The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(105)
I go to sleep and I think of you
When I wake up it can’t be true
Wait for me
Wait for me
I know that this can’t be pretend
I’m here waiting till the end
One day I know it won’t be hard
One day I know we’ll feel so free
Baby please I’m asking you
To wait for me
Wait for me
I stepped off the stage, drenched in sweat. The other guys were high-fiving and congratulating each other. Dan, the bassist, fell in step beside me in the corridor, the echoes of music and twenty-thousand screaming fans still reverberating in my ears.
“Hey, man, great show,” he said.
“Thanks, you too.” My stock answer.
“Where did that last one come from?” Antonio, the keyboardist asked. “‘Wait for Me’? Wasn’t exactly on the set list.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said. “It was something I wrote on the fly. Needed to get it out there.”
“Beautiful shit, man.”
“Thanks.”
His brows furrowed as he looked me up and down. “You okay? You look a little white.”
“I’m fine,” I said, even as my watch started warning me that my numbers were dropping.
Fuck. Too high before the show. Too low, after.
“Hey, Miller—”
“I gotta handle this.”
I forced my legs to move faster to my private dressing room. Evelyn was there with another assistant, Tina Edgerton, who was busy finishing setting up my post-show food and drinks.
Evelyn’s eyes widened when she looked up from her phone. “Jesus, Miller…I’m calling Dr. Brighton.”
“No,” I said, slumping into a chair. My shirt was drenched in a cold sweat. “Just give me my med bag.”
Evelyn hurried to do as I asked. I crammed a handful of glucose gummies in my mouth while Tina poured me a glass of orange juice. They both knew the drill.
“Thanks. You both can go. Can I have my phone, Ev?”
Evelyn slowly handed me my phone. “Are you sure? You still don’t look—”
“I’m fine. Please.” God, I was so tired. “I need to talk to her.”
I need her. I need Violet. I can’t do this anymore…
“Okay,” Evelyn said reluctantly. “But I’ll be right outside this door.”
They both started to go and then Tina stopped, turned. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Your dad called. I guess he hasn’t been able to reach you.”
I froze. The world stopped. I sank deeper in my chair, as if the floor had dropped beneath it. “What did you say?”
Evelyn whirled on Tina. “What did you say?”
Tina recoiled under our scrutiny, her glance darting between us. “Your dad called about twenty minutes ago. Sharon got the message and gave me his number. He wants you to call him back…” She frowned at my deteriorating expression. “Is there a problem?”
Evelyn turned to stare at me, aghast. I’d told her my dad was dead. Because he was, as far as I was concerned. And now he was back, haunting me…
My jaw had gone numb. “You’re sure it’s him?”
“He said his name was Ray Stratton?” Tina bit her lip. “I’m sorry. Are you not close?
“No,” I said. “No, we’re not close.”
Because he’s dead. Dead to me.
“Do you want his number?”
I was aware I was breathing hard, my hands clutching the armrests of the chair. Emotions rampaged through my skull like an avalanche.
“No, I do not want his number. He’s only calling because…he wants something. He saw the Rolling Stone article, maybe. He’s seen my success, and now he wants a piece of it.”
Evelyn recovered her poise and hustled Tina to the door. “Give me the number. I’ll handle this.”
The numbness was spreading, hollowing me out, making me tremble. My vision danced with black spots. Ray Stratton. The name like a baseball bat to my heart.
“Miller!”
Evelyn rushed toward me.
“No,” I said, hardly able to make my lips move. My tongue weighed a thousand pounds. “Tell them…if he calls again, tell him to go to hell… Tell him…”
The black spots widened into a chasm, and then I fell in.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Hey, V.” Veronica came in the door of our place, her arms laden with groceries.
I looked up from my Physics text and started to uncurl from the couch. “Hey, V,” I replied back with a smile, thinking—not for the first time—the universe had been kind enough to bestow Veronica Meyers on me, to make up for all the people I missed.
Two years older than me, Veronica took me in like an older sister and helped me get the job at Mack’s. We had nothing in common. She was soft-spoken yet blasted old goth metal music with band names like Type O Negative and Motionless in White in our tiny apartment. She had a rotation of older boyfriends that I couldn’t keep track of, while I was a recluse, studying in my room and hardly venturing out to socialize.
“Need some help?”