Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(77)

A man runs into the room so fast that he’s a blur. He skates to a stop beside my bed. I open watery eyes and look up to find Silas. “Are you choking? Is she okay?” he barks.

“She’s fine,” his mother says calmly. “As fine as someone can be who tries to drink water lying down.” She hits a button somewhere and the back of my hospital bed slowly begins to elevate. I get control over my lungs, slowly.

Becky is the next person to dart into my room. “Omigod are you okay?”

“Yup,” I cough. “Never better.”

Silas flinches and his mom laughs. Then Mrs. Kelly stands up. “I think I’ll let you all take it from here. Nice meeting you, Delilah. Let’s do this again when you’re feeling a little better.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I rasp. “My voice is so shot.” And then it hits me. The concert! I’m supposed to sing tonight. “Holy shit, it’s Friday!” I wheeze.

“Easy,” Silas says, his warm hand on my bare arm. “The concert is postponed.”

“Until when?” I croak.

“Whenever,” Becky says with a wave of her hand. “The music festival lasts through next month. If you want to play the show, they’ll find you another night.”

I relax against the pillows and sigh. “Okay.” I want to ask about Brett, but I’m a little afraid to. Silas moves his hand to my hair, which is reassuring. He takes a sip from a Starbucks cup in his hand, and strokes my head.

“Is that coffee?” I squeak. He nods, and I can smell it now—rich and dark. Because of my phobia, I haven’t had a cup of Starbucks coffee in years.

But there’s something about waking up in a hospital room that makes things very plain. The very event I’ve been dreading for years finally happened. It sucked, but I’m still here. “Can I have a sip?” I ask.

Silas’s hand goes still on my hair. “Of course.” He removes the lid and offers me the cup. “You can have a sip of my drink anytime, anywhere.”

I take it and sip without stopping to think about it. The coffee is hot and bitter and feels great against my parched throat. Even better—Silas wraps an arm around my shoulders. I hand back the cup, then lean my head against his solid bulk. “Okay. Tell me the truth. Where is Brett right now?”

“Probably at his bail hearing,” Silas says. “There are multiple charges. Possession of a controlled substance and assault in the second degree.”

“Bail hearing,” I repeat slowly. “This probably isn’t the first time he’s done it.”

Silas rubs my back. “Probably not,” he agrees. And he’s holding back from saying more. I can feel it.

“What? Tell me all of it. I’m not scared.” That’s a lie, but it sounds good out loud.

“It’s possible that the first time you were drugged, he was the culprit. You told me once that he was there to help you afterward.”

Another shiver hits me. “That is just twisted. But it makes sense. He didn’t want me to call the police after it happened.” God, I’d trusted him even when I knew I shouldn’t. I wanted Brett to be my savior. I wanted him to launch my career.

And he did.

“Here’s the part I’m not sure about,” Silas says. “My friends at Roadie Joe’s say he came in, ordered a drink, tucked a stack of cocktail napkins in his pocket, and then left again five minutes later.”

“Cocktail napkins?” It takes a moment for that to sink in. “You think he’s my stalker, too?”

“I do. The motive seems pretty clear. He would do anything to keep you under his thumb. You were afraid to change security companies, right? He liked it that way. And mailing napkins to you didn’t require a lot of skill or daring.”

Wrapping both arms around him, I plaster my face to his T-shirt. “I don’t ever want to see his face again. I will knee him right in the balls.”

“You and me both.”





The rest of the day is sort of a groggy blur. Doctors poke at me a little while, but it’s clear that I’m going to be fine. When I’m cleared to leave, Becky and Silas try to sneak me out of the hospital via the back entrance. I hear only a few cameras click as Silas tucks me into his mother’s car.

There will be some scary photos of me out in the world before nightfall. Becky won’t show them to me, though. She knows better.

Silas sees us to the hotel elevator but doesn’t come upstairs. “Get some rest,” he says. “I’m going home to shower. Can I bring you dinner later?”

“Are you going to explain why you went MIA this week?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Make it good, Ralph. I can’t wait to hear this later.”

He gives me a sad smile and leaves.

I’m pretty happy about getting a shower, too. Becky clucks over me like a mother duck the whole time. “I should have known something terrible would happen,” she keeps saying. “I didn’t trust my gut.”

My gut is on probation these days, too. I was never smart when it came to Brett. My gut always knew there was something sour where his heart belonged. But I thought I could handle him.

I was wrong.

I pull on my most comfortable yoga pants and a tank top and wonder how long it will be until Silas is back.