Page 207 of Love Felt Like This

“No. You know what? Screw you.” My breathing picks up, and I swallow. “Yeah. Screw you. For never defending me. Screw you for…for abandoning me when every single one of your fans came after me. Screw you for cheating on me. I mean, how dare you come here now? When you know someone else feels for me. When someone other than you might actually make me happy.”

“We both know I’m the only reason you’re even dating Griffin. It’s all for show.”

“Maybe it was. But you know what? Thank you.”

“What?”

“I said thank you. You gave me Griffin. He’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

He throws his hands in the air with a laughing scoff. “Wow. I don’t even know why I bothered to come here. You’re so far gone from reality that—”

“Your ego can’t take that someone else might actually want me.”

“C’mon—”

“You don’t love me. And I don’t think you like me either. But Griffin likes me for me. For only being myself. He wrote”—I laugh, and it’s definitely unhinged, but buddy, I feel unhinged—“he wrote music for my show. For my silly little show that you couldn’t stand. I wasted so many years—so much time—on someone who doesn’t even like me.”

“Beverly.”

“You know what? I’m not finished. You cheated on me right when Flock Workshop lost funding. You knew it was hard for me, and you still left.” I start to count each point on my fingers. “You never respected my career. You never respected my family—not even my grandfather. You didn’t even talk to me when you were on tour. And I somehow thought that was normal.”

“Bev—”

“If it weren’t for Griffin, Birds on the Block wouldn’t exist right now. And I wouldn’t realize just how it feels to be liked just for being me. He wrote an album for me, Beau. What have you ever done?”

And it dawns on me in that moment that not every musician is like Beau. Because there are some musicians who actually talk to you while they’re on tour. Some musicians bring you to award shows because they’re proud to be next to you. Some dedicate entire albums to you.

A door opens and closes behind me. Rob’s sneakers hit the ground in long strides before he appears next to me. “We gotta go.”

Beau sighs, holding up a dismissive hand. “Rob, we’re still talking. So if you can just…”

Rob pushes the palm down. “Enough, man. Fuck off.”

My head jerks back, and for the first time, I see Rob not as a kid but as an adult, towering over both me and Beau with clenched fists and a tight jaw.

Beau stares at me. My eyes sting, but I’m not letting any tears fall.

“I blocked you for a reason,” I say. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

Rob and I turn around and walk to Finch’s idling car. The driver’s window rolls down, and Finch leans out. “Can you move your car, Beau? I need to close my gate, and I don’t want you here anymore. Thanks!”

Scowling, Beau turns on his heel and stomps back to his tinted car. The door slams with a forceful bang that cracks part of the window. And after Beau’s driver curls around the driveway and leaves, we finally head out.

As we merge into the never-ending LA traffic, I sit there hoping we make it to the concert in time to talk to Griffin.

If we don’t, I’m not sure what I’ll do.

Chapter Forty-Three

Hello, Los Angeles

Griffin

I’m in the wings of the outdoor amphitheater as the vibrating hum of five thousand people carries backstage to where I sit. Stage managers race out and back, tuning our instruments and setting up mics. I watch in a haze, leaning against a black brick wall, staring out at the piano mid-stage.

Jimmy walks over with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He lets out a heavy exhale. “She didn’t show up, huh?”

I lean forward to rest my forearms on my knees, linking my hands together and shaking my head.