Jaded (Rock Star Trilogy)

higher,” he explains. “And really, it's not even a big deal. I have a large trust fund, and losing a few thousand dollars isn't going to make a dent.”
    “Still, Stephan, it's dangerous.” But fun, I add silently.
    “Maybe I like danger,” he is joking, I think, but then his voice get's very serious. “You know how you feel when you're on stage performing?”
    I nod. Suddenly, I am missing the spotlight. I haven't performed in a few weeks, and I miss it.
    “Well, that is how I feel when I race. It's like my heart beats fast and slow at the same time. My adrenaline is high, and I feel in control. It's the one thing in life that I control, and it feels amazing.”
    When he puts it like that, it makes me want to get in on the action. “Maybe I can race next weekend.”
    “Can't do,” he smiles. “Next weekend, we are going to go to the races in Miami.”
    “We?”
    “We, as in you and me.”
    I like this idea. “That sounds awesome.” But then I remember... “No, I can't. Alec is coming. He's bringing me my car.”
    “So we will bring him, too,” he suggests.
    “Alec will love it.”
     
    I get home around 3am, and I go straight to bed. I have to get up early to meet with Andrew Davis in the morning, and I'm already dreading it. It's going to be a long day.

Saturday, September 12
    Way too early AM
    Picture of me.
     
    I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing, and instead of hitting ignore and going back to sleep like I want to, I answer it. It's Andrew Davis, my P.I.
    “Hello,” I say, trying to sound like I didn't just wake up. I'm pretty sure that I failed.
    “Hey, Scarlett. This is Andrew. My car should be at your house in approximately 15 minutes,” he says.
    “Ok,” I say, pushing myself up. “Can you maybe give me a clue about this good/ bad news?”
    “Let's just say that you won't believe it until you see it. See you soon.”
    I end the call and get up. Last night, I didn't even wash off my makeup before bed. I was much too tired. So I throw my hair up in a messy bun, wash away all left over make up, and get dressed in a hurry. I just put on a white sundress, and designer flip flops.
    As I walk down the stairs, my doorbell rings. I go to the door, and hesitate. I need a minute because I know that no matter what the news is, it's going to change my life. I've waited nine long years for this moment. And it's finally here . Or at least, I hope it is.
    I take a deep breath and open the door. My P.I. is standing there, looking like he hasn't slept in days. His face is scruffy, he has circles under his eyes, and his blonde hair is starting to grow long.
    “Come in,” I say.
    Andrew follows me into the living room, and sits down on my white leather couch. He doesn't say anything, he just looks at me, almost like he's puzzled.
    “So, did you find Stacy?” I ask. I pace back and forth, and fidget with my fingers.
    “I think you should sit down,” he instructs.
    I don't hesitate, I sit. My legs feel like noodles. “Oh god, is it bad news?” I feel dread wash over me. I don't know if I can live with the news if she's dead.
    He sighs. “I haven't found Stacy yet, Scarlett. I'm sorry.”
    I feel relief for a second. No news means that she could very well be ok... But I'm also disappointed. I really wanted the news to be about Stacy. If the news isn't about her, then what is it?
    “But, I found something else...” he pulls a large manila envelope out of his briefcase. “Did you know that you're adopted?”
    It feels as though all of the oxygen has suddenly been sucked out of the room. “Excuse me?” I choke out. “I am not adopted.”
    “You have another sister.” He opens the envelope, and hands me a photograph... It's a picture of me.
    “Um...” I look back up at him. “This is me.”
    “Look closer.”
    So I do. The person in the picture looks exactly like me, but it's NOT me. Same long blonde hair, same blue eyes, same small body frame, and same smile... But the clothes are definitely not anything that I have ever worn. She's wearing a pair of jeans, but they're definitely not designer, and a t-shirt that is much too big for her. I also don't recognize where the picture was taken. It's definitely not anywhere I've been before.
    “She looks so much like me...” I can't look away from the picture.
    “This is Bridget Evans, and she is your twin sister.”
    “My... my... tw... twin?” I feel my body start to tremble. How could I have gone 19 years without knowing