“They didn’t let you grieve him?” My heart is aching.
“They paused the tour. We had the funeral and then a couple of weeks later the label realized that what they say is true – bad publicity is still good publicity. And the fans wanted to mourn with us, so they kept the tour dates.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I tried, but I couldn’t do it. One night, I can’t remember which city it was, I came off stage for a set change and I just kept walking.”
“Oh, Gibb. I’m so sorry.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m not. I came back here and realized that life wasn’t what I wanted.”
A sharp series of beeps emits from Gibb’s phone, and he curses, dropping my hand and pushing back from the table.
“What is it?” I ask, alarmed.
“We’ve got company.”
CHAPTER TWELEVE
Gibson
I throwopen the door and stalk down the drive, gravel crunching under my boots. A small blue hatchback comes to a stop. I don’t recognize the driver, but I have my suspicions.
The door to the car opens and a tall, lanky blond man gets out. Well, he might be tall, but he’s not as big as me. I fold my arms over my chest and wait.
“Gibson Hart?” The man calls as he stands by the vehicle.
“You’re trespassing,” I say.
“I’m Matt?—”
“I know who you are, and if you know what’s good for you, you should get back in your car and drive away.”
“I think my friend Poppy is here.”
Anger burns bright in my chest. Behind me, I hear a soft gasp and the telltale thump of crutches across the porch. “You’re not her friend,” I say.
The guy dips his chin. “I’m sorry, Pop?—”
I take two steps forward. “Don’t address her. You don’t get to make yourself feel better about abandoning her by apologizing.”
“But, I called the Sheriff’s Office, I was going to go back for her,” he protests.
I slice my hand through the air, and the guy falls silent. “She could have died. Do you know what it takes to mobilize a rescue team up here during a storm? She was injured and lost and you walked away.” I sneer at him. “You aren’t fit to breath the same air as her.”
A cacophony of bleats goes up from the barn, like they’re agreeing with me.
“Go home, Matt,” Poppy calls from behind me.
“Without you?”
The jerk looks surprised, as if she’d just meekly get in the car and drive away with this loser.
“I’m staying here.” Poppy’s voice quivers.
“In Hollow Peak?” Matt frowns. “But what about my podcast? You promised?—”
“She’s staying here with me.” I take another step forward. “And she made you no promises.”
