“It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not her mother’s fault. It’s not even her fault. It just is.” Phil’s face grew solemn, withdrawn.
I turned the ball cap forward on my head, pulling the brim down as far as possible, and walked over to stand next to him. After taking a few deep breaths, I brought my head up and stared at the woman I thought I knew, the girl I thought that, maybe, I could love one day, as she rocked back and forth and ran her fingers together rapidly. She looked angry and closed off. She looked nothing like the Angelina that I spent several nights with underneath the covers of some bed. She looked nothing like the woman I took to red-carpet events, or the woman who used to throw her head back and laugh when I’d ruffle her hair with my free hand while driving.
Phil’s voice came out hoarse and shaky. “Did you love her?”
I thought long and hard about my answer. I stared at Angelina a little longer before taking my hand and placing it on her father’s back. “I don’t think I even knew her well enough to love her, but I do care for her.”
I knew I cared for her. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been standing there.
Phil’s shoulders untensed as he nodded his head and smashed his mouth together. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Can you let her go then? For her sake?”
I hated to admit it, but I’d already let her go. I let her go the moment Brooklyn entered my life and turned it on its side. I let her go the moment my lips touched Brooklyn’s. It was like I saw the real meaning of caring for someone when I was with Brooklyn. She never held back with me, she said what she was thinking and she’d meant it. She was real. And what I felt for her was real.
“Yes,” I said and turned on my heel and walked away from the one woman who I thought had destroyed me permanently.
But I was wrong. So painfully wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brooklyn
I rolled my eyes as I scanned the radio station in my car. Static, static, more static, a country station playing some horrid version of bluegrass, and then Kiss 90.
“Fine,” I muttered as I turned the volume up a bit.
I was on my way to my parents’ house for a small celebration—a celebration being held because our debt was officially paid off in full. Cara still argued that I shouldn’t have taken the job with Reid to pay off her debt, as did my parents, and truly, Jack was the only one who backed me up any time they went on a rant, but they were all happy, nonetheless, and so was I.
When I thought back to a few months ago, when Reid and I spent nearly every night together on the tour bus, it stung a little. I liked to look at that short time in my life like a dandelion—the kind that you blow on to make a wish and watch the little seeds fly into the air like little wisps of dust. Dandelion’s had a natural beauty. They brought a smile to your face on a balmy spring day, and then they were gone within a second, never lasting long. All it took was someone making a wish, or a small gust of wind in the middle of summer, for the entire thing to disappear.
That was what Reid and I were—a dandelion. It was nice while it lasted, but all good things had to come to an end, and we surely did. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the hospital.
Sometimes, I thought that he never truly came to the hospital. That I didn’t talk to him. That he didn’t whisper, “Don’t give up on me now,” after placin
g his lips on my forehead. But my heart knew better. It was the last thing I thought about before slumber took me under at night and the first thing I thought of in the morning as beams of sunlight streamed through my little apartment window.
It wasn’t just Reid that I hadn’t heard from. I hadn’t talked to anyone from Reid’s world. Jackson and Finn were like small remnants of my memory. The only thing that I had reminding me of the duo was the ridiculous cheerleading outfit they had sent to my hospital room. The little note attached to it said, “You’ll always be our favorite team pet.” I laughed about it at the time, and a warmness coated the coolness of my heart that Reid had left behind when he’d vanished, but that was the last time that I’d heard from anyone. I was back to my usual 7-3, teaching my little rugrats the difference between a verse and a chorus.
So now, the memories spent with Reid and the band were strictly set in a no-think zone. More like a no-talk zone, too. Jane wasn’t allowed to bring it up—ever. And Cara and my parents knew better than to say anything about it. Although, I was certain they’d bring it up today.
My finger hovered over the second preset button on my dash, the number two long worn off from years of changing the radio station, when the woman host started to squeal. “Have you heard the newest single from Reid King?!”
My stomach did a tiny flip. The male host said, “I have, and I have to say, it’s just like Reid King. The guy is unstoppable. First, he vomits all over his crowd of fans on tour,”—insert a puking sound by said host—“then he swan-dives off the stage at a later show to save some poor, helpless girl,”—that’d be me—“and now… this?! This song is just…”
The woman host interrupted. “Amazing. Do you think it’s about a real Brooklyn?”
My head snapped as my back grew rigid. I slammed my feet on the brakes, and a car horn sounded from behind. My heart raced in my chest as I jammed my finger onto the off button.
My heart pounded the entire way to my parents’ house, and the silence of my car allowed me to actually hear the beats. I ignored every single thought in my head about the fact that they said the name Brooklyn.
I don’t know anyone named Brooklyn.
Nope.
Name change, coming right up.
You probably misheard them. I nodded to myself as I began to climb out of my car, an early fall breeze causing my auburn hair to fly all around my face. I grabbed it with one hand and pulled it over my shoulder. I watched as Cara came flying out of the house with wide eyes, and I almost retreated back into my car and headed home. Oh jeez.
“OH MY GOD!” she yelled, running full speed at my car. She stopped just a few inches from me and smacked her hands onto my shoulders. “Have you heard Rei—”