Page 97 of The Song We Lost

It’s a woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, smiling too wide like she’s been waiting for me to notice her.

I force my eyes open, my throat tight.

Bailey’s eyes are gold.

Warm. Loving. Honest.

This woman’s eyes are cold light. Nothing like her.

I press my palms to my face and breathe through it.

I have to get up.

I have to be functional.

I have to…

There’s a knock at the door.

Dave doesn’t wait for an answer, he lets himself in. He takes one look at me and grimaces. “Jesus.”

“I’m fine,” I snap automatically.

“You look like death,” he replies. He tosses a bottle of water at me. “Drink.”

I catch it, crack the cap, and swallow until my stomach rebels.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“There were a few sightings last night, but I didn’t know where you ended up. A video of you stumbling into the hotel got posted when we were on the phone, the front desk confirmed.”

Dave moves around the room like he’s resetting it, opening curtains, pushing the bottle on the dresser into a drawer, straightening things like he can rearrange the damage.

Then he holds out his hand.

“What?” I ask.

“Your phone,” he says.

My grip tightens.

“No.”

“Luke,” he warns.

“I said no.”

Dave exhales through his nose, patience thinning. “You’ve got people calling you. Media. bloggers. ‘insiders.’ They’re fishing. You’re not in a state to handle it.”

“My brother called,” I snap.

“He’ll call again,” Dave says smoothly. “Or I’ll call him. But right now? You need to focus on you.”

My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.

“Give it to me,” he says, softer now, like he’s trying a different approach. “Just for today. Just while we get you through the session.”

It’s the same thing he always says.