Wright that Got Away (Wright)

“Girl, you’ve got some vocal cords,” Viv said, punching me in the arm.

I laughed and shook my head. “No way. I am mediocre at best, but singing is fun.”

“She did chorus all four years of high school,” Campbell said. “It’s a losing battle. She never sings for me.”

“I sing,” I said defensively. “I just don’t want to make my career out of it.”

Viv smacked Campbell’s foot. “Well, leave the girl alone. She can sing in the shower for all I care. I’m just giving her a compliment.”

“Ay, mami, I’d listen to you in the shower,” Santi said with a wink. Campbell threw a pillow at his face. Santi died laughing. “I did it for the reaction. Your boyfriend is a possessive motherfucker. I hope you know that.”

Campbell looked ready to get to his feet, but I put my hand on his chest. “Santi, I think you have your hands full with every other female in Lubbock County.”

He sat back and twirled his drumstick. “Sí, doesn’t feel like a problem to me.”

The rest of the band laughed, and the next couple hours disappeared in no time. By the time we landed at LAX, I could tell that Campbell wanted to go straight to Michael’s to try to work everything out, but Viv refused.

“We will all go to see him Monday morning before we go into the studio to record. Go home and rest.”

Campbell sighed. “Fine. See you Monday.” He clapped hands with West. “You sure you want to stay with Santi? I have plenty of room.”

“Yeah, I have some friends in the city, and they live near him. It’ll be good to see them.”

“All right. See you Monday then.”

We watched them go and then went to Campbell’s driver. He didn’t have pushy siblings here in LA to pick him up.

“Are you missing Hollin right now?”

He nodded. “I was just thinking that. I was here all alone for so long that I got used to it. But it feels so much…less without them now. I already got used to them making fun of me all the time again. It’s weird how fast you can get used to something.”

The drive into Hollywood Hills took about an hour, and my jaw dropped at the enormous homes we passed before pulling to a private gated entrance.

“Campbell,” I whispered with wide eyes.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t tell me that you lived in a gated community in Beverly Hills.”

He was quiet for a second before asking, “Does it matter?”

“No,” I said automatically. “I just don’t think of this when I think about you.”

“And you don’t think that is part of the reason this is so easy?” He ran a hand back through his hair. “Cosmere’s rise to fame has been amazing, but they’ve been full of people, specifically women, who are interested in me because I have money and celebrity status. With you, I’m just me. I didn’t want this to be what you see when you see me.”

“Well, that isn’t going to change, but maybe a heads-up would have been nice,” I said on a laugh as we were let through the gate and circled ever higher through the hills.

We finally came upon his house, which was admittedly smaller than some of the mansion homes we’d passed on the way but it still had to be a few million dollars. I’d been joking about Jensen’s house, and then here he was, with something smaller but easily ten times as pricey. Fuck, I really had not considered how much of a celebrity he actually was. I’d seen him perform to a packed stadium and gotten fifty million views on one video with him in it, and still, it hadn’t clicked until I saw this house.

I blinked at it as the driver unloaded my luggage to carry inside. Campbell came around to my side of the car, lugging my camera bag on his shoulder.

He laughed at my expression. “It’s just a house, Blaire. Let’s go inside.”

He took my hand and guided me to the front door. I pulled out my phone and did a walking tour of the house to show my friends later. No one was going to believe me otherwise.

The interior was a dream of charcoal, velvet, and polished bronze. Everything was lush and evocative and entirely primal male. There was no way in hell that this had all come together on its own. It looked like a master class in interior design. From the artsy collection of guitars to the set of Grammys just casually displayed next to an antique record player, it screamed musician. As if he lived and breathed his art.

I sent the video to the group chat I had with Piper, Annie, and Jennifer. Then a separate one to Honey. My phone dinged immediately with texts of oohs, aahs, and oh my Gods!

Honey sent back heart eyes with a quick, You’re never going to want to come home now!