Ransom(18)

“Like I said, you feel comfortable. That gives you more confidence. I think you’d be fine face to face with Daltrey.”

“Then why does the very idea make me feel dizzy?”

“Um, because he’s like the hottest guy ever?”

We both laugh.

“Thanks, Paige.” I gesture between us. “This, uh, this was really nice for me. I haven’t really… I mean, I don’t have any friends here. Like, at all.”

She waves a hand. “No worries. And you do now. Karen and I are loyal to the point of obnoxiousness. You won’t be able to get rid of us even if you try.” I open my mouth to tell her how glad I am to hear that, but she keeps talking. “Now, about Daltrey. I totally think you should call him, and this has nothing to do with me or Karen or the tour. I think you really miss him, Daisy.”

“Why do you think that?”

She snorts. “You should have seen the way you were looking at that picture of him in econ. You actually, like, stroked his face, you know?”

I shift, uncomfortable that she had read me so well. “It’s been a while since I let myself look at him.”

She crosses her arms and gives me a stern look. “You miss him. And for all he knows, you just totally ditched him for no reason at all, right? Don’t you think he deserves to hear from you now that you have things under control?”

The idea that I could ever have things under control is so preposterous I almost laugh out loud, but something in her expression stops me. I did just sit here, with a girl my own age, for the past twenty minutes and have an honest-to-God conversation, a serious one, too, where I opened up about some pretty embarrassing stuff. This would have been unheard of a mere eight months ago. What had Dr. Jacobs said? You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.

Maybe they were both right.





Chapter Seven


Daltrey





“Dude, what the hell was that?” My brother’s voice is angry and tense.

I try to close my eyes tighter, but it’s no use. He knows I’m not asleep. I’ve never been able to put anything over on Reed. “What the hell was what?” I ask, not opening my eyes. He shoves my arm, and I try not to react.

“Like hell you don’t know what I’m talking about. We had a majorly influential reporter in there, Daltrey. What the fuck were you thinking, walking out like that?”

“I figured you guys had it covered.”

He punches my shoulder.

“Fuck, dude.” I open my eyes, pissed because I know it’s the reaction he wanted. “You wanna explain to Dad how I can’t play tomorrow ’cause you bruised the shit out of my arm?”

He gives me a look that says he isn’t buying it. “Stop being such a pussy. Sit up and talk to me.”

I pull myself into a sitting position on the couch. I had escaped to the tour bus shortly after our set. I was aware that Dad had arranged the interview with Meghan Gerber, and Reed wasn’t messing around when he said she was one of the most influential music reporters in the business. I just knew I couldn’t keep it together for an interview, essential or not. I was exhausted, a fact I’ve been telling my father and brothers for days, and being tired always makes me grouchy. I probably would have done the band more harm than good had I been in there.

“What’s going on with you?” Reed asks, sitting across from me. “You’ve been acting like a little bitch for weeks now. You need to snap out of it.”

“I need a break.”

“This is what we signed up for, Dalt. You wanna go back to Ohio? Keep playing shitty local gigs?” He gestures around at the over-the-top luxury of our bus. “Or would you rather be shoved together in that van, busting ass all over the Midwest to get to dives where no one even remembered we were coming?”

His words have the opposite effect from what he intended, I’m sure. Because while our current situation may be exponentially better than our past, we are missing one thing from that ill-fated mini-tour two summers ago. One person, rather.

Out of all of my brothers, I look the most like Reed. Lennon and Cash are dark haired and stocky, filling out the chests of the tight T-shirts they like to wear on stage. Reed and I are blond, tall, and lanky, though he wears his hair much longer than mine. I tried the long-haired rocker look once, but Daisy had made so much fun of me I cut it back to its former, tousled mess.

Daisy. There she was in my thoughts for the second time in the last ten seconds. Not that such an occurrence was anything unusual. When wasn’t she on my mind?

He runs his hands through his shoulder-length hair. “I’ll talk to Dad, okay? See if we can get a few days off soon.”