I take a breath, and before I can change my mind, I press play.
“Mia… hi. It’s Byron—uh, your dad. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but—”
There’s a shaky pause.
“Someone at work showed me this video of you singing at this huge concert, and I—God, I don’t even know why I’m calling.”
A scoff as there’s another pause, longer this time. I can practically hear him trying to figure out how to talk to someone he doesn’t really know anymore.
“The person who showed me the video didn’t even realize you were my daughter. I just thought, well… Give me a call back, if you want.”
Click.End of message.
The already small space now feels unbearable.
I want to throw my phone out the window.
What the hell am I supposed to do withthat?
Chapter thirty-two
"Provider" - Sleep Token
Grayson
Iknow there’s something wrong the second Mia slips out of the common area without a word. Normally, she’s the first to keep Jake on track during one of his clipboard rants. She definitely isn’t the type to just ghost, not when we’re all still buzzing from the beach club high.
I give it a few minutes, not wanting to be totally obvious, before muttering something about heading to bed and slidingout of the booth. Thankfully, the rest of the group is too drunk or too dazed to try to stop me.
The back of the bus is dark and quiet past the bunks; all you can hear is the hum of the tires on the asphalt and the occasional creak from the beds. I open the door to the back lounge, unsure of what I’m going to find on the other side.
I see her curled up on the small leather couch with her favorite blanket from our bunk wrapped around her like a safety net. She stares out the window, but her expression is blank. Her phone sits on the cushion beside her, the screen still lit up.
My heart rate speeds up, stupid fast. For a second, my mind goes somewhere it has no business going—somewhere ugly and insecure.
Is she second guessing everything? Us? The band? The life I’ve so conveniently thrown her into?
“Mia,” I say gently while bracing myself for the possibility of something horrible coming out of her beautiful mouth.
She turns her head to face me, and the second our eyes meet, I see it—the hollow look she gets in her eyes when she’s fighting herself and it’s too hard to hide it. I cross the room wordlessly and drop down on the couch next to her.
All I want is to scoop her up in my arms, hold her tight and never let her go. But instead I wait, giving her the chance to say something first. When she doesn’t, I reach out and let my knuckles brush against her knee lightly.
“You’re scaring the shit out of me, sweetheart,” I say under my breath. “Talk to me. Whatever it is… I can take it.”
Still not saying a word, she picks up her phone and hands it to me.
Missed call.
New Voicemail.
Byron Alexander.
Fucking hell.
“Your dad?” I confirm, my voice low.
When she nods, I feel my whole body tense.
