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“Who’s getting whatever they want?” Monroe asked. He’d finally emerged from the car he’d been sitting in with some chick.
“Alana Styles,” Dylan said. “And Holden here is going to be the one to give it to her.”
“Niiice.” Monroe laughed. “I saw her walk over. What did she say?”
Apparently, I was the only one who had no damn clue who Alana was.
“She’s sending a car to pick us up at the hotel at eight,” Dylan announced.
Monroe’s mouth spread into a huge smile as he high-fived Dylan. “Fuck, yeah.”
“What are the chances I can play sick and skip out?” I asked.
Both their heads turned toward me at the same time.
“Well, you could,” Monroe said. “But then I’d have to staple your balls to the bed while you sleep tonight.”
I hung my head. “Dude, I really don’t think this woman wants me. She’s a big deal and was nothing but professional in there. Besides, even if it came to that, I wouldn’t be sleeping with her. But to be safe, maybe I shouldn’t go.”
Dylan glared at me. “The old Holden would have come through for us tonight.”
“Well, you have me freaked now. I get this is important, but I’m not about to prostitute myself for you, dickhead,” I spat.
The sad thing was, he was right. If this had been before Lala? I wouldn’t have had to think twice about sleeping with someone to further my career, if that’s what it took. Seal the deal. I was a little ashamed to admit that to myself.
“Look, you guys figure out what to tell her about me. But as of now, I’m officially sick.” I walked away before they could say anything else.
Realizing I’d left my jacket in the studio, I headed back inside. One of the techs was still lingering.
“Are you closing up shop?” I asked.
He swiveled in his chair. “Nah. I have someone else booked in about an hour. Just chilling until then.”
An idea came to me. “You mind if I tool around in there? I’ve got a song I wanted to try out a cappella.”
He grinned. “You sing?”
Fair question, since he’d only seen me on the drums.
“Occasionally, I dabble. Wrote some lyrics on the plane out here, and I’ve got this melody in my head to go with them. Curious as to how it sounds.”
He hit some buttons and pointed to the booth. “Head on in.”
I situated myself in front of the mic and pulled up the lyrics I’d written on my phone.
Can you meet me tonight?
On the rooftop under the moonlight.
I have a secret and can only pray,
When I say it, you don’t run away.
I’ve tried so hard not to cross the line.
Tried not to wish you were mine.
But I’m telling you as a friend,
Loving me is a dead end.
La…La…La…La
This is my warning.
Will you look at me the same in the morning?
La…La…La…La
Tell me you’ll stay.
Even if I warn you to walk away.
Now I’m going out on a limb,
Admitting you’d be safer with him.
But even if that’s true,
He won’t love you like I do.
I won’t take offense.
I know we don’t make sense.
The truth cuts like a knife.
But you’ll still be the love of my life.
La…La…La…La
This is my warning.
Will you look at me the same in the morning?
La…La…La…La
Tell me you’ll stay.
Even if I warn you to walk away.
La…La…La…La
I love you. I love you. I love you.
CHAPTER 28
Lala
Almost a week later, I stood in my bedroom and looked around for the tape to make another box. The mess reminded me of the day I’d moved in, when the bottoms of all my boxes had busted because I’d used nearly decade-old tape. Holden had made me laugh about it, not gotten annoyed like Warren or my dad would have. That was one of the things I loved about Holden—he didn’t sweat the small stuff. Car broke down in the middle of nowhere? It’s an adventure, not a reason to complain. Forget the music in the middle of a song? Turn the moment into a drum solo and flash an irresistible smile to the crowd. He had an uncanny ability to go with the flow and believed that when we did, we all ended up where we were supposed to be.
That thought made me sad. Because he seemed to be applying the same easy-come, easy-go logic to us. But was that the way relationships were supposed to be? Weren’t we supposed to fight for the things that mattered most to us? That’s how I’d always believed things were supposed to work. Though if I was right, what did that say about how much I meant to Holden? I didn’t matter enough.
A tear trickled down my face as I grabbed another sweater and folded it before placing it into a cardboard box. I hated that I was doing this. I wasn’t ready to leave New York yet. But Holden had been so distant since our call last week when he’d told me I should go back to Philly, and I wasn’t about to stay where I wasn’t wanted.
