Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(70)

“Oh.” It comes out sounding as wounded as one syllable can. “But I waited.”

“Yeah, we got slammed and my dad was yellin’ away in the kitchen.” He hooks a thumb toward the open window to the kitchen. “I didn’t get to you in time. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say quickly. Although there’s no telling what would have happened if I got that message. Or if I’d given my favorite bartender my phone number in the first place.

Maybe everything. Or maybe nothing. We might have flamed out a long time ago.

I’m so confused right now. And heartsick. I want to go home to L.A. where my bunny slippers are waiting. I’d bail on this concert if it wouldn’t make Brett irate. I can’t afford that right now.

I’m worried about Silas. I’m worried about my career. But I’m smart enough now to realize nothing will be settled tonight. “Can I have the check?” I ask.

“For a beer?” Danny waves a hand. “It’s on me, Delilah. And if I see Ralph, I’ll tell him he’s an asshole.” Danny smiles, like we’re sharing a joke.

If I’m lucky, we are.





An hour later I’m sitting on the hotel bed, eating overpriced mini bar snacks like they’re going out of style. There’s a candle in the trashcan in the bathroom.

This is what wallowing looks like—peanut M&M wrappers and bad TV.

My phone rings, and I grab it with the desperation of a Titanic passenger diving for a life preserver.

But the call is not from Silas. It’s from Brett. I drop it on the silky white hotel comforter and let it go to voicemail.

He leaves a message. I manage to ignore it for a few minutes. But I’m a girl who’s desperately in need of some distraction. And it’s not like he can ruin my night. That’s already been accomplished. So I mute the TV and play the message.

“Hey Delilah,” he says as a breeze scrapes past the microphone. “I’m on the beach, looking at the stars. And I have regrets. Big ones. I know you’re not very happy with me. Losing you is something that I haven’t handled very well. I know that’s all my fault.”

He heaves a sigh that’s very unlike him.

“But I’m standing on the beach where it all started, and I want you to know that I’m done trying to hold on to something I already wrecked. Let’s release your album next month, okay? Meet me for a drink tomorrow and we’ll pick a date. We’ll put Becky on speakerphone so she can get all the details.”

My mouth falls open. But the message isn’t quite finished.

“I just want you to know that I’m sorry. And your new album is going to do amazing things. And I hope someday you can look back on this and remember some of the good times we had. Goodnight, Delilah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

The message ends. My heart is beating double speed. Brett is finally giving me the thing that I want most in the world.

Except it’s no longer the thing that I want most, is it?

Only a diva would still be upset right now.

I guess I’m a diva.





Silas





I end up flying to California one night later. But the thrill is gone, because Carl still hasn’t given me the go-ahead to tell Brett to fuck off.

So instead of finding Delilah, I’m sitting at my mother’s kitchen table, a glossy brochure spread out in front of us. “The security system works by registering the opening and shutting of doors and windows in your home. The contacts look like this.” I point at a photo of a small device mounted in a doorjamb.

My mom wrinkles her nose.

“If you’re home alone and a door opens, there’s a little beep to alert you. If you think it’s an intruder, you can hit the panic button, and the cops will be notified immediately. And if you’re not home, you’ll get an alert from an app on your phone. The system even has its own backup power source. So it works when the power goes out.”

I’m sure my mom has seen the same movies I have. Everyone knows the bad guys always cut the power first.

Mom reaches out and folds the pamphlet closed again. “Sweetheart, I really don’t think this is necessary. I don’t want to live like a prisoner in my own home.”

“You won’t be a prisoner,” I argue. “And hopefully none of this is necessary. But I would feel better if you were protected.”

“Because then you’re going to tell Brett Ferris where he can shove it, right?”

Have I mentioned that my mom is awesome?

“I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet.” Not that a second punch to Brett’s face isn’t tempting. “Carl Bayer is still gathering information about Dad, and about Brett’s rationale for threatening me.”

She gives me a sad smile. “Brett Ferris and your father have a lot in common.”

“What? How do you figure?” One of them is an ex-con with violent tendencies. The other one is a rich snake in preppy clothing. I really don’t see the resemblance.

“They’ve both got us sitting here, looking at overpriced home-security systems, trying to stay out of their way. And you and I have done nothing wrong.”

She has a point. But that doesn’t make this easier.

“Go find your girl,” Mom says, covering my hand. “It’s not like you to back down from a fight.”