Page 18 of Stolen Voices

“Got it. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“Like I had a choice. I owed you for the ticket last year,” he says, making me chuckle.

“True. One down, one to go.”

“Don’t remind me. You better not let Emery know I owe you another favor. She thinks it was just the one.”

“Aww, how precious. You don’t want your wife to know the hotel you got married in was open because your brother pulled strings and not because of magical love fate?”

“You’re an asshole,” he grunts, acting like he’s mad at me. “But yes. So keep your mouth shut, or I’ll dip into your account and make some very large donations to the animal shelter in your name.”

I bark a laugh. He would do that. Not that I’d mind. I like animals. “Love you too, little bro.”

“Yeah, yeah. When are you coming to visit? It’s been a while.”

It really hasn’t. I was just in Pine Hills, Oregon, a few weeks ago for my niece Sariah’s first birthday. She’s the cutest little girl in the world and the spitting image of her momma, Rylann.

“Don’t know. I’m covering for Hudson while he’s gone.”

“How’s that going for him?”

“Good. Talked to him yesterday. He said Penny likes the new place and seems really happy about the move.”

“Any word on Harold?” he asks.

“Still nothing.”

“Well, if you want me to look into it, I can.”

Mason has offered to help before, but Hudson said he’d rather the authorities take care of the problem, so I will continue to respect his wishes. “Nah, let’s leave this to the authorities, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Anytime, E.” I hear small yappy barks in the background. Mason hushes his dog, and I can’t help but chuckle. My grumpy brother loves that tiny little Yorkie. “I’ll catch you later. It seems like my wife’s dog thinks the delivery guy is robbing the joint.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love the little furry guy.”

“Fuck off,” Mason growls. He’s a sucker for that dog, and Emery; he just doesn’t like anyone knowing about it. “One day, E, you’ll understand.”

I glance over at Callie as she looks over her shoulder. Her chestnut-brown eyes find mine, sending a shock through me. She breaks the connection between us and steps away from the dancer with a tight smile.

The uncomfortable tightness in my chest loosens. “Yeah, maybe.”

Mason and I say our goodbyes as my phone buzzes with a new email notification. I open the message and click on the link. I’m redirected to the same security camera application I use at my house, only this time the cameras I had installed at The Ricochet Lounge open for me to view. I check all the camera feeds, confirming they are streaming, before closing them and shoving my phone in my pants pocket.

Instead of returning to my laptop, like I should, my attention returns to the stage. Callie is back in the spotlight with her dancers surrounding her in a circle. The music starts, and the group begins the first steps of choreography. They move in perfect unison to Callie’s hit song.

She looks amazing, moving to the beat as she lip syncs. The sheen of sweat covering her chest sparkles under the spotlight, making her look like the shining star she truly is.

As I follow Callie from rehearsals to recording sessions, I realize just how much I underestimated her as a person. She is so much more than a bubblegum popstar. Callie is amazingly talented. She’s hardworking, dedicated, kind, extremely disciplined, and gorgeous.

So fucking gorgeous it hurts.

My chest squeezes uncomfortably again. It’s a feeling I’m becoming all too acquainted with this week. I watch her hit every mark with enthusiasm. She has this aura about her that is completely captivating. It’s no wonder people everywhere love her.

For the past week, I have found myself arriving early to stand outside her dressing room door like a creeper, listening to her sing—I learned from her security guard, Mike, that she does it every morning “without fail”.

I only planned on coming early that first day, but something keeps calling me to come back. Listening to her is quickly becoming an addiction. One I won’t be able to quit.

A flash on the other side of the stage catches my eye. Callie’s manager, Silla, is leaning over an older woman with glasses around her neck, hissing something into the woman’s ear.