Blame It on the Tequila

A giggle came through the phone and squeezed my chest, forcing my heart to pump harder. Damn. She still had the same effect even after all these years, even over the phone. I couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“You’re on tour, right?”

“We sure are.”

“Where are you now? Dallas?”

“Ahhhhh. I see how it is.” My smile grew at her slipup.

“See how what is?”

“You keeping up with us, Nova?”

She scoffed—twice—before deciding she’d been caught. “Maybe. I may have seen a show or two.”

“Shut the fuck up.” The words escaped on a gust of air like I’d been sucker-punched in the gut. I’d done a double-take on every willowy redhead in the last five years, and she’d been right there. A bobbing head and screaming fan in a sea of darkness impossible to see past the blinding lights.

So fucking close.

She giggled again. “Nope. Jammed out with all your fangirls.”

“I just…” My mind struggled to process it. “I didn’t realize how close you were.”

The shock faded enough to let another emotion take over—hurt.

Her lighthearted giggle stopped, unable to miss the way the emotion hung from my words. “Yeah.”

Another strained silence, and I imagined her teeth digging into her plump bottom lip. The memory of watching her do it across the dining room table one of the first times we met hit me, and I missed her all over again just as hard as the first day I realized she left.

Jesus, I hadn’t even known I was capable of such a strong emotion after all these years. It knocked me sideways enough to slip honesty past the superficially light conversation.

“I looked for you, Nova.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

“I looked for you,” I repeated, willing her to hear all the days, weeks, and months I’d held my breath in hopes of her coming back to me.

A thud came through the line, and it was like I was there, watching her lean against a wall, the phone to her ear, her pink lips even rosier from the assault, tipping her head back to hit it against the wall. Just to jar the thoughts free, she’d explained the first time I caught her doing it.

“Listen, Parker,” she finally said. “I’m pretty drunk right now. My friend just got married, and I’ve done more than my fair share of shots.”

“Supernova,” I said softly, wanting to stop the exit she tried to make while simultaneously reminding her of the nickname we gave her when she let loose.

“It was good catching up,” she said more firmly. Now I could see her stand up and pull her shoulders back, full of false bravado. I could imagine every move—saw it so clearly in my mind. “But I’m about to collapse where I stand.”

I sat up and pulled my shoulders back too, enforcing real bravado against her fake one. I refused to let her end this as soon as it started. “I’m calling you again.”

“I-I don’t know—”

“I do.”

“Parker.”

“Go sober up, Supernova. But I’m calling again. Soon. Make sure you pick up.” She let loose a heavy sigh. “Don’t get all huffy on me. I’ll contact your friend,” I threatened playfully to lighten the mood. Maybe if we ended on a lighter note, she’d be more willing to pick up.

“God, no. Anything but that.”

“Is she that annoying?”

“No, not at all. But she’d chew you up and spit you out once she got everything she needed from you.”

“Challenge accepted.”

She groaned but laughed.

“Pick up, Nova.”

“We’ll see.”

“You fucking better.”

“Night, Rock Star.

“Night, Supernova.”

The line went dead, and I fell back on the couch, an ache in my chest and a smile on my lips.

She’d called me Rock Star.

Just like she had the first night we’d kissed.

Two

Nova

P A S T

Most kids got a car for their sweet sixteen. I got a new life.

Okay, maybe a little dramatic.

My mom married her long-distance boyfriend, and we moved into a stupidly big apartment in the city like some kind of mini-Brady Bunch. The apartment also came with my new stepdad and stepbrother—Parker Callahan.

I hadn’t met him too many times other than short trips where I kept mostly to myself. The few visits Brad made to visit my mom, Parker stayed with his mom in Chicago, not leaving us much time to get to know each other. Living together hadn’t changed that much either since he was always out.

“Nova,” my mom called. “Time for dinner.”

Except for tonight, when my mom was forcing a family dinner, where we would all sit around a table like a happy family.

Dropping my charcoals on the desk, I rolled my neck and arched back, spreading my cramped fingers like if I reached hard enough, I’d be able to touch the ductwork in the ceiling of my room. My fingers matched the darkness beyond the lamp illuminating my desk, and I dabbed them on the cloth I kept. Not that it worked since I’d overused it, and it only served to smear the dark color more.