The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(10)

“Swear it, or I’ll leave right now and never come back.”

He seemed too exhausted to move, but I knew he’d haul himself up and crawl out my window if I didn’t promise. I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears leaking out.

“I swear.”

“Thank you, Vi.”

I bit back a sob and snuggled up close to him and put my arms around him. He smelled so clean and warm, but thin. Too thin.

He’s lost weight since we met. It’s making him sick, living in a car

Miller stiffened for a second and then pulled me in close, and I tucked my head under his chin, and we fit together so perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

His chest pushed against my cheek in a deep sigh, and I listened to his heartbeat—a little too fast, I thought. If I were a doctor already, I’d be able to help him instead of feeling so helpless. The beats were like seconds, counting down to something, though I didn’t know what. Something bad, maybe. I drifted to sleep, the fear sinking down with me.





iii





The next day, we walked downtown Santa Cruz, along tree-lined sidewalks, past cute little shops, restaurants, and art galleries. We were headed to the Brewery Café to meet Shiloh. I watched Miller closely, noting how his face still looked pale. I’d found two empty water bottles in my bedroom trash when I woke up, and he’d complained of being tired, even after sleeping in my bed.

“I hardly remember a real bed,” he’d said that morning. “I forgot what it felt like.”

My stomach tightened. “You can sleep in it every night.”

I’d said it like an offer, but it was a command. If his mom got to sleep at motels, then I’d make him sleep in my bed and drink all the water he needed. I watched Miller walking beside me, stoic and uncomplaining. We took so much for granted every day: heat, toilets, water at the touch of a tap. Privacy, space, a bed. Miller had none of that and yet he’d kept it all inside, faced it alone.

On the sidewalk outside a pawnshop, Miller stopped and peered in. A beautiful acoustic guitar sat front and center on a stand. Scratches marred its pale wood but the deeper brown on the neck was rich and gleaming.

“That’s beautiful,” I said.

“It’s mine,” Miller said softly, to himself.

I swiveled to look at him. “What?”

His eyes widened and then he scowled. “Shit, nothing, never mind.” He started walking fast down the sidewalk, and I hurried to catch up.

“It’s yours? I didn’t know you played.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I guess so,” I said, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. “Are you good? Have you been playing a long time?”

“Since I was ten. I taught myself how to play watching YouTube when we had a computer.”

“Can you sing?”

He nodded. “Mostly covers, but I write my own stuff too.”

I blinked at this new facet of himself unfolding in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is that what you’ve been doing in your notebook every night? Writing songs? You could’ve played for me—”

Miller stopped and whirled on me. “Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it? Jesus, Vi. Do you ever stop asking questions and helping and…meddling in my shit?”

I recoiled as if slapped. “I don’t…I thought…”

He carved a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have told you about the guitar.”

“Why not?”

“Because now you’re just going to go take your rich-girl allowance and buy it back for me. You’ve helped enough. You’ve done enough. I can’t take anymore.”

I stared at the intensity in his eyes that were miles deep and sucking me into him, where the pain was deep and dark. Where want and sacrifice and going without lived. Things that sleeping in a real bed after a hot shower and a meal had woken in him.

“I won’t buy it back,” I said.

“Promise me.”

I bit my lip, shuffled my feet.

Miller set his jaw. “It’s something I have to do for myself. Promise me, Violet.”

“I will if you answer one question. Is not having your guitar what’s made you sad lately?”

“I’m not sad…”

“It was a week ago, right? That you sold it?”

He nodded reluctantly. “But I didn’t sell it, I pawned it. There’s a difference. If it’s sold, it’s gone for good. If it’s pawned, I can get it back.”

“What if someone else buys it?”

Miller’s eyes widened, fear burning in them at the thought.

“We have to get it back,” I said. “Because you haven’t been yourself. Like a piece of you is missing, and I just think—”

“Don’t think, Violet,” he said, suddenly out of breath. His face turned ruddy, as if he’d just run a sprint. “Don’t do anything. Just leave it alone. Promise.”

“Okay, okay, I promise,” I said in a low voice, mostly because this conversation was making him upset.

“I’m sorry I got angry at you,” he said. “You’ve been…really good to me. Hell, you’ve made life bearable.” His hand came up as if he wanted to brush the hair that had come loose from my ponytail, then jammed it in his pocket. “You’re the best thing to happen to me in a really long time. I’m just not used to…having things. A long shower. A bed. And it just makes me miss what I don’t have even more.”