Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(40)

Together we carry the box into the elevator and then into our apartment. “Ice cream time!” Jason says as we set it down.

“You start, I’ll be right there.” First I have to locate some scissors and cut the tape sealing the box. When I finally get inside, I find… A turntable? And several records. Also a note.



Silas—

I know that I’m supposed to be a writer. But I don’t think it’s possible for me to write a letter as lovely as the one you gave Becky for me. That was basically the nicest note I’ve ever read.

But I just wanted you to know how wonderful it was to see you again. And now you can listen to music on vinyl if you want to. I didn’t want to give you a gift that was all about me, though, so here are some of my favorite albums, too.

Still thinking of you,

D.



Oh. Well. I feel a little better now.

I’ve been trying not to be the kind of pest who won’t stop texting when he’s being ghosted. But now I find my phone and tap her number, hoping she’ll answer.

She does. “Ralph,” she whispers into my ear. “Did you get my present?”

“I did.”

“That Clapton album is collectible. I hope I didn’t screw it up by shipping it.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I say hastily. “What a great gift. But you know I’m going to play your album first.”

“You ass-kisser, Ralph.”

“If you were here right now, I’d happily kiss your ass and every other part of your body.”

“GET A ROOM!” yells Castro from the kitchen. “Also, your shake is ready.”

Delilah laughs. “Better get your shake. Is it chocolate?”

“Probably. But Jason probably put some kind of healthy crap in there, too. His girlfriend is turning him into a nutritionist. None of the rest of us can stand it.” I walk into the kitchen and take the pint glass that’s waiting for me.

“You can clean the blender, you freeloader,” Jason says.

Ignoring him, I take the shake back to my room and close the door. “How are you? Still stressed out about what’s-his-name and the album?”

“I’ll be stressed out until he releases it,” she says. “But a few things are looking up. I have a new manager, and she’s a tigress.”

“That’s good.” I take a sip of my shake and wonder what to say. It’s really none of my business. But I want Delilah to know that I’d do anything to help her. “Look…” I say slowly. I need to stay in my own lane. But my lane can be fun, too. “Do you ever take beach vacations?”

“Not often. Shit, I can’t even remember the last time I took a real vacation. When I travel, it’s always for a show.”

“Well, I have to go to a wedding next week. It’s on an island in the Caribbean.”

“Fancy.”

“I know. I promised not to give the date or location to anyone who wasn’t accompanying me to the wedding.”

Delilah laughs. “Who’s the paranoid bride?”

“It’s the groom. Do you know who Nate Kattenberger is?”

“The billionaire? Sure. He owns your hockey team.”

“That’s the guy. So you’re a hockey fan now?”

“Shut up. So I did a little harmless Googling on my way home to L.A.”

It’s embarrassing how much pleasure it gives me to picture Delilah stalking me on the internet. “It’s his wedding. Why don’t you come with me? I get a plus-one.”

“But…” She hesitates. “I’d feel weird crashing a wedding. And I’m not the easiest guest. My security guy goes everywhere I go.”

“What if you could leave him behind?” I think it over for a second. “Let me make a couple of calls. If I can promise you four days on a private island with me, and if security was provided, will you do it?”

“Well…”

I hold my breath.

“A few days won’t kill off my career, right? I would really like to try.”

My relief is all-consuming. “Awesome. Stay tuned. I need to make some plans.”





I spend the next several days on an expectant high, working out with my friends and looking forward to the trip. “Maybe I need a new bathing suit,” I tell Jason as we trade off sets on the squat rack in the training facility.

“Fashion crisis?” he teases.

“We’re going to a beach. I only have one suit in New York and it’s all bleached out from hotel hot tubs. Where do I buy a bathing suit?”

Jason grunts as he sets the barbell back onto the rack. “Heidi. Duh.” His girlfriend has a business where she does errands for hockey players for extra cash. He hasn’t set foot in a store since last summer. “One more set?” he asks me. “Bonus round?”

“I’m done,” I decide. I have some shopping to do.

After I get out of the shower, there are two texts on my phone. One is from Delilah, and it’s a photo of palm trees. This is my last view of the sky for the day, she writes. Recording studios have no windows.

Neither do hockey rinks, I reply. Every year I feel like a vampire by April.

Vampires can be sexy, she replies. Hello, Edward Cullen?