Chapter 16

(Billie has the same private driver whenever she’s in a certain city. One night, her usual driver is sick, so his daughter Madeleine, who works for the family business).

People always talked about the fun parts.

The crowds.

The screaming.

The lights.

The energy.

The adrenaline.

Nobody ever talked about the quiet after.

Nobody talked about how strange it felt to step off a stage where sixty thousand people had just screamed your name, only to find yourself sitting alone twenty minutes later in the back of a car, makeup half gone, oversized hoodie on, staring out at a city that didn’t even know you’d just spent two hours pouring yourself into strangers.

Billie hated that part.

Not because she wasn’t grateful.

She was.

She always was.

But gratitude and loneliness weren’t opposites.

They existed together more often than people realized.

And tonight, the thought of going back to another silent hotel room made her chest feel heavier than usual.

The show had gone well. Great, even. Everyone was happy. Finneas had texted her. Her team was celebrating. But something inside her just felt restless.

Like she wasn’t ready to be alone with her thoughts yet.

As she stepped outside, security trailing behind her, Billie immediately frowned.

“Where’s David?”

The familiar black SUV was there.

David wasn’t.

Instead, leaning against the driver’s door with a coffee in hand and an expression that suggested she’d rather be literally anywhere else, stood a girl Billie had never seen before.

Brown hair tied back.

Simple clothes.

No excitement.

No wide eyes.

No phone out.

Nothing.

The girl glanced up from her coffee.

“Billie?”

Billie blinked.

“Uh… yeah?”

The girl nodded once.

“Madeleine. My dad’s David.”

She pocketed her phone.

“Food poisoning. He’s currently informing everyone that he’s dying.”

Billie smiled despite herself.

“Dramatic?”

“Oh, incredibly.”

Madeleine sighed.

“You’d think he’d survived the Black Plague.”

That made Billie laugh.

An actual laugh.

Not one she gave because people expected it.

Madeleine noticed.

“Good.”

She opened the car door.

“Means you’re not scary.”

Billie laughed again.

“Am I supposed to be scary?”

“I don’t know. You’re rich.”

Billie stared.

“That’s your reason?”

“It’s usually enough.”

“Wow.”

“Get in.”

The city blurred past outside the windows.

Billie leaned her head against the glass.

Madeleine drove quietly.

Not awkwardly.

Just quietly.

Which Billie appreciated.

Too many people talked because they thought silence was uncomfortable.

Silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

Silence was peaceful.

Sometimes.

Tonight, though, peace felt a little too much like loneliness.

Madeleine glanced in the mirror.

“Hotel?”

Billie looked outside.

The streets were alive.

People laughing.

Restaurants still open.

Streetlights reflecting off wet pavement from earlier rain.

And suddenly, the thought of that giant empty suite waiting for her made her stomach sink.

“Can we take the long way?”

Madeleine frowned.

“The long way?”

Billie shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

She laughed softly.

“I just don’t wanna go back yet.”

Madeleine stared at her through the mirror.

Then at the clock.

Then back at her.

“You know I charge by the hour, right?”

Billie smiled.

“Perfect.”

Madeleine sighed dramatically.

“I hate rich people.”

Billie burst out laughing.

“No, you don’t.”

“True.”

Madeleine merged into another street.

“I hate annoying rich people.”

“That’s fair.”

“And if you murder me, I’m haunting your music.”

Billie nearly choked laughing.

“Jesus.”

“Just saying.”

Twenty minutes later, they were nowhere near the hotel.

Billie had stopped checking her phone.

And somehow, without understanding when it happened, they had started talking.

Not celebrity-talking.

Not interview-talking.

Real talking.

Madeleine was twenty-five.

Worked with her father.

Didn’t particularly enjoy driving.

Loved astronomy.

Had a cat named Bowie who hated everyone equally.

And thought famous people were weird.

“You’re all so out of touch,” she said matter-of-factly.

Billie raised an eyebrow.

“All of us?”

“Most of you.”

“Ouch.”

“You asked.”

Billie smiled.

“I did.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Madeleine glanced at her.

“You don’t seem offended.”

“I think I’ve been called worse.”

“Probably.”

And then something strange happened.

Billie relaxed.

Actually relaxed.

Her shoulders dropped.

She stopped checking her notifications every thirty seconds.

Stopped thinking about tomorrow.

Stopped thinking about interviews.

Stopped thinking about numbers.

And just listened.

Listened to Madeleine talk about stars.

About books.

About terrible dates.

About how she’d once accidentally dyed her hair green trying to save money.

Billie laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes.

“No way.”

“Way.”

“Pictures?”

“Buried forever.”

“Coward.”

“Self-preservation.”

And somewhere around two in the morning, Madeleine realized she’d been talking for almost an hour.

She glanced at the rearview mirror.

Billie was smiling.

Not politely.

Not professionally.

Genuinely.

And she looked…

Young.

Not famous.

Not larger than life.

Just tired.

Human.

Lonely.

Madeleine softened slightly.

“You know, you’re different than I expected.”

Billie looked up.

“Oh?”

“I thought you’d be entitled.”

“Ouch.”

“You are rich.”

Billie smiled.

“I am.”

“But you laugh at my jokes.”

“They’re funny.”

“You asked about Bowie.”

“I care about Bowie.”

“You laughed at green hair.”

“I would’ve paid money to see green hair.”

Madeleine laughed.

“And you’re weird.”

Billie grinned.

“Weird’s okay.”

“Yeah.”

Madeleine smiled softly.

“Weird’s okay.”

Three in the morning.

Still driving.

Still talking.

Billie had her shoes off.

Curled up in the seat.

Looking out the window.

And for some reason, Madeleine couldn’t stop noticing how peaceful she looked now compared to when she’d first gotten in.

Less tense.

Less sad.

Less alone.

And that realization made her chest tighten in a way she couldn’t explain.

“Billie?”

“Hm?”

“You should probably sleep.”

Billie smiled sleepily.

“I know.”

Madeleine hesitated.

Then…

“You don’t have to go back immediately, you know.”

Billie looked up.

“What?”

“You looked miserable when I said hotel.”

Billie laughed softly.

“Was I that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

Billie looked out the window again.

“Sometimes I just don’t like being alone.”

The confession hung there quietly.

Madeleine didn’t answer immediately.

Then, softly..

“That’s okay.”

Billie turned her head.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Madeleine smiled gently.

“Everybody needs company sometimes.”

Something in Billie’s expression softened.

And for the first time that night, she stopped feeling embarrassed about it.

By the time they finally reached the hotel, the sky was beginning to lighten.

Madeleine parked.

Neither moved.

Neither really wanted to.

Billie looked out the windshield.

“Sunrise.”

Madeleine nodded.

“Congratulations.”

“What?”

“You successfully avoided sleep.”

Billie laughed quietly.

“Thank you.”

“I’m charging extra.”

“You absolutely should.”

Billie grabbed the door handle.

Then stopped.

Looked back.

“Will you be driving tomorrow?”

Madeleine shrugged.

“If my father survives his near-death experience.”

Billie smiled.

“I hope he doesn’t.”

Madeleine burst out laughing.

“That’s awful.”

“So is food poisoning.”

“Fair.”

Billie smiled softly.

Then, quieter..

“Goodnight, Maddie.”

Madeleine smiled too.

Something small.

Something genuine.

“Night, Billie.”

And as Billie disappeared into the hotel lobby, Madeleine sat in the car for another minute.

Then another.

Looking at the empty passenger seat.

Shaking her head.

Smiling to herself.

Because somehow..

A drive that should’ve lasted twenty minutes had turned into four hours.

And she had a strange feeling that, tomorrow night, if Billie asked her to take the long way again.

She wouldn’t mind.

Not one bit.

—

The next evening, Billie found herself looking for Madeleine before she even stepped outside.

Which was ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

She’d known the girl for one night.

One drive.

Four hours.

That was it.

And yet, after spending the entire day in rehearsals and interviews and soundcheck, after answering the same questions and smiling for cameras and pretending she wasn’t completely exhausted, the thought that somehow carried her through it all wasn’t sleep.

It wasn’t food.

It wasn’t even the show.

It was wondering if David had recovered.

Which was stupid.

Because if David had recovered, then Madeleine wouldn’t be there.

And Billie wasn’t entirely sure why that disappointed her.

She really didn’t want to examine that.

Not yet.

—

The concert ended late.

Billie practically jogged backstage, trying not to seem like she was rushing.

She wasn’t.

She absolutely wasn’t.

She just wanted to know who was driving.

That’s all.

Nothing weird.

Nothing to unpack.

Nothing concerning whatsoever.

Except as soon as she stepped outside, she spotted the black SUV.

And leaning against it..

Coffee in one hand.

Phone in the other.

Expression somewhere between tired and mildly annoyed with the world.

Maddie.

Billie smiled before she could stop herself.

And somehow, Maddie noticed immediately.

“Oh no.”

Billie blinked.

“What?”

“That smile.”

Madeleine pointed dramatically.

“That’s the smile of someone who’s about to ask me to work overtime.”

Billie laughed.

“No!”

“Liar.”

“I just got out here.”

“You literally smiled.”

“So?”

“So rich people smile before they inconvenience you.”

Billie burst out laughing.

“That’s not a thing.”

“It should be.”

“How’s your dad?” Billie asked, climbing into the back seat.

“Dramatic. Recovering. He informed me this morning that he’s too weak to cook.”

“And?”

“He made pancakes an hour later.”

Billie snorted.

“Miraculous recovery.”

“Truly inspiring.”

The drive started normally.

Twenty minutes toward the hotel.

Billie sat quietly.

Maddie hummed softly with whatever song was playing.

Then..

“Take the long way?”

Maddie smiled.

Didn’t even look in the mirror.

“I knew it.”

Billie laughed.

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

“So?”

“So I’m charging emotional support fees now.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

And with that, Maddie missed the turn toward the hotel entirely.

On purpose.

The thing Billie would remember later wasn’t the conversation.

Not really.

It was how normal it felt.

Normal enough that she kicked off her shoes and curled up sideways in the seat.

Normal enough that Maddie complained about traffic like they’d known each other for years.

Normal enough that when Billie reached over to steal one of Maddie’s fries, Maddie slapped her hand away.

“Absolutely not.”

Billie gasped dramatically.

“You brought fries?”

“They’re mine.”

“I’ve had a concert!”

“I don’t care.”

“You monster.”

“Buy your own fries, millionaire.”

Billie laughed so hard she almost cried.

Eventually, around one in the morning, they stopped at a gas station.

Maddie needed coffee.

Billie wanted snacks.

Which was how Billie Eilish found herself wearing sunglasses indoors at one in the morning while arguing over sour gummy worms.

“No, those ones are gross.”

“They’re elite.”

“They taste like chemicals.”

“Everything tastes like chemicals.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m right.”

And sitting on the hood of the car in the middle of nowhere, feet swinging slightly above the pavement, Billie found herself laughing again.

Not the interview laugh.

Not the award-show laugh.

Not the one she gave because she was expected to.

A real one.

And Maddie noticed.

She noticed how different Billie looked when nobody wanted anything from her.

How young she seemed.

How beautiful she was without trying.

How her eyes disappeared when she laughed too hard.

And honestly..

Maddie hated noticing.

Because this was temporary.

Billie Eilish was on tour.

Tour meant leaving.

And Madeleine had spent her entire life learning not to get attached to temporary things.

“So,” Maddie asked eventually.

“Mm?”

“Why do you hate going back?”

Billie looked up from her candy.

“Huh?”

“The hotel.”

“You always ask for the long way.”

She shrugged.

“You don’t have to answer.”

Billie looked out toward the empty road.

And for a moment, neither spoke.

Then quietly..

“I don’t know.”

Maddie didn’t interrupt.

Billie continued.

“I spend all night surrounded by people.”

“Then everyone leaves.”

“And suddenly it’s quiet.”

“And I hate how quiet it is.”

Maddie’s expression softened.

“Lonely quiet?”

Billie smiled sadly.

“Yeah.”

“Lonely quiet.”

And Maddie just nodded.

No speeches.

No advice.

No fixing.

Just understanding.

Which somehow meant more.

By the time they reached the hotel, it was almost three.

Billie climbed out reluctantly.

Maddie noticed.

Billie noticed Maddie noticing.

Neither acknowledged it.

Instead..

“Same time tomorrow?” Billie asked lightly.

Maddie raised an eyebrow.

“Confident.”

Billie smiled.

“Will David survive by then?”

“Probably.”

Billie’s smile faded a little.

“Oh.”

Maddie caught it immediately.

And for some reason..

Her chest squeezed.

Just a little.

“He still needs another day.”

Billie brightened.

And neither of them mentioned the fact that she did.

Because neither of them was ready to admit it.

Not yet.

That somehow..

In less than forty-eight hours.

The best part of Billie’s day had become a girl named Madeleine.

And Maddie was starting to suspect that the highlight of hers was sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for the same question.

“Take the long way?”

And honestly?

She already knew the answer.

“Always”