The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1) (38 page)

“Hello?”

“Mia, I’ve—I’ve got some news and—I don’t know how to tell you this,” he says, sounding anxious.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’ve had a threat,” he blurts. “Gina called me first to order extra security for you when you go back to Sacramento.”

“What kind of threat?”

“I need you to trust me to take care of this. I don’t want you worrying about it, but I’m afraid if I tell you what, specifically, was said, it’ll throw you off your game. This is your last week—your last chance to win it all.”

“Is it that bad?” I ask, pacing now. I’m about ready to start counting the stripes in the curtains.

“Enough to warrant extra security? Yes.” But he doesn’t explain. I breathe a heavy sigh and wait for him to say something, to give me more details. “You will be safe, but just keep your eye out for Katharina. If you see her, tell Manny or one of the other guys. Okay?”

“What did she say, Kolton?” I demand.

“That you don’t deserve to win. That she’s going to make sure you don’t get me
and
the title.”

“But what did she say she was going to do?”

“Fire,” he breathes. “She threatened to prove you aren’t a real phoenix and that you should die in a fire. She’s lost it, but she did it anonymously. The police won’t arrest her unless they can prove she said it. It’s a huge mess.”

“Kolton, I can’t put Riley in danger.”

“I’m taking care of it. You aren’t going to cancel the trip. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I get it,” I say, with some bite behind the words.

“Mia, I—” there’s a softness in his voice, even though he doesn’t say he loves me. I’ve only ever heard that tone around me. It must be hard for him to let me go without him. I don’t want to make him worry more.

“Me, too,” I say, not knowing if he was going to say he loves me, but saying it back just in case.

“Take care of you. You’re the only you there is.” He declares. I giggle a little to lighten the mood. Up here in our castle, I don’t feel so afraid, but down there in the real world, we could be an easy target.

It’s almost over. Just one more week stands in our way.

*     *     *

“But what are we doing here?” I ask as the SUV pulls up to our real house. The house that burned up in the fire.

“We were told this was mandatory, Mia,” Amy, the PA, says. I put my face in my hands; I don’t want to do this.

“Look, you’ve already done the parade, the high school, the concert, the apartment. This is the last thing and then you’re done and you get to go back.” Anger surfaces to hide the fear about this place. It’s like sacred ground—my parents
died
here. I open the door and slam it as hard as I can. The camera crew is already waiting for me with their lenses open, their boom mics, and their red lights on.

I want to be angry, but when Riley’s little hand comes up and takes mine, I realize I can’t do this to her. She should be able to see the new house, feel the resolution that rebuilding is supposed to give. The house is done, aside from having a family living in it. They’d built it to match the original floor plan, so aside from the fact that the siding is new, the windows, too, it looks like our old house.

“I don’t have the keys.”

“We have them here,” Amy says, handing them to me and then walking back out of the shot.

How surreal this is? I look down at Riley. “Are you ready?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, looking brave as we walk up the little path and turn the key. When the door swings open, I smell new carpet, paint, and wood. We walk into the living room, an exact, empty replica of the room where my mom kept her best artwork and furniture. We didn’t really come in here, though. It was more like a pass-through to the family room and kitchen. That’s where we spent the most time.

As we cross the threshold into the kitchen, I see that they’ve updated, adding granite tiles and nicer cabinets. The attached family room seems smaller than I remember, but I can still feel the memories of times past in here. Making food with Mom, playing my guitar with Dad. Watching Riley grow taller and taller.

“The couch was here,” Riley says, taking her hand away and motioning to the exact spot our sectional was. “The TV was here and the book case, remember?”

“Yeah,” I say, and hug her, feeling pulled toward the garage, the location the fire started. When I open the door, I see a box in the middle of the concrete and walk toward it.

“What’s this?” I ask Amy.

“The contractors left it. It’s some stuff they found during the demolition.” I start pacing. I want to know what they found, but I’m scared it’ll cause me to break down. I sit down on the floor, my back to the cameras and say, “Riley. Please wait until I look through it. Okay?”

“Alright,” she answers. I watch as my perilous hand reaches out, shakily unfolds the top, and then I peek inside. Silverware, a few of Mom’s nice plates from her china cabinet, a picture of Mom and Dad on the beach. It’s mostly burned, but I can see them holding each other around the waist, wearing swim suits. And then there’s a napkin with something solid inside. I take a deep breath and open it to find a metal ring, partially burned. It’s made of wires wrapped intricately and has a fake diamond in the middle.

I know it well. I took Riley to the mall that year right before Christmas. God, has that been two years now? Well, she went into this costume jewelry store and found this ring. I remember me trying to talk her out of it. It’s huge and gold and kind of flashy. Mom was more of a small-diamond-pendant-hanging-from-a-thin-gold-chain person, but Riley persisted.

When Mom opened the little paper box on Christmas morning, her face lit up and she hugged Riley. “It’s so fancy!” she crooned, putting it on and holding her hand out like royalty.

“That’s a real big ring, there Riles,” Dad said and chuckled. He hardly ever chuckled anymore, so that’s why it stood out so much to me.

I turn now to face Riley and motion for her to come to me. The cameras follow us, but don’t come around to film it from the front. I hand her the ring and watch as she lights up, remembering that she’d given it to Mom.

“Momma’s ring!” she beams, taking it into her hand like a relic.

“Yeah,” I say, wiping some rogue tears escaping down my cheeks.

“Remember when I asked Momma if she liked my gift?”

“No. What did she say?”

“She said she did, but then I asked her why she didn’t wear it.”

“Oh, but it’s a fancy ring you should only wear on special occasions,” I explain. I don’t want her feelings to be hurt.

“Yeah, but after that she started wearing it. She wore it to work and, one time, my teacher was lookin’ at it at school and she told everyone about how I got it for her. I was real proud.” She’s smiling so wide it makes my heart turn to mush.

“That’s a great memory, Riles.”

“Can we take it home?”

“The ring? Yeah, sure, and the box, too. But you know, Riley, I don’t think we’re gonna live here, you know that, right?”

“I kinda know.” She shrugs.

“Wouldn’t it be nice for a new family to come here and make all new memories?” She sticks her bottom lip out and thinks for a minute, her eyes moving around the cold garage. “’Cause, for us, there’s a lot of sadness mixed up with this place. It looks the same, but it’s not. Mom and Dad, they can’t come back. I think we should make new memories someplace else.”

At first she chews on her bottom lip like she’s thinking. But then she looks up at me with resolution in her eyes. “Okay.” She smiles and hugs me. I put my arm around her and she takes the burned ring and puts it on my middle finger. “Will you wear it sometimes?” Riley asks. “Like how Momma did?” It breaks me. My eyes gush tears and all I can do is nod. I’m fighting a huge knot in my throat, but I say, “Thank you,” as best I can.

“I’ll wear it. I promise.” She nods and stands up.

“Can we go see the backyard?”

“Yeah.”

With my arm over her shoulder, we walk out to the backyard. Grass has started to grow again and the old swing set is still there. I used to play on it when I was her age. It’ll probably get torn down, but it’s okay if it does. It suited its purpose for a long time. Both of us just stand and look. I nudge her a little on the shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“Yup,” she says, and we walk back inside one last time. Neither of us tries to go upstairs. I think that would be too hard. It does look the same, in many ways, and the amount of fear we both faced up there and coming down the stairs. No. It’s too much.

Instead, we stay downstairs and silently say goodbye to the memories that live here just for us. I take Riley’s hand and think it’s over when I get to the landing of the staircase by the front door. It’s like being pulled into a bad dream.

The biting pain of the fire burning my feet, the heaviness of holding Riley in my arms. Panic that I’d never make it out in time, flames chasing me out the door.

I force myself to keep walking. I open the front door and we walk out to the grass. I hold Riley’s hand as we stand on the soft green spot where we knew we were alive, but also where we had to come to terms with the fact our parents weren’t coming out. There aren’t enough tears to make that go away. And there’s no need to say a thing. I hold her and she cries. All I can say is, “Love you, Riles.”

“Thanks for saving me, Mia.”

“Or maybe it was you who saved me?”

“How?” she asks.

“If I didn’t have you, maybe I wouldn’t have had the courage to do all this stuff. You know?” She looks at me through new eyes.

“So, you owe me?”

“Yep,” I say as we walk back to the SUV.

“That was great stuff,” Amy says as she puts the box inside the car. At first I feel a twinge of anger for her rejoicing over getting “great stuff” for the show. But, that will do me no good.

“It wasn’t for the show. It was good for us,” I say. “It was closure and I don’t think I could have done it without that push. So, thanks.” As we drive away toward the hotel and then to the Sacramento airport, I think,
just a few more days.
I might be signed with a record company and have a whole new future with Kolton. A whole new life.

Just a few more days.

The Finale

“W
e had cameras installed,” Devon says, walking me around and showing me where they are. One on each door, one at the elevator entrance in the foyer. Another on the balcony in the master bedroom. When I come back to the living room, Gina stands up.

“Can we speak for a moment?”

“Sure,” I say, sitting down.

“The account she’s threatening you from is untraceable. She’s very rich and capable of hiding herself, but the threat could be very real.”

“What do we do?”

“As you know, that’s not my forte, but I don’t think we should make it public. That might be what she wants, more attention.”

“Okay, I trust you, Gina,” I say, walking with her toward the elevator.

“I want you to focus on your performance,” she instructs. “This will be taken care of, okay?” I nod and give her a weak smile. “Good luck tomorrow,” she says, before the doors close and I’m left to worry all by myself.

*     *     *

The last two days have been a blur of practices, recording, and interviews. Everyone wants to talk to the final three contestants. With me, they want to talk about Kolton more than my voice or my goals. It’s annoying, but I’m handling it. It’s even a little fun to dodge the questions.