Carina’s bag a little higher on my shoulder and half drag, half carry my sister to the door.

Cole appears and opens it for us, and we make our way onto the porch. “Tell Wayne I said hello,” he says, then he glances over his shoulder back into the house. “But I’d hurry, if I were you.”

I follow his gaze and see a shadow that can only be Margot moving toward the open front door.

“Okay,” I say to Carina. “Time to run.”