Chapter 11
Now—Ellery
Logan’s getting pissy. Hell, he passed pissy thirty seconds into Selene and Lorraine’s killer version of “Shallow” and has now entered thunderous, rampaging, mega-lizard territory.
And Ellery doesn’t care. Did she ever?
It’s hard to remember, when Dante’s looking at her like he’s dying of thirst and she’s a seventy-two-ounce bottle of premium sparkling water.
But then Dante’s always looked at her like that. Hasn’t he? Like she mattered. Like she was the star of his universe.
She had thrown it all away.
She chokes down tears as she traces the lines of his tattoos.
His family’s names engraved in a Celtic cross pattern.
A small sailboat tossed on a stormy sea.
A string of music notes, playing out a tune across his skin.
Lyrics twining like colorful vines along his forearm, linking the other images.
“This was different. The last time I saw you.”
“It’s been a long time,” he replies, his voice catching in his throat. “I added to it.”
“I like these.” She rests the pads of her fingers against the music notes, trying to hear the melody in her head. His gaze on her burns through her. It’s like he can see through the barriers she’s built over the last two years and has zeroed in on all the poorly buried pain. The grief.
“You should. It’s your song.” He swallows and turns away from her to watch Selene and Lorraine, crooning forehead to forehead through the last few bars of “Shallow.”
She looks again at the notes and sees it then. She doesn’t know why she didn’t see it before. “It’s ‘Water Teeth.’” Her voice leaves her in an exhale. That damned song. That beautiful, damned song. It tormented her then and torments her now.
She drops her hand from his arm and stands up straight. It’s easier now, without the heels. After the next break, she might ask Maria for a pair of sweatpants.
In the opposite wing, Logan is yelling at Hank, who has his headphones pulled down so they cover only one ear. A pit opens in her stomach, the same one that wrenches with every clipped word Logan has ever said to her.
“If you think you’re not good enough, you’re not.”
“You play by my rules and you can be famous, or you can go rot in an LA dive bar like all the other could-have-beens.”
“Do better, Ellery.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. When she can’t sleep at night, it’s Logan’s voice echoing in her head.
In his defense—limited though it is—it got her through rough times.
Now? She would trade everything she owned, every song she would ever write, if that voice could be Dante’s. Or Samara’s. Or her parents’.
“El?” Dante rubs her shoulder, startling her from her daydream. “They’re almost done. You should get back to your mic.”
Her jaw tightens as she looks between the mic and Logan and Dante. For the first time in a very, very long time, she doesn’t need anyone’s help to make a decision.
She finally remembers exactly what would make her family proud. And tonight she is finally going to prove it.