The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys Book 1)

by Emma Scott

  He shuddered, and a grunt escaped his locked teeth, a sound so purely masculine, it made me want him all over again. But we had time. Now, at last, we had time. No furtive weekends. No stolen hours.

  Miller collapsed on top of me, wrapped himself around me, and we lay tangled that way, sweat-soaked and satiated, our hearts slowing their thundering beats together until finally, we slept.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  That night was mine and hers.

  I told my team to leave us alone, and I ordered room service. I took my meds, we ate and laughed and talked, and I kept Violet in my bed all night. Naked and perfect, her black hair splayed out on the white pillow, her body smooth and pale in the glittering light of the Strip outside the window. My hands skimmed over her curves, molding her, creating her under me, after months of having only a fantasy. Erasing lonely nights spent with my hand wrapped around my cock, dragging myself toward something like relief.

  Now she was here, her skin warm and silken, her arms reaching for me and pulling me into the soft heat of her, again and again.

  Finally satiated in the late hour before dawn, we lay wrapped in each other, her head on my shoulder, my fingers twining lazily in her hair.

  “As much as I hate to bring it up,” I said, “what are you going to do about your school?”

  “I said no more goodbyes, remember? If I bail on my midterms, my tuition will be in jeopardy, but—”

  “I’ll pay your tuition.”

  She sighed, her bare breasts pressing against my chest with a soft rise and fall. “I don’t know, Miller. I’ve been struggling, but I was telling Shiloh that I don’t think that’s what’s hurting me. It’s making me stronger. More focused. I can handle hard work. But I wasn’t prepared for how hard it is being apart from you.”

  “Neither was I. Is it asking too much for you to come with me on the tour?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “Because there shouldn’t be any more tour, right? What does Dr. Brighton say?”

  “That I need to rest more. Maybe he’s right. I don’t want to drag you around the country, Violet, and I don’t want to give you up again. But the Helping Hands executive will be at the concert in Seattle tomorrow, and she’s bringing a bunch of kids. I can’t let them down. Hell, I’m already letting them down. If I cancel tour dates, that’s less revenue for them, and for the label.”

  “There will be other tours, Miller. No one will begrudge you if you need to take care of yourself.”

  “I’m going to do this show. For them. One show and then we can plan our next step.”

  Violet was quiet for a moment, then she tilted her chin up to look at me. “Do you enjoy any of this? Rolling Stone made it sound like you didn’t.”

  “I love being on stage. Being with the fans. But the rest of it is surreal.”

  “How?”

  “Everywhere I go, people tell me how great I am, even if they don’t know me. Even when I’m being a complete jackass. I haven’t had a real conversation with anyone in six months. I only have to say ‘I’m thirsty’ to send ten different people scrambling to bring me a drink. I know it’s the height of douchebaggery to complain about shit like that, but I think it would be really fucking easy to let it all go to my head. Giving to the charity makes me feel like I’m honoring my mom’s struggle and not forgetting where I came from.”

  Violet smiled and kissed my chest over my heart. “I love that you said that.” She cast her gaze down, her voice softening. “What about your dad?”

  My stomach tightened into a knot, erasing the lazy heaviness. I sat up and reached for a glass of water from the nightstand. “What about him? I know why he’s calling after seven years, and it’s not to congratulate me. He wants a cut.”

  Violet moved to sit beside me and pulled the sheet up around her chest. “Maybe. But maybe not. Instead of wondering what he wants, ask yourself, instead, what you want. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “Why would I want to talk to him? He ruined our lives. We had to live out of a fucking car. Mom had to do…horrible things to help us survive. He doesn’t deserve for me to answer the phone.”

  She rested her cheek against me. “It’s not about what he deserves, Miller. It’s about what you deserve. If you talk to him, maybe it would bring you some peace.”

  “Or it might just make everything worse.”

  Violet’s hand slipped into mine, and she kissed my shoulder. “Only you know what feels right.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “He might not try back, anyway. I told the entire team I wasn’t taking his calls. Maybe I missed my chance.” I gritted my teeth against the ache in my heart at that thought.

  “I think everything happens for a reason, but we can’t always see it at the time.”

  I gave her a look. “Even us? It’s taken us years to get here. Except, now I’m not letting you go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She snuggled into me. “If you thought I was a nag about your numbers before…”

  I laughed and kiss the top of her head. “I miss your nagging. The doctor irritates the hell out of me, but it always made me feel good that you were taking care of me.”

  “Maybe that was meant to be too,” she said. “I’ve been thinking more and more about my path as a doctor. Being a surgeon was an idea that I got stuck on, like having a crush on River Whitmore. It was just always there, but I never examined it. But now I have been, and I don’t think that being a surgeon is right for me.”

  “That’s been your dream since before I met you.”

  She took my hand, traced the lines on my palm with her finger. “It may sound weird, but I’ve been feeling more and more that the key to knowing what is right is to get out of my own way. That’s how it was with you. I had to stop calling what I felt for you anything other than what it was. Real. Inevitable. Maybe it’s the same with my career.” She looked up at me, her smile brilliant in the soft light. “Maybe it was right in front of me, staring me in the face all along.”

  My eyes widened. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t want to sound too weird or crazy, but maybe being an endocrinologist is part of how we just fit.”

  I frowned. “I’m the guy you’ll have to take care of?”

  “We take care of each other.”

  “How? What do I give you in return?”

  “You take care of my heart,” she said softly, then grinned. “You’ll be my on-call musician who writes me love songs when I need them. Speaking of which, since this is your last concert for a while, do you think you could score me a ticket?”

  “Hell, I can put you on the stage.”

  “No, no, no. I want to be like everyone else, watching you in your natural habitat while the entire world screams for you.” She shook her head in mock annoyance. “I mean…who do you have to screw around here to get a ticket to a Miller Stratton show?”

  I laughed and hauled her on top of me. “You’re looking at him, baby.”

  Morning turned into late morning, and we hauled ourselves out of bed. Violet was in the adjacent room getting dressed for our flight to Seattle while I lingered over our room service breakfast at the table.

  Dr. Brighton arrived to check my vitals and blood sugar levels.

  “Looks good now,” he said, “but it’s the post-concert that concerns me, Miller. I’d hoped putting you on the insulin pump would have helped stabilize you, but that hasn’t been the case. I suspect that your diabetes is of the rarer kind. Labile, we call it, or brittle. Meaning, it doesn’t respond to treatment as effectively and brings higher risks.”

  “Meaning I’m fucked if I tour and I’m fucked if I don’t,” I said, bitterness flooding me. “I don’t want to be reckless, Doc, but the numbers swing around whether I’m performing or not. Always have.”

  “That is a hallmark of lability, but stress can raise your blood sugar levels, and it’s clear to me that you’ve been under a tremendous amount of pressure with this tour.”

  “True, b
ut I feel fine now. Better than I’ve felt in a long time. What about tonight?”

  “Are you asking me if you can do the show? Yes. Should you? I’d prefer you didn’t until I can get a full endocrine and renal evaluation, and check your A1C, preferably in a hospital setting.”

  I grimaced. “I can’t. Tonight is a big deal. We’ll talk about it after.”

  He pursed his lips.

  “After. Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Very well. I’ll check in with you before the show, after, and first thing in the morning.”

  “Thanks, doc.”

  He packed up his tools, greeting Evelyn on his way out.

  “Hey, Ev,” I said. “Have you eaten? I can order you something…?

  “No, thank you,” she said, smoothing her skirt nervously. Evelyn was never nervous.

  “What’s up?”

  “Tina has your schedule for today and will coordinate with you later about meeting Brenda Rosner, the Helping Hands CEO. In fact, Tina will be taking over all of my duties from now on.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m here to offer you my resignation.”

  I blinked. “What…why?”

  Evelyn glanced at the closed bedroom door. “Violet’s here?”

  “Yes. Is she why you’re leaving?”

  “Not exactly,” Evelyn said stiffly. “I took a position with a public relations firm in Hollywood. Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

  I got to my feet and gave her a hug. “Congratulations, Ev. That’s great.” She stiffened in my arms and I let her go.

  “You’ve given me a lot, Miller.”

  “So have you. You held my shit together when I would’ve gone off the rails. Hell, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you. I bitch a lot, but when I’m on stage and it’s just the music and me and the fans… You helped give that to me.”

  “Don’t get all mushy on me now,” she said and suddenly looked less confident than I’d ever seen her. “There’s something I need to tell you. I…haven’t been honest with you.”

  I leaned against the desk and crossed my arms. “Okay.”

  “This is harder than I thought.” She huffed and put her hands on her hips. “And you know, I don’t even have to tell you. I did get another offer, and I could just take it and be done. But I can’t. I can’t leave my lie hanging out there in the world.”

  “What lie?”

  “About why I needed you to bring me with you to LA.”

  My arms dropped. “You told me you needed help.”

  “Because I knew you were a good guy who would do whatever he could.” She delicately cleared her throat. “Especially if he thought someone was in danger.”

  “You were in danger. The same kind as me.”

  Evelyn turned her gaze to her heels. “Except I wasn’t. I drove you to the airport and saw the bruises on your neck. When it looked like you wouldn’t take me with you, I…improvised.”

  I stared, understanding starting to creep over me like cold fingers. “You’re fucking kidding.”

  “Two days before, I’d banged my thigh on my brother’s stupid air hockey table in the rec room and had a pretty good bruise. At the time, it felt like serendipity. The universe stamping my ticket out of town.” She smiled wanly. “And it worked.”

  I gaped, slack-jawed. “What are you saying? That you saw where Chet fucking choked me and you said…?”

  “That the same thing happened to me.” She plucked a tissue from the Fendi bag and dabbed her eyes carefully. “Yes. I did.”

  “Evelyn, that’s…despicable.”

  “I know it is. I’m not proud of myself, but I did what I had to do. Santa Cruz is too small and sleepy. I had to get out.”

  “So you lied about your dad—”

  “I never said it was my dad,” she said fiercely. “I would never… He would never.”

  “But you put it out there for me to believe.”

  “And now I’m taking it back. I have to take it back. I’m sorry, Miller.” She squared her shoulders. “It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t need to do that. Your vlog would have taken you wherever you wanted to be.”

  “Maybe. But I wanted to be with you.”

  I sagged against the desk, ran a hand through my hair as two years fell between us. Two years of her enduring my bullshit and moods and medical issues for something that would never happen. “I knew. I knew and I didn’t want to know. I’m sorry, Ev.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Miller. I always knew what I was doing. You can ask Violet what I meant by that.” She heaved a breath, then stuck out her hand, and I took it. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “Thank you, Ev. I’m going to miss you.”

  Surprise danced over her expression and then she regained her composure. “Of course, you will. Most days, Tina can barely remember her own name.”

  She pulled away quickly and went to the door. She opened it, turned, her expression unguarded and soft. “Tell Violet the best woman won.”

  Then she left.

  Our plane touched down in Seattle late that afternoon. I introduced Violet to the guys in the band. She was an instant icebreaker, warming over the cold front I’d presented to them for so long. By the end of soundcheck, we felt more cohesive as a band then we had the entire tour, and I cursed myself for being such a dick. For holding myself back from giving a shit about anyone.

  Holding myself back, I realized, had caused more problems for me than it had ever solved. My dad floated in on the tail of that thought, but I batted him away.

  That’s different. He wrecked us. He held himself back from us.

  Even so, I pulled my new assistant aside. “Has my father called?”

  Fear instantly washed over Tina’s face. “I thought you said to tell him you’re never available.”

  “I did,” I said, irritated. “I was just…wondering.”

  “How come he doesn’t have your cell number?”

  I scrubbed my hands over my face, missing Evelyn already. “Never mind. If he calls again…”

  “Yeah?”

  I hung on the precipice of two possibilities. The way it’d been for seven years and some unknown future where I didn’t hold myself back.

  Tina was waiting.

  “Nothing.”

  The executive from Helping Hands, Brenda Rosner, arrived pre-show with half a dozen young kids, most around eight or nine years old.

  I took Violet with me. “I want you to see what it’s all for.”

  We congregated in the green room with a slew of photographers and reporters. Pictures were taken for photo ops, and Violet hung out with the kids, talking and laughing with them and making them feel less intimidated by the surroundings.

  Brenda shook my hand, thanking me for my contribution.

  “I don’t know how many shows I’ve got left in me,” I told her. “My doctors,” I said with a nod at Violet, “are saying I have to slow down.”

  Brenda smiled. “We’re all so grateful. We don’t need to ask anything more of you than what you’ve already given.”

  I believed her, but it still stung to have to quit on those kids. I signed autographs and took pictures with them. They thanked me, never knowing that I got more from them than I could ever give.

  One kid stood apart from the others. Brenda told me he’d had it particularly rough and held himself aloof from the others. A boy, eight years old, he’d been shuffled around from shelter to shelter before being taken away from his parents and put in foster care. While everyone was partaking in the spread of food and drink, he leaned against the wall by himself. I moved to stand with him and leaned against the wall too, side by side.

  “Your name is Sam, right?”

  He nodded, his eyes on the commotion around us. “I’ve never seen that much food all in one place.”

  I swallowed hard at the sudden lump in my throat. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  He looked up at me with a depth in his brown eyes
that should not have been there for an eight-year-old. “I heard you didn’t have a home when you were a kid.”

  “That’s right. My mom and I lived in our car for about six months.”

  “Was it hard?”

  “Hell yeah, it was hard. I had to wash my hair in a gas station bathroom. That sucked.”

  “But now you’re this world-famous rock star.”

  “True, but a lot of lucky shit had to happen for me to get here,” I said. “What do you like to do, Sam? If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”

  “I want to be a photographer. I know that sounds lame…”

  “Doesn’t sound lame. You like taking pictures?”

  “Yeah, I do. Annie, that’s my foster mom right now, she says I’m pretty good at it.”

  “Do you have a camera?”

  He shook his head. “Annie lets me take pictures on her phone sometimes. But it’s not the same as a real camera.”

  I looked over at one of the press photographers snapping photos of the kids and gave a sharp whistle between my teeth to get his attention. He looked up, and I jerked my head to call him over.

  “Sam, here, would like to be a photographer. Do you mind if he takes a few pictures with your camera?”

  The photographer looked dubious about handing over his very expensive, professional camera to a kid.

  “I got it covered if anything happens,” I said. I didn’t often use my status—whatever the fuck that was—to get favors, but this kid was worth it. I gave the guy a “Do you know who I am?” look that Violet would have rolled her eyes at, had she seen it.

  “No, yeah, of course,” the photographer said. “Do you know how to work one of these?” he asked, looping the strap around Sam’s neck. “This is the aperture—”

  “I know,” Sam said. “This is the zoom and focus.” He put the camera to his eye with me in the frame. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, one knee bent. Sam took my picture, then showed me the image

  “I’ve had my photo taken thousands of times, Sam,” I said. “Too many. But this one is my favorite.”