“I bet that’s Snoopy,” Daphne said, taking a sip of her drink and looking expectantly at Kylie.
“Okay,” Kylie said. “Be right back.”
She hustled over to the door, and sure enough, it was poor Snoopy, her arms full of Daphne’s favorite brand of bottled water. “Thanks,” Snoopy told her, staggering under the weight of the bottles. “They fucked up the tour rider again, so we’re going to get stuff in piecemeal for the next hour or two.” She pushed a case of water into Kylie’s hands. “Help me shove these in the fridge?”
The two of them filled the fridge full of the water, and Snoopy shot Kylie a grateful look. Kylie hurried back to her makeup table. Daphne hated waiting and Kylie didn’t want her getting bored and destroying some of her expensive cosmetics.
But as she approached the makeup station, her stomach clenched in dread. Daphne’s mouth was smeared with the garish lipstick, as if she’d been distracted mid-cleanup. In her hands, she held a familiar phone with a bright red case.
Kylie’s phone.
And she was flipping through Kylie’s texts, her face unreadable. As she watched, Daphne’s thumb slowly swiped across the screen again, in a motion as if she were looking through a picture album. If she did, she was sure to see the photos of Cade in bed that he’d recently texted her, shirtless and pointing at a pillow with the caption of Missing you.
She sucked in a breath and waited for the inevitable explosion.
Daphne’s gaze flicked to Kylie. Her mouth flattened. “You . . . bitch!”
The singer raised her hand and grabbed something off of Kylie’s table. A green object flew through the air. Kylie realized it was the heavy ceramic flowerpot moments before it cracked her in the head, just to the right of her eyebrow.
“You fucking bitch!” Daphne screamed as Kylie collapsed to the ground. The world was a blaze of red and black and pain. She put her hand to her face and realized it was wet with blood—her skin had split open. “Right under my nose?” the pop star shrieked. “Under my goddamn nose?”
Kylie just blinked at the ceiling. It was covered with small, exploding stars, her vision edged with black. Her mind was foggy and she couldn’t focus. There was dirt everywhere, and her flower was probably dead . . .
Hands touched her arm, helped her sit up. “Oh my God, Fat Marilyn,” Snoopy said in her ear. “Are you okay? She hit you right on the temple.”
“She’s a fucking man-stealing bitch!” Daphne screamed. The carefully organized makeup cases went crashing to the floor. Next, the cell phone smacked Kylie in the shoulder.
“Stop it, Daphne!” Snoopy yelled.
“She fucking stole him from me,” Daphne screeched. Several of the dancers went to Daphne’s side, and a moment later, Daphne burst into loud, noisy tears.
They spoke, but it all sounded like buzzing to Kylie. Snoopy’s soft voice swam in and out. She was having a hard time focusing. Her head hurt madly, and she was having trouble concentrating.
“I’m okay,” she mumbled to Snoopy. “Help me up.”
But when she stood up, her knees went weak again, and she almost took a second tumble. “Get security in here,” Snoopy said aloud. “I think we need a doctor.”
—
When Kylie awoke again, she was lying in a hospital bed. Her head throbbed with a fresh, hideous kind of pain. “Ow?” Her mouth felt dry and she put a hand to her head—the pain seemed to be concentrated in one particular spot just to the right of her brow. Her head was bandaged.
“Hey.” Snoopy peered over the bed and gave her a wan smile. “Can I get you something? Ice cubes? A hot nurse? A bedpan?”
Kylie chuckled, and then groaned because laughing hurt. “What happened?”
“Well, apparently you can give someone a concussion if you hit them in the head with a flowerpot in just the right spot. Who knew.” Snoopy grimaced. “The doctors gave you two stitches and are holding you overnight to monitor things just to be on the safe side.”
“A concussion?” Kylie echoed. No wonder her head felt like it had been cracked open. “What time is it?”
“Late. Like, ten-ish.”
Her fingers gingerly touched the bandages. Each brush of her fingers seemed to bring fresh pain. “Who did Daphne’s makeup tonight?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Snoopy said. “Daphne has ‘come down with the flu.’” Snoopy made air quotes. “The show has been rescheduled for two nights from now.”
“I see. Where’s my phone?”
“Broken,” Snoopy said. “Pretty sure Daph stomped on it after she pegged you with it. She was pretty pissed. I’m sure management will pay for a new one.”
Yes, but Cade would worry as to why Kylie wasn’t texting him. Oh God—a horrible thought occurred to her. “This isn’t going to be in the tabloids, is it?”
“Nope,” Snoopy said, texting something on her phone. “Management’s statement is that you were drinking too much and tripped. You know how everyone on Daphne’s tour likes to party.” Snoopy’s voice was flat, and the smile she gave Kylie was thin.
Kylie snorted, and then winced because that hurt, too.
“Yeah, it’s all bullshit,” Snoopy said. “Everyone’s tired of Daph’s shit, but we’re stuck because . . .” Her voice trailed off and she stood up. “Management’s coming in. I need to vacate the premises.” She looked over at Kylie and crossed her fingers. “Good luck. I’ll be waiting outside if you need anything.”