Chapter Thirty
Danny walks in, balancing a stack of boxes up to his chin.
I spring up from the couch to help. “Pretty sure there’s a Danny under there somewhere,” I tease as I take some of the boxes from him.
He chuckles as we set them down on the kitchen counter. “I need a bevy… like, now,” he declares, as Joseph grabs a beer and hands it to him.
Glancing at the countertop, I spot Twister, Cards Against Humanity, and Jenga.
“Board games?” I ask, raising a brow as Danny lifts a giant pizza box.
“Drunken board games, baby. It’s gonna be an epic night.”
About nine beers later and a persistent buzz in my head, I realize I have a slightly upset tummy, ending my hilarious night. Drunken Twister is epic. These two guys know how to make someone forget their problems.
In the back of my mind for the entire evening, I was ruminating about the phone call with him tonight.
Will he call like he said he would?
He hasn’t called all day, where he’d usually call endlessly. But is that only because I didn’t answer, and now that I have and we arranged a call, maybe he’s waiting as arranged?
“Okay, guys, I’m done. It’s bedtime for this little princess.” I check my watch, noting he should call in about ten minutes.
“Oh, c’mon, Dee Dee, don’t be a party pooper,” Danny says.
I arch a brow, smirking. “Dee Dee?”
He shrugs. “Thought I’d try it out. But we’ll stick with princess or just plain Dee from now on.”
“Goodnight, princess,” they say in unison.
“Goodnight, guys. Tonight was just what I needed.”
They both grin, raising their beers in a silent toast.
I head upstairs, quickly changing into my pajamas before brushing my teeth. Crawling into bed, I plug in my phone, grateful the charger cord is long enough to reach.
Lying on my back, I rest my phone on my chest, waiting—feeling ridiculously nervous, like a schoolgirl hoping her crush will call. It’s stupid.
I glance at the clock. Right on time, my phone vibrates.
Lifting it from my chest, I smile at his picture before rolling onto my side. I swipe to answer but don’t say a word.
“Hey baby, I’m so glad you answered…” he says with a pause.
I know he’s waiting for me to say something.
I want to, but I can’t… for now. “So, I had another interview today. They asked me if I was taken, and I said yes. I thought I’d tell you in case you read the interview and don’t understand what I mean. ”
My eyes widen.
What does he mean?
“I said that because my heart belongs to you, Dee. Every inch of me belongs to you. So, I just thought I’d let you know that if you read that I’m taken, it’s because I’m taken by you.”
I don’t know why I’m angry with him.
I can’t be with him, so why am I doing this to myself?
“In breaking news… Dingo broke his five-hundredth drumstick today. Not really much of a story, but he thought it must be some sort of record, and you know what he’s like when he gets an idea in his head.
He had the Guinness World Records on the phone, and they told him he had nothing, and he was, well…
I’m sure you get it. I told Anna that you answered my call last night. She misses you nearly as much as I do.”
I close my eyes tightly, trying to stop the tears from forming, but it doesn’t work. Sweet, gorgeous Anna. I miss her so much. I sniff and wipe the tears on my cheeks.
“Fuck, I made you cry again, didn’t I. God, I’m such a dick. Please don’t cry. The tour is over next month, and we’re heading back to London. Maybe you and Anna can catch up. Maybe we… could…”
I hold my breath.
I don’t know why, but I feel like I could burst.
“Anyways, I don’t want to stress you out. I hope you’re doing okay. Actually, I hope you’re better than okay. I hope you’re happy and enjoying life because I can’t stand the thought of you being as unhappy as I am.” He sniffs, and his voice sounds choked up.
“I’ve written some new songs. The guys love them. Seems like all my best work is about you. Can I sing you my latest one?”
He pauses, waiting—giving me the choice to hang up or stay.
I stay.
“Okay, here goes.”
Then he starts to sing, and just like that, the tension in my chest eases.
I place the phone on the pillow beneath my ear, letting his voice wash over me as he plays through his new songs.
The lyrics are beautiful, each one laced with emotion.
One song even brings me to tears, and when he hears my sniffles, he shifts gears, launching into an upbeat tune about kissing in Paris.
And for the first time since I left him, I smile.
A real, genuine smile.
***
The next two months blur into a routine—moping around during the day, avoiding the front door, and falling asleep each night to the sound of his voice.
Tonight is no different.
I slip into bed, plug in my phone, and settle in, the familiar weight of it resting on my chest as I wait.
Right on cue, it vibrates.
His face appears on the screen, and despite everything, I smile.
I swipe to answer.
And, just like always, I say nothing.
“Hey, baby, I hope you’re having a good night. I was thinking about you earlier. Well, let’s be realistic… I never stop thinking about you. Anyway, I was thinking about being back home in two weeks and hoping I could see you. I mean, only if you want me to.”
His words hang in the air, and panic sets in.
My heart leaps at the thought of seeing him, but my head reminds me why it’s a bad idea. I want this—I want him—but what’s the point?
There is no point.
“Anna can come too if you don’t want to be alone with me, or Johnny, or hell… everyone can come if you want, or not…” He pauses. “You don’t have to say anything now. Just think about it, okay?”
My heart betrays me, answering before my mind can catch up. “Okay,” I whisper.
I hear his sharp inhale on the other end, the sound stealing my breath, too.
“Oh, baby, you don’t know how good it is to hear your voice. I’ve missed it so much. I’ve missed you so much, Dee.” He sniffs, and that makes me tear up. “Maybe tomorrow night we can talk a bit more?”
My heart pounds as I hesitate, the war between my head and heart raging. But then, before I can stop myself—
“Okay,” I breathe out again, releasing a shaky exhale.
“You don’t have to say anything else if you don’t want to, baby. That should last me until tomorrow. We can talk about anything you want for as long or as little as you like. We’re playing by your rules, and I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he states, making me feel better about my decision.
I know Joseph would have a fit if he knew I was listening to him on the phone every night, let alone making plans to have a conversation with him tomorrow night.
“Okay, it’s getting late. Would you like me to sing you to sleep again?” He pauses, waiting.
“Yes,” I answer, my voice softer than I intend.
I hear his quiet sigh of relief.
“You got it. Here’s one I was working on today.”
As his voice fills the silence, the tension in my chest eases. I may not be able to be near him, but in this moment, just hearing him makes the distance almost bearable.
***
After sliding into bed, I plug in my phone and rest it on my chest, waiting.
I glance at the clock—one minute late.
A flicker of unease settles in my stomach.
Something feels… off.
I can’t explain it, but I feel it deep in my bones.
Five minutes pass.
I grab my phone, pressing the screen to check for a missed call, a message—something.
But there is nothing.
My heart kicks up, my brain racing just as fast. I told myself this was harmless, that taking his calls every night didn’t mean anything. But it does.
I need them.
Like a fix, a dose of him to get me through the day.
And now, without it, I feel like I’m unraveling.
Maybe this was his plan all along—to talk to me, get what he needed, and move on. Maybe hearing me finally speak was enough for him to say his final goodbye.
Oh God.
My chest tightens, and I sit up, unplugging my phone with shaky hands.
Then I stand.
Then I pace.
Staring at the screen, willing it to light up with his name, his picture, anything.
But it stays dark.
Half an hour passes.
Nausea churns in my stomach, and I drop onto the edge of the bed, gripping my phone like it might slip through my fingers along with my sanity. It’s happening all over again. I’m losing him. I’m back at square one, and every bit of progress I thought I made is crumbling around me.
Tears sting my eyes, blurring the screen, but still, nothing.
I get up.
Pace.
Walk in circles.
Waiting for a call that never comes.
With every step, my frustration builds.
An hour.
An hour!
Goddammit! I was going to talk to him tonight. He had me. He might have even convinced me to see him in two weeks.
But not now.
Now, he can go straight to fucking hell.
My blood boils. My thoughts spiral.
I bet he’s high somewhere, tangled up in a filthy threesome with his disgustingly overbearing brother, completely forgetting about me. He got what he wanted—one last word—and that was enough to let me go.
Well, fuck you, bastard!
My hands shake as I swipe to my contacts, find his name, and press the dial button.
I can’t wait to give him a piece of my mind.
I put the phone to my ear. “Sorry, this call cannot currently be connected.”
“Urgh,” I scream and hang up.
I’m furious.
Not only is he purposely not calling me, but he’s also turned his phone off, so I can’t call him. Undeniable grief washes over me, then quickly replaced with immeasurable anger.
“Ahhh,” I yell loudly and look down at my cell, where all my anger is now tunneled.
Tears are flowing, and the anger boils to the surface as I pace the floor.
It explodes out of me, and I throw the stupid cell phone at the wall just before the bedroom light turns on.
Joseph dodges out of the way of the projectile that misses his head by inches and smashes into the wall, breaking it into two parts.
I fall in a heap on the floor, and Joseph is quickly by my side, wrapping his arms around me.
“Hey… Dee. You wanna tell me why you nearly took my head off with your phone?” he asks, stroking my hair as I sob into his chest.
“He said he missed me,” I mumble, my breath coming in shaky bursts, my heart lodged firmly in my throat.
“What? When?” Joseph asks, concerned but more confused.
“On the phone. He calls every night. He said he missed me, and he wanted to see me, but it was all a lie. He’s a liar.” I sob.
“Dee, why were you talking to Colt? I never heard you on the phone.”
“I never talked. I listened. Why did I listen to him? Why? I’m so stupid… stupid… stupid,” I say.
“You’re not stupid, sweetie. You’re in love. And that’s so hard to break away from.”
“I never talked. For all this time, I never said a thing, and then last night, I said three words and agreed to talk to him tonight. An actual conversation. He said he wanted to see me. He said he missed me.”
“Okay. So, what did he say to make you smash your phone?”
“Nothing, he never bloody called. I waited and waited, and when I couldn’t wait any longer, I rang him, but he turned his phone off. He was probably paying me back for leaving him. Wanted me to get my hopes up only to shut me down and leave me like I left him.”
Joseph says nothing.
He just holds me, letting me cry until exhaustion takes over. When my body goes limp with half-sleep, he scoops me up and carries me to bed. He stays. Lying behind me, wrapping me in quiet comfort as I drift into a restless sleep—where I’m drowning.
Slowly, sinking deeper and deeper, I am pulled under until the water steals the last bit of air from my lungs.
Until I can’t breathe.