“Why not?”
“What you do as an adult is yours. And Lydia…” She let the name hang, gentle but pointed. “She would not have taken kindly to your young man.”
“We got caught this morning,” I admitted.
“I heard.”
“She’s sending me away tomorrow. Forbidding me from seeing him.”
“I heard.”
“What else did you hear?”
She looked away, but only for a second. “Everything. But it doesn’t matter what I heard. What matters is what I saw. In the parking lot, your young man stood there after you drove away. He didn’t move for the longest time—just watched the road where you’d been. When he finally turned back to his truck, he shook his head, smiling to himself like he couldn’t believe his luck. That’s when you know.”
“Know what?”
“That boy didn’t know anyone was watching him,” she leaned in, her voice low. “That’s when you know you’ve got a good one.”
Our eyes met in the mirror. I frowned. “I’m going to break his heart, Luzia.”
Maybe this was the hard decision she’d meant—the one that cost more than money or pride. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Scott; I did. But what if I chose him and it all fell apart? He’d move on. Scott was used to starting over. And me? I’d be left with nothing. No family. No home. No place to land. The truth hit hard. I wasn’t afraid of loving him. I was afraid of what would happen if love wasn’t enough.
She laid a hand on my shoulder—no judgment, only understanding. “Or maybe you’re going to give him the kind of goodbye that lets him keep the smile.”
I closed my eyes, knowing Luzia was right.
“I need to tell him myself,” I said. “He deserves that. But they’ve made sure I can’t. The plane’s tomorrow morning, and every minute until then is spoken for. They took the phone off my wall. I don’t know how—”
Luzia bit her lower lip, and her eyes darted toward the door. I could almost see the battle happening within her—duty versus heart.
“What?” I asked. “What do you know?”
“You did not hear this from me. Your parents are meeting friends for drinks at nine tonight.” She lowered her voice, conspiratorial. “I trust you can find your way out the back door.”
16
SCOTT: MIXTAPE
I stopped looking for Michelle about halfway through the set. It kept throwing me off, and I was forgetting lyrics. Losing my place. The guys noticed too, shooting me the side-eye when I blanked in the middle of Porno Queen. Not exactly a complicated chorus to remember.
But I was rattled. Michelle was supposed to be here. At least that had been the plan until her dad hauled her off the beach this morning. The fact that she wasn’t in the crowd gnawed at me, especially since she’d turned into quite the escape artist since we’d met. The girl had an arsenal of excuses and a back exit mapped like a military op. So if she wasn’t here, it could mean only one thing: she was locked up in her mansion. Not a bad spot for most people, but for a Jackal fan like Michelle? She’d be howling at the moon.
We hit our last chord, and I leaned into the mic, sweat dripping down my back. For once, I thought I’d finally beaten the system. Start early. Wrap early, and maybe then the Venice Beach PD would leave us alone tonight.
Then came the siren, followed by red and blue strobes flashing across the ceiling.
“Cops!” someone screamed, and the place detonated. Beer flew, Chalk Line Charlie’s memorial was trampled, and concertgoers bolted for the exits like at every other show in recent history.
Muscle memory kicked in and I jumped off the stage, immediately barking orders.
“Johnny—kill the lights!”
“Marco—get the plastic wrap off the window!”
The guys scrambled, tripping over their own instruments. I sprinted toward the hollowed-out kitchen where half the crowd had bottlenecked trying to escape through the hole in the exterior wall. “One at a time! Let’s go! Don’t stop.”
Marco whistled over the siren. I glanced back. He’d removed the plastic sheath. “Everyone on this side—out the window.”
