Page 47 of Before You Fell

“You kind of did.”

“No, I said you sound tired.”

“And tired means I need to come home so Mom can feed me and tuck me in?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“That’s exactly what you meant.”

He lets out a slow breath. “Your mother is worried.”

“Well, tell Mom she doesn’t need to be.”

“She loves you.”

I open the car door and slide into the driver’s seat, phone pressed hard to my ear.

“I’m just tired,” I say.

Dad’s voice softens. “Then rest, Willa-girl.”

“I will.”

“And possibly come home for a night or two. No fuss. Your room is still there.”

“Dad.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

Outside, the studio door opens and Phoenix, Jax, and Jett walk out. Jett unlocks his car, and the three of them climb in.

Dad’s voice comes through the phone. “I just miss you, love.”

The fight inside me falters. I stare through the windshield as Jett’s car pulls away from the parking lot.

“Yeah, I miss you guys too,” I whisper. “I will rest. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Willa-girl.”

The call ends, but I keep the phone against my ear for a few seconds longer.

Chapter Eight

Phoenix

Damon comes down to collect us himself, which is how I know the night is already fucked before it has even put on lipstick.

It’s an industry party, which means expensive perfume, cheap souls, and a rooftop full of people who think that wearing a suit makes their bullshit sound more intelligent. Damon says we can’t skip it because the label executives will be there.

Label executives.

In other words, soft-handed fuckers with capped teeth and dead eyes, turning my voice into money and counting our songs as quarterly profits.

The elevator doors open to reveal Damon wearing a black suit with murder tucked neatly behind his eyes. He does polished panic with a clean shave and a sharp collar.

Jax looks him up and down. “You didn’t need to come down. We could have found our own way up.”