Mister Dick

“I thought you were a dream.” She looked up at me, her hand still clutching my forearm. “You cut your hair.”

That surprised me. “Uh, yeah. I cut it last summer.”

She slowly exhaled. “I like it.”

A strange sort of feeling punched me in the gut, and I cleared my throat. “I was just checking on you. I’ll go.”

“Boyd?” Her eyes were closed again.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you hate me?”

The question caught me off guard. I didn’t hate Echo Mansfield. Dislike…strong dislike was more like it. But I didn’t get a chance to answer, thank God, as her fingers tightened even more.

“Boyd?”

“Yeah?” This was the strangest conversation I’d had in years.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“You have a fever,” I admitted. Shit.

She was silent for a few moments, and then I saw a tear slide from the corner of her eye. She moistened her lips. “What if I die—”

“Jesus, Echo, you’re not going to die. You’ve got a fever, not Ebola.”

“If I died here, I don’t think anyone would care.” She sounded small and defeated. Which, for some reason, tugged at something inside me. I didn’t want to do this with her. Things were easier, simpler, when we kept space between us.

“Echo—”

“My dad doesn’t know I exist. I can’t remember the last time I talked to him. And my mom only cares about what she can take from me. I made out with Harmony’s boyfriend and now she hates me, and I think Lyric is embarrassed she’s related to all of us. She lives in a world all her own. And you…”

I had no idea where this was headed, but I leaned forward and waited.

“Boyd?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” A pause. “I’m going to be sick.” She let go of my arm, rolled onto her side, and puked.

All over my feet.

7

Echo

I was dying. This wasn’t me being all drama queen or anything. This was me feeling the worst I’ve ever felt in my life. My head pounded, my mouth was dry (and tasted gross). I was cold and hot, and every inch of my body ached.

On top of all that? I was mortified. I’d been sick all over Boyd. Like, what the hell. And instead of going apeshit on me, he’d been…concerned, almost sweet. Boyd Appleton. The man I hated more than any other man on the planet.

Except I didn’t hate him. Not really. It was more of an intense dislike, coupled with a stupid attraction that wasn’t only inconvenient, it was absurd. Juvenile even. And now I was lying in the big bed, in the bedroom he’d slept in for days, wrapped in sheets that smelled like him and wishing I were home because I didn’t want to deal with any of this.

Not at half strength, anyway.

If I were home, I’d call my assistant, Ali, or my makeup guy, Alan, to come over and bring soup and hugs and meds and a big shot of B-12. Up until a few days ago, my sister Harmony would have been my go-to, but now I was pretty sure she’d tell me where to go. Straight to hell sounded about right. And my mother? She’d split as soon as Christmas in Aspen was done and over. Headed to Bora Bora with her latest boy toy. Not that I’d call her. She’d only make me sicker. The sad thing was that the two of them probably had no clue I was missing.

And I was missing. I’d been down and out for two days already, and I wasn’t feeling much better today. The chills had subsided, but I had no strength, and the damn headache was killing me. The snow had given way to straight-up ice, and the windows looked like four panes of crystal. This had to be one of the biggest winter storms ever. How in hell had I not known it was coming?