Just before tonight’s show, my boyfriends had cornered me, literally, and asked me to stay with them instead of returning to Los Angeles. We had a month before the second leg in Europe began, so I agreed, of course.
I’ve been tasting chocolate and smelling cinnamon ever since.
Loren held my hand tight in his grip—enough to make it numb. I’m guessing he didn’t want me to get away in case I changed my mind. However, I was a thousand percent sure the three of them would kidnap me if I tried.
After returning to the hotel to pack and grab our shit, we were rushing down the hall from the suite we’d abandoned while Houston and Rich trailed us much slower while carrying our luggage.
I didn’t think to slow down until Loren burst through the heavy door leading to the stairs.
“Wait, why aren’t we taking the elevator?” I asked him as soon as we started to climb. “And why are we going up instead of down?”
My question was answered, not by Loren, when we pushed through another door, this one opening to the roof.
The same matte black helicopter they rode in when they crashed my festival was waiting for us. The blades spinning made my hair whip my face and neck as Loren pulled me toward it without stopping.
He then wordlessly helped me inside while Houston and Rich caught up. After our bags were loaded, they climbed in, and the pilot wasted no time lifting us in the air. As I hurriedly buckled myself in, Loren pointlessly placed a headset with a microphone on my head while Houston and Rich did the same.
We didn’t talk.
The four of us were silent the short hour or so it took to reach Portland. I was immobile the entire time. Flying in a helicopter, especially at night, was twice as nerve-wracking as a plane.
Despite the brine and copper enflaming my senses, the moment I felt the bird began to land, I leaned toward the window nearest me. I could feel the three of them watching me as a smile slowly split my face.
It wasn’t on a hill.
I couldn’t really see much.
But I knew in my heart that I got the dark colors and sharp edges right.
Their home was definitely secluded.
Trees literally swallowed it whole.
The only clue I was given that something was even there was the orange glow shining through. In complete darkness, someone passing over wouldn’t be able to tell anyone lived there.
Not unless they knew where to look.
We flew over the house until we reached an open field not far away where a helipad and even a small hanger had been built.
The crisp and sour taste of green apples burst on my tongue since it hadn’t occurred to me until now that the bird belonged to them. I assumed they chartered it like the planes, though it was obvious they owned their tour bus.
Once the blades stopped spinning, Houston slid the door open. Loren hopped out first before lifting me down. He didn’t wait for his friends before walking me over to the row of golf carts lined up and waiting nearby.
I climbed inside, and he got behind the wheel.
As Houston and Rich approached with our bags, however, they both gave Loren a look I couldn’t decipher. Before I could ask, Rich dropped the bags he was carrying, lifted me back out of the golf cart, and sat me inside the one next to it while Houston filled Loren’s cart with our bags.
Whatever the reason, it amused Loren to no end as he laughed uncontrollably before flipping off his friends. He then winked at me before taking off down the path leading to their home.
I was still frowning when Rich sat in the driver’s seat next to me, and Houston climbed on the back.
Too exhausted to care about the reason, I didn’t bother to ask questions.
I admired the quiet scenery as Rich drove us much slower down the tree-lined path. It was maybe a three-minute ride to their house.
Once it came into view, my heart began thundering in my chest. I couldn’t make sense of the taste and smells lighting up my senses. My emotions blended too finely together as I stared up at their home.
Gothic.
Victorian.
Dark.
Towering.
I fell in love instantly.
The light I’d glimpsed from above filtered through the elegant tracery, keeping the forest from completely shrouding the home in darkness and allowing me to see the thin vines draping the black stone, the pointed arches that made up the windows and doors, and the tower I was all too eager to explore. The circular driveway was paved, interrupted only by the grass island in the middle, and extending into the forbidding darkness the forest created as it obscured the only way out.
Loren waited, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed as he leaned against one of the thick columns of the carriage porch. The golf cart stopped in front of him, and I didn’t wait for one or all of them to show me inside.