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“That girl. She ain’t no Violet. Her name is Olivia Jones…also known as…” He took a deep inhale and paused…because this guy must thrive on fucking with me.
“Olivia Darling.”
“Olivia,” I said the name out loud, thinking how good it tasted on my lips.
That fit her way better than “Violet”.
Wait a second…Olivia Darling. Where did I know that name from?
“Why aren’t you freaking out more about this? You fuck crazy superstars on a regular basis, kid?”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I growled, as the story came to me. No one was allowed to talk about her like that.
Olivia Darling. Now I knew why that name sounded so familiar.
She was a singer. She’d supposedly been addicted to tons of shit and lost her mind. Something about a conservatorship.
“I might have found her address…” he said slyly, and I realized I hadn’t said anything for a long time.
“Send it over.”
“That’s going to be worth double…I had to use my contacts at the court because her case is sealed.”
“Fine. Just give it to me.”
A second later there was an address in my texts.
Gotcha.
“The stuff that’s out there about her isbad. You sure you want to go there?” he asked.
“Just find out more,” I snapped. He decidedly wasnotin the circle of trust. Which meant he was definitelynotgetting that answer.
“Alright. Alright, you can thank me later,” he grumbled as I hung up.
A quick Google search of the address and I was out the door, driving like a mad man to find her. To do what…I wasn’t sure. But I at least needed to be near her.
Three days. That’s how long I’d spent in my fucking truck, parked near her high rise, my eyes fixed on her building like a fucking crazy person.
I couldn’t exactly just waltz up to her front door and say hi…remember me…I mean, at least Iknew that now,after the doorman had laughed in my face and threatened to call the police on me if I didn’t “leave the premises immediately.”
Asshole.
Hence why I was now living in my truck. Waiting to get a glimpse of her.
The P.I.'s file was my bible during the long hours. I pored over every article, every scrap of information about her. Googling whatever questions I had.
It was an obsession, one that I accepted more and more every day.
I’d also become obsessed with her music.
I was a country boy, a lifelong listener to country music…and Taylor Swift. But Olivia’s music had become like a lifeline to me, the soundtrack to my days and the lullaby to my restless nights. I’d memorized every song in her catalog, listening to each one on repeat, each note wrapping around my soul like a lover's caress. They were raw, honest, and hauntingly beautiful, just like her. Each lyric felt like a glimpse into her soul, a part of her that she'd shared with the world.
Olivia Darling was my addiction and I didn’t want anything to make me better.
My phone buzzed.
Ari: Disney aka Dis aka Not Walker Texas Ranger…where the fuck are you? I have news.
