Ransom(37)

“Go on inside, Daisy,” Cash says, moving to stand between my friends. He offers them each an arm, which they take eagerly. “Go say hi to the boys. I’ll make sure your lovely friends get to meet everyone.”

I hesitate, not knowing if I should leave them. Then I remember that this is Cash, and there’s no way anything bad will happen to either of them with him. Besides, neither of them is complaining in the slightest. I give them a quick wave and step into the dressing room.

“Daisy!” Lennon is lounging on one of the couches, a beer in one hand and the other raised in welcome. “Is that you? Get over here.”

He stands as I walk over, holding out his arms for a hug. I step into them wordlessly, suddenly feeling as if I might cry. I’ve always loved Lennon in a slightly different way from his brothers. He was the quietest of the Ransome boys, and probably the most sensitive. He was the brother I went to when I wanted some calm, a listening ear, or just someone to be with.

In his arms, I immediately feel that same calm. I clutch his shoulders tightly, wishing I’d found a way to let him know what was happening with me.

“You okay?” he whispers in my ear. No accusations, no anger. Just Lennon, being his sweet self.

I nod against his chest, not trusting myself to speak.

“Please tell me if I can help you at all, okay? I’ve missed you, Daisy.”

Thinking I really might cry now, I pull back, not meeting his eyes. I should have known he’d realize there was something really wrong.

“I mean it.” His voice is still soft as he lifts my chin with one finger, making me look up at him. “Don’t disappear again. Just talk to me.”

I nod, wiping at my eyes.

“Why are you making her cry?” Reed asks, coming up behind Lennon. He pushes his brother out of the way and gives me a hug. “Glad you’re back, baby girl. I have a song I’m having some trouble with. I could really use your ear sometime soon, okay?”

“Sure.”

He looks at Lennon. “God, I hope this means our little brother will stop moping around.”

Lennon rolls his eyes. “Leave her alone, Reed.”

“Are you talking about… is Daltrey moping?” I can’t picture it. Daltrey has never been one for moping or feeling sorry for himself. He’s too busy, too full of energy and big plans for that.

“God, yes,” Reed says, ignoring the glare from Lennon. “He’s been like a pissy little girl—no offense, Dais. It’s really getting old.”

I meet Lennon’s eyes, but he just shrugs. “Do you know where he is?” I ask.

He nods to the other side of the room, and I turn. Daltrey is standing against the wall, a bottle of water in his hand, watching me. My breath hitches, my legs suddenly heavy. I should go to him, say hello properly, but part of me just wants to stand there all night, drinking him in.

Reed laughs. “Oh, God.”

His words hardly register. All I can focus on is Daltrey. I’m halfway across the room before I realize I’m walking.

I stop a foot away from him. His eyes are locked on mine, unreadable.

“Hi,” I whisper, doubting he can hear me over the noise of the room. It’s pretty full, mostly with people I’ve never seen before. I don’t spare them a second thought, though, because Daltrey steps forward and pulls me into a hug.

It doesn’t feel like a hug from one of his brothers, though. It feels one hundred percent like Daltrey. Before he even touches me, I know what his arms will feel like, how his chest will feel against my cheek. I know what he’ll smell like, how his heartbeat will feel, where his hands will clutch me on my lower back. Hugging Daltrey isn’t like hugging anyone else. It’s like finally coming home.

The tears that have threatened are coming now, fast and uncontrolled down my checks. “I need—” I gasp, fearing this might get bad. “Dalt, I need out of here.”

He seems to understand without asking. He pulls me quickly under one arm, my face toward his chest, and guides me to a door on the back wall. I barely have the chance to silently pray no one will notice before he has me through the door, away from the crowd, into an empty, quiet side room.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, pulling me back into a hug. “It’s okay, Daisy. I’m not mad. We’re okay.”

I cry into his chest, wishing it were that simple.

“Come on,” he says, rubbing my back. “You know I hate it when you cry.”

“Sorry.” I pull back so I can wipe my eyes then give him a watery smile. “I probably got your shirt all wet.”

He’s changed clothes since the show. His white shirt is clean and dry, except for the small wet patch from my tears. His hair is wet, and I realize with a dip of my stomach that he took a shower. Did he get cleaned up for me?