“What’s wrong? I don’t see you with Amber anymore. Or any girl for that matter.” She smiled and moved in closer, her knee resting on the chair between my legs. “Nothing wrong with having a little fun.”
I stood up gently and pushed her away. “Is this what you meant by your demand? The cost for your help?”
Her dark eyes widened, the heat in them turning cold. “What do you take me for, some kind of prostitute? You think I’d trade sex for a favor?”
“No,” I said, flustered. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. But what the hell are you doing?”
“What I’m doing is helping you get your music out there.”
“You know what I mean.” My phone chimed a text. “Fuck. Just…hold on.”
I moved to the other side of the room. The text was from Shiloh.
I just heard. Violet’s at UCSC Medical. Head injury. They won’t tell me more.
Every molecule in my body turned to stone. It felt as if the floor had dropped out, sucking my heart down with it.
My fingers trembled as I typed. On my way.
Evelyn pouted. “What’s wrong?”
Frantically, I threw on my jacket, chucked my guitar into its case, and shouldered the strap. “I gotta go.”
“Now? We haven’t shot the video. What happened?”
“Violet. Something… I don’t know. I gotta go,” I said again and raced out, my pulse thundering. Evelyn called after me, but I barely heard her.
There were few buses at this hour, and I couldn’t afford to wait one fucking second. My phone said the UCSC Medical Center was one and a half miles away. A thirty-minute walk.
The words head injury kept flashing in my head like ambulance sirens, then I began to run.
Chapter Sixteen
One day earlier…
They had arrived.
My hands trembled slightly as I took four envelopes from the rest of the mail. My eyes scanned the return addresses: Baylor, Georgetown, UCSF, and UC Santa Cruz. Acceptance or rejection letters.
My heart was pounding as I took the mail into the kitchen. It had been several days since the bonfire at the Shack and Miller hadn’t contacted me once. Miller’s words chased my every waking hour and followed me into my sleep.
Maybe we’re impossible.
We’re done here.
Maybe we were done before we’d started. The enormity of it stole my breath whenever I thought of it. So, I didn’t. When my thoughts went to Miller—which was every other minute—I shut them down. Closed my heart. I had been right all along. Every time Miller and I touched or kissed, we blew apart. Like magnets, drawn together at one polarity, thrusting away at the other.
And maybe his feelings fo
r Amber went deeper than I suspected. Why else wouldn’t he have at least called me to tell me what he was thinking?
I could have asked Shiloh but I didn’t want a relationship like that ‘telephone’ game, where everything comes second hand. But uncertainty was maddening. I’d been a fool to break the promises I’d made to myself and now the heartache was too much. I had to outrun it, out-study it, out-prepare it so that when the next phase of my life began—contained in one of the four envelopes on my kitchen counter—I’d be ready for it. Stronger.
Late afternoon sun filled our spacious kitchen. I was dressed in my pajamas, my hair still damp after a shower. I’d had a hard soccer practice where my coach and teammates were shocked at my aggressive play. Get used to it, I wanted to tell them. I had to kick and run until the hurt was pummeled and burned out of me, or I’d collapse and cry.
And I’m not going to be that girl anymore.
I sat at the kitchen counter and opened the envelopes one by one. Baylor: accepted.