“Holy fu—lipping—” Anders mutters behind me.
“Oh, my—” I look at the scene around me.Am I officially kicked off of this tour?
I’m not sure how many people are in the park. There were five thousand in the auditorium tonight, and this looks like fourtimes as many. Every available surface is covered in bodies. Trash cans, picnic tables, and bike racks are being used as chairs. There are a few people sitting in a tree on a little hill to one side. People are still winding down the sidewalks, seeping into every crack of space on the grass.
Jenn has stopped behind me and her phone is pressed to her ear. “Get the rest of the crew out here. Now.”
A pair of warm arms wraps around my waist, and Cam’s lips are at my ear. “You’re amazing.”
“Well?” Jenn rushes ahead of us and waves toward the stage. “Don’t just stand there.”
Cam kisses my temple, his lips lingering against my skin. “Thank you.”
At this moment, I don’t regret it at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY
NOW
CAM
The official body count for our encore concert in the park was 19,274. That’s what the police report says. Jenn taped it to the bathroom door of our bus and circled the number and the fine (a much bigger number), but she hasn’t said anything else about it. I have a feeling the press we’re getting will more than make up for the cost. We’ve barely sat down since we stepped off the stage last night.
We’re on a plane to New York the next morning, and by afternoon we’re on our third talk show interview. Most of the shows ask Vee to sing by herself, but she’s refused. And for once, I don’t think it’s her nerves. She tells them it’s not just about her, it’s about the band. On the first show she and I play “This Girl” and at the second the band plays “Dakota” with Vee joining us on vocals. It’s fucking unbelievable that she did this for me. I’m not at all surprised that people around the world love her. That’s easy to believe. But after everything I put her through, I can’t believe she put herself out there for me. Especially when I haven’t answered the one question I’ve been waiting for her to ask:Why didn’t you come back?
I thought she’d need to know the answer to forgive me, but she still hasn’t asked, and I wonder if maybe she doesn’t want to know. The answer is easy. At first it was too hard. How could I ever make it up to her? How could I explain myself? And the more time that went by, the more impossible it seemed. The more I panicked. Could she ever forgive me? Why would she wait for me? I never went back because deep down, I always knew she deserved better.
We’re sitting on a production stage, around a big white table with three very loud women.They’reasking us entirely different questions. Clips of Vee’s videos play on a screen behind us. One of the hosts—a fifty-something retired Olympic something-or-other—is reciting a laundry list of facts.
“You made your first video less than two years ago.”
Vee nods.
“You’ve performed over fifty original songs. Plus covers.”
Vee smiles. “Yep.” She’s holding my hand under the table. I’m losing blood flow.
“You posted this video just last night.” An image of me and Vee sitting on the tour bus appears on the screen behind us. It’s the duet we played at the last show. We weren’t allowed to use the official tour footage, so we re-recorded it on the bus. The video is shaky and grainy. At one point you can see Reese’s finger drift into the shot.
“Do you know how many views it has so far?” the host asks.
Vee shakes her head. We’ve basically been in a bus, plane, or cab for the last sixteen hours. Behind us a string of numbers appears.
“Two point four million,” the host says, shaking her head. Vee smiles, but doesn’t say anything. She’s breathing hard and slow, and I can tell she’s overwhelmed.
The second host, a petite blonde, turns to face us at the tableand smiles. “My teenage daughter is a huge fan, Dakota. Or do you prefer Virginia?”
“Either is fine.”
“She says you’re the Queen of the Breakup Anthem.” Vee tenses, and crosses her hands on the table in front of her. “Most of your songs, especially the early ones, are obviously about heartbreak.” She taps her talking cards on the table and gives Vee a conspiratorial look. “Can you tell us who inspired those?”
Shit.Ican tell you who inspired them.I’d raise my hand if I thought the joke would cheer Vee up.
The other host chimes in. “Maybe you want to put a warning out there?”
Vee fidgets nervously in her seat. “Oh. Hm. That seems kind of rude.” The hosts all laugh. They think she’s joking.
The Olympian turns to Vee again. “Someoneobviouslybroke your heart.” She lists off some of Dakota’s most popular songs, which include titles like “Catastrophic Love,” “Bleeding Hearts,” “Love’s a Mistake,” and “Over You Under Him.” Vee fidgets in her chair when they read the last one and I snake my hand along the edge of the table and put my hand on hers.
