Ransom(5)

“You’re seeing them?” I ask, confused.

“Yeah, we’re spending a few weeks following the band. Starting in Boston. We’re road tripping.”

The tour… of course. The girls are going to see Ransom in concert.

“You should totally come,” Paige tells me. “We’re following them up and down the east coast for two weeks. It’s going to be amazing.”

Her causal offer has the effect of making my urge to cry intensify. My eyes start to water.

“Hey, are you okay?” Paige asks.

I try to smile, but I have a feeling it comes out much more like a grimace. “Yeah,” I manage. I reach for my Coke, hoping to dispel the lump in my throat. I need to hold it together until I get back to the peace of my apartment. I have a feeling my self-imposed Daltrey-information-fast is about to go out the window. I’ll probably be gorging on pop-culture websites within the hour.

Then again, there’s probably no better source for information than his fans. “Is it a big tour?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual. “I’ve been so busy with school that I haven’t really heard much about it.”

“Yeah, they keep adding dates,” Karen says, leaning over to get a better look at Daltrey’s tattoo-covered biceps. “These guys are so on fire right now. And they get more popular every day.”

“Whatever,” Paige scoffs. “Bandwagoners. We’ve been fans from the start.”

“Hey, those bandwagoners are good for us,” Karen says. “The bigger Ransom gets, the more tour dates they add, and the more chances we have to see them.”

“That’s true.” Paige takes a bite of her pizza. “And the more attention they get from paparazzi.” She points at the magazine. “This totally made my day. They can invade his privacy all they want.”

Karen laughs, but I feel sick. This conversation is dancing far too close to way too many forbidden topics. I need to get out of here.

“I should get going,” I say, throwing my napkin onto my half-finished pizza. I stand and gesture at the magazine. “You guys want to keep that?”

“Nah,” Karen says, pushing it in my direction. “I get that one delivered. It will probably be at the dorm when I get there.”

I don’t want to admit how relieved I am as I slip the magazine back into my bag. “Thanks for inviting me to lunch.”

“Any time,” Paige says. “And you should really think about coming on the tour. It’s going to be so much fun.”

I give them both a small smile and turn to go. It was nice of her to offer, but the last thing I need to do is to go running off after Daltrey Ransome. He’s not a part of my life anymore. And the only way I’ll manage to hang onto my thin grasp of sanity is if it stays that way.





Chapter Three


Daltrey





I wake up, alone in a dark hotel room, my heart racing, scared out of my mind. When I finally figure out where the hell I am, I rub my aching chest. I’m glad I’m not on the bus, glad there’s no one in here to see me like this. I’m pretty sure the wetness I feel on my cheeks is tears, and my brothers would never let me live that down.

Knowing sleep isn’t going to return anytime soon, I climb out of bed and head for the mini bar. I grab a cold beer, even though I could probably use something stronger. You’re too young for a drinking problem. So-called rock star or not.

I take the beer to the small balcony of my room and lean against the railing, looking out over the lights of Memphis. We played a kick-ass show, and I should still be on a high from it. The crowd was amazing. Everything felt right in the world, for a few brief hours. I could forget about the knowledge that I’d traveled halfway across the country without actually seeing any of it. Forget the fact that the tour bus, though more luxurious than our old van, was cramped and starting to make me feel claustrophobic. Forget about how tired I was and how my throat hurt pretty much every day now. When we played like that, when we somehow managed to tap into that almost magical, synched-up, out-of-body place I can’t even describe, I could forget about all the shitty stuff and remember why we were doing this in the first place.

I had felt that tonight, for the first time in weeks, and the sensation had been fantastic. I should have slept like a baby. But here I was again, drinking a beer by myself at three in the morning.

I keep having dreams about her.

Which is pretty fucking ridiculous because I haven’t talked to the girl in about a year. Daisy made it perfectly clear that, for whatever reason, she was done with me—just like that, years of friendship, gone. And I don’t even know what the hell I did.