I couldn’t fathom how mad Harmony could have been at me for not showing up at the airport. I couldn’t imagine her being so unreasonable that she wouldn’t hear me out. Unless I was just a fling. But that didn’t seem right either.
She was supposed to be the beginning of everythingfor me.
But she disappeared into thin air.
Just like my father.
I grieved her. I finished the manuscript. Sent it out to agents.
It was my last-ditch effort, you see. It was like releasing a transponder out into space, hoping to find life out there, just like the boy in my original story was doing. Only I wasn’t searching for my dad anymore. Wasn’t searching for my past. No, I was searching for the woman who could become my future. I’d met her. I’d loved her. And I had foolishly let her slip away.
The manuscript went to auction. Apparently, BookTok influencers were getting upset by the beats in typical romances. They didn’t want a third act breakup anymore. They wanted everything to be more real.
Nobody had ever written anything like this before, I was told.
This could be huge, I was told.
This might be exactly what the market’s been waiting for, I was told.
I didn’t care.
I just wanted Harmony to know that I meant every moment of our time together.
Once upon a time, I wanted to be an author. Then I met an author who taught me that the story you create in real life is the one that really matters.
This was my attempt to spin art into real life by telling my side of the story.
I just hope she reads it.
Because the only thing missing from my happily-ever-after—is her.
Chapter 30
I google the band Untethered to look up their tour dates.
They’re in Barcelona. Then Paris. Then London.
They don’t come back to the United States until July 4 for a welcome home concert at the Staples Center in LA.
If Beckett is with Analise in Barcelona, it would be six o’clock in the morning for him.
But he wasn’t with her a few days ago in Brazil.
Fuck it,I tell myself.
I pick up my phone, scroll through my contacts, and hit the green phone symbol next to his name.
I sit up in bed and cross my legs. In front of me are his book and the hacky sack.
It rings.
Twice.
“Hello?” a groggy voice answers.
“Beckett? It’s Melody. I’m sorry it’s late.”
“What time is it?”
