The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(85)

I can’t go to LA looking like this. I can’t play for them like this…

Another terrible fear wracked me, lighting up my insides with panic. I quickly knelt in front of my guitar case and threw open the latches. With two hands, I gingerly pulled the guitar out and turned it over, inspecting it. A sigh of relief miles deep eased out of me, as I set it back in its case, whole and undamaged.

But the damage had been done. I looked exactly like what Chet had said. A dirt-poor kid who couldn’t manage to stay out of trouble long enough to make it through one important meeting.

The strength drained out of me, and I sat down hard on the wooden bench and stared at the ocean through the Shack’s lone window. The battle with Chet replayed in flashes, making me wince. But my mom’s defeated face scared me more.

The last thing I wanted to do was eat; but I took my insulin and choked down some food, every bite like a rock in my bruised windpipe. Panic lit me up all over again.

Jesus, what if I can’t sing?

I hummed a few bars, wincing at the pain. A few lyrics grated out. I cleared my throat and tried again, louder. For a few nerve-wracking minutes, I warmed up my voice until I could sing past the pain and sound like myself.

“Goddamn,” I murmured. Chet had almost ruined everything.

Maybe he did. They’re not going to want me either.

The last vestiges of adrenaline left me drained, and I laid my head on the table. The scents of salt and old wood and the sound of the ocean crashing and retreating soothed me like Mom’s perfume and lullabies used to when I was a kid. A lifetime ago.





A soft hand touched me awake. I opened heavy eyes to see Violet standing over me. She wore jeans and a baggie hoodie, no makeup, her hair in a ponytail.

So beautiful…

She smiled. “Hey, you. Napping before your—?” Her words cut off in a gasp as I sat up and the afternoon sunlight fell over my face. “Miller…My God, what happened?” She touched my chin, turning me toward her to get a better look and then bit back a little cry. “Your neck. Who did this to you? Chet?”

I nodded. “I’m okay. But shit, look at me. I can’t go to LA now.”

“Of course, you can,” she said fiercely, her voice wavering. “You can’t let him stop you.”

“I’m going to meet a high-level exec looking like this? It’s pathetic. I don’t want them to feel sorry for me.”

“They won’t. Not after you sing.” She pulled me to her, cradling my head against her soft sweatshirt.

“He kicked me out, Vi,” I said into her middle. “He kicked me out of the house.”

I was homeless for the second time in my life.

“No,” Violet said in a quavering voice. “He can’t do that.”

“He did. My mom is too scared and beat down to stand up to him. My only chance now is to go to LA, convince them to invest in me, and kick his ass out when I get back.”

Saying it out loud made it sound even more implausible.

Violet sat on the bench beside me. “You can do that, and you will,” she said, blinking her tears away, determination taking over. She glanced around the Shack. “I thought I saw a first aid kit around here.”

“Holden brought one.” I pointed at the small medicine box, sitting near the generator softly whirring in the corner.

Violet brought it back to the table. I winced as she touched antiseptic wipes to the scrapes on my cheek. “Tomorrow, it won’t be so red. It’ll look better tomorrow.”

I noticed she didn’t say anything about the fingerprints on my neck that looked exactly like what they were. No hiding them.

Voices sounded from outside.

“Shit, the others are here,” I said. “I don’t want them to see me like this. It’s fucking humiliating.”

Violet touched my cheek. “It’s not. It’s just what happened. They’re your friends, and they care about you.”

Holden and Ronan could be heard bickering at each other as they prepped the firepit, Shiloh cutting in to scold them for being jackasses.

Despite everything, I smiled. I’d missed them.

We exited the Shack. Three heads turned, and three pairs of eyes widened at the same time to see my face. I put my hand up before anyone—mainly Holden—could speak.

“I don’t want to talk about it. My mom’s boyfriend is a dick. Let’s leave it at that.”

“But fucking hell, Miller,” Holden began.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll deal with him when I get back.”

Somehow.

Holden reluctantly backed off. Shiloh’s face was a mask of concern. But Ronan…Ronan looked ready to kill. While the others were busy setting up the fire and getting the food, he pulled me aside.

“When you get back,” he said in a flat tone, his gray eyes hard and flinty, “we’re going to handle it. Okay?”

I nodded, teeth clenched to keep the damn tears from my eyes. “Okay.”

“Good,” he said, then I nearly fell over as he reached out and gripped my shoulder for a short second. Ronan never touched anyone. He gave me a thump and let me go.

He got the fire started while Holden got the conversation going. For a few hours, I was able to put what happened on the back burner. I sat in the sand, Violet in front of me, her back to my chest, my arms wrapped around her, her head nestled in the crook of my shoulder.