Page 62 of Wild

There it is—the real reason for the call. No asking how she's doing, how the job is, whether she likes it. Just asking. Erin brings a hand to her hair and twists a strand between her fingers, feeling her throat pull a little tighter.

"I can't do that, Brooke. I signed a confidentiality agreement that—"

"Same as always, Erin, you never share anything with me. You know she's my favorite singer," she snaps, irritated. "I'm sure if you asked her she wouldn't say no—you just don't want to."

Erin twists her hair harder, until it pulls at her scalp enough to tense her whole body. Her sister reads the silence as her thinking it over and lets out an excited sigh.

"Come on, Erin, just tell me how many more days you'll be in Philadelphia. I can catch a flight tomorrow—I'll just need you to lend me a little money for the ticket, I can pay you back…"

"I can't talk right now, Brooke. I'll call you tomorrow."

For the first time in her life, she cuts her off and hangs up without saying goodbye, because she can't keep listening. She stays still, not sure when she sat down on the bed, staring at her phone while her mother's words come back to her.

You need to learn to say no to her.

She hasn't quite done that, but she didn't say yes either, and that's a big step for her—though it also fills her with anxiety, because she can't help feeling terrible. Her phone buzzes and startles her, and when she looks at the screen there's a message from Brooke she doesn't even need to open, because she can read it in the preview as it slides across.

Brooke Dooley

Talk to her and call me right away.

The doctor sets the phone aside, rubs her temples, and gets up. She was going to go to bed even though she's still a little wound up from the concert—put her earplugs in and bury her face under the pillow, because if Mia comes back with companyshe doesn't want to hear a thing—but after the call from her sister, there's no chance she'll keep her eyes closed. So she gets dressed and leaves her room to take the elevator up to the private rooftop terrace on her floor. She needs fresh air, and she doesn't want to go out onto her own balcony, because it's right next to the singer's, and the last thing she needs right now is to hear her sleeping with her stylist's assistant or whoever she's brought back to make her post-concert night a little easier.

She pushes the door open in sweatpants and a t-shirt, closes it behind her, and breathes in deeply, letting the cool air hit her all at once. Hands in her pockets, she takes a couple of steps forward, ready to lean against the frosted glass railing and look out over the city, but then a faint smell of weed drifts over from her right, and when she turns she finds Mia's blue eyes watching her from the ground. The singer is sitting beside a planter, back against the wall, legs stretched out, one foot crossed over the other. She's wearing an oversized hoodie with the Wild tour logo—Erin has three of them from the first day and still hasn't worn a single one—jeans, black sneakers, and the joint between her fingers.

"What are you doing up here? Are you okay?" Erin asks, surprised.

Mia takes a long, slow drag without looking away, then exhales just as slowly—deliberately—and nods, and Erin feels a certain warmth spread through her.

"I didn't feel like being in my room," Mia says. "What about you, Dooley? What are you doing up here?"

"Something like that, I guess."

The singer gestures to the floor beside her.

"If you want some company, you can sit."

Erin hesitates, but she moves and sits down next to her, stretching her legs out the same way, arms crossed over her chest.

"Are you cold?" Mia asks.

"I'm fine."

She actually is cold, but she'd rather feel it than think about the conversation she just had with Brooke.

"I thought you'd be in your suite with—" The doctor stops when she realizes it's none of her business.

"A woman?" Mia finishes, and takes another long drag.

Erin stares at the joint without answering, and eventually raises her hand to ask for it.

"Let me try some."

Mia frowns.

"You smoke weed?"

"I've never smoked anything in my life—weed, cigarettes, nothing," she says, but her hand stays up, waiting.