An hour later, we’ve come up empty-handed and return to the lobby, eager to warm up.
Noella is behind the desk and speaks animatedly, if not a little irritatedly, into the phone.
“Yes. I understand. We are also dealing with a crisis. Oh, here she is. Miss Rivers, there is a call for you.”
Rebecca, rosy-cheeked from our joy ride, pales.
It’s Ms. Lilith, Noella mouths.
“You don’t have to answer,” I say.
But she does. She always was going to.
“Hello?” Her voice is steady, but her hand trembles. “No, I’m not back in Los Angeles. I’m—” She pauses, listening, and her expression shifts from nervous to angry. “That’s not fair. You knew I wanted to spend Christmas with my family.”
Noella asks me how our search went and I give her the bad news. However, I can hardly focus because Rebecca sounds so upset.
“Legal action? Are you serious?” Her voice pitches higher. “I’ve given you everything! Every interview, every appearance, every manufactured relationship for publicity?—”
She stops, listening again, and she drops like a past-season poinsettia.
“I understand,” she says quietly. “I’ll think about it.”
She hangs up and stares blankly at the phone in her hand.
“Becca?”
“They’re threatening to sue me if I don’t fulfill my contract. The New Year’s concert, the spring tour, all of it.” She looks up at me, and I see a desperate, trapped animal expression in her eyes. “Lilith said if I don’t comply, she’ll make sure I never work in the industry again.”
My jaw tightens. “She can’t do that.”
“She can make it very difficult.” Rebecca’s shoulders slump. “Maybe I was kidding myself. Maybe this—” she gestures to me, at the festive lodge and likely at everything that has grown between us over the past two days “—was just a fantasy. A break from reality.”
“Or maybe it’s the reality you actually want,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I feel like I’ve overstepped.
Time to pull back. Protect myself. As a firefighter, I’m no good to anyone who needs help if I don’t first have my gear squared away, take precautions, and make sure I’m equipped to deal with dangerous situations. I’m not dealing with anything flammable other than emotions, but they ought to be treated with the same care.
Because of course she’s going back. She’s Rebecca Rios, pop star. And I’m just a small town firefighter.
We resume the search in strained silence. We pass some kids who’re riding around on a mini choo-choo train around yet another Christmas tree on the eastern side of the lodge. At the sound of their gleeful laughter, I try to lighten the mood. “Brady must be so relieved about Ruthie. When he called me to check on you, he mentioned things are looking up with the new treatment.”
Rebecca freezes. “What new treatment?”
Oh no.
“I thought you knew. Maybe he was going to tell you in person. I’m sorry, Becca.”
Her face crumbles. “What treatment, Reese?”
“I don’t know the details. Only that she’d taken a turn a few months ago, but they found a new treatment that’s showing promise.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls away.
“Why didn’t he tell me?” Her voice cracks.
“He probably didn’t want to worry you. You’ve been so?—”
“Busy.” She laughs, but it lacks humor. “I’ve been too busy for my own niece. Too wrapped up in photo shoots, recording sessions, and fake charity events to know that Ruthie was struggling. That my brother needed me.”
“Becca, that’s not?—”
