by Emma Scott
Then the police officer was asking us to move it along.
I let her go, and she made her way back to her car.
“Violet,” I called, my voice rough. “You’re going to be an incredible doctor someday.”
She stopped, alarmed; fresh tears came to her eyes at the strange tone in my voice and finality in my choice of words. I hardly understood them myself.
“I’ll see you soon,” she said firmly, as if trying to patch a hole I’d torn in our hope. She quickly got in her car and drove away.
I waited, watching her go, until the white SUV was lost in a sea of other cars. Until finally, I couldn’t see her anymore.
Part IV
November—
It’s been a while since I’ve written in this old thing, but desperate times and all… Okay, I’m not actually desperate. Just lonely. Desperately lonely.
Miller finished his EP and of course it shot straight to the top of every chart. Before he knew what was happening, they whisked him away on tour to open for Ed Sheeran. I saw the show in Austin two nights ago and I still get goosebumps thinking about it. Miller was just… I have no words. To see him on a real stage with a band behind him and thousands of fans was extraordinary. They were Ed’s fans, but by the end of the first song, they were Miller’s too. I must’ve looked like the crazed, obsessed groupie in the front row, crying her eyes out before he even sang a note. It was magic. It was where he belonged.
We hung out backstage with Ed Sheeran—he’s lovely—and then we went to the hotel. I’m not going to lie; the sex was amazing. With Miller, not Ed Sheeran ;-) Miller was electric and humming and I could feel the energy still pulsing in him. He carried that sweaty, sexy aura he had on stage—pouring his heart out to the crowd—right into bed, pouring himself into me. That was a kind of magic too.
But the next morning he had to get on the bus to Dallas and I had to go back to Waco. We don’t know when we’ll see each other again. He’ll be on tour with Ed for at least six months and then the label wants him back in the studio. I’m trying to stay positive, but I miss him so much. He calls as often as he can, but it’s hard.
And as hard as we knew it was going to be, it’s so much harder than that.
May—
Another plan made, another cancellation. This is the fifth time Miller and I have tried to carve out a little piece of time only to have the plans fall through due to his crazy schedule. Not that I’m counting or anything. Okay, so I totally am. Since we left Santa Cruz, Miller and I have spent a grand total of thirteen days together, scattered over eleven months.
He finished the tour with Ed Sheeran and I thought he’d have a little time off between it and recording his full-length album. But there are music videos to shoot, and publicity events, and if the album sells well, headlining his own tour will come next.
I’m really trying not to be the clingy, needy girlfriend waiting for her man by the phone. Not that Miller makes me feel that way. He never misses our nightly call unless he’s on a plane. His schedule is grueling but then so is mine. Last January I couldn’t be with him as he accepted his Best New Artist Grammy because I had a massive research paper due. I watched it on TV. He took his mom as his date and in his speech he thanked me. Not by name; we avoid that to keep from paparazzi showing up on my doorstep.
He called me the girl in his love songs.
I cried so hard my roommate, Veronica, thought I was having a stroke. Tears for missing him, tears for loving him so much that every second we were apart was starting to feel like we were going against the natural order of the universe.
Veronica comforted me with a quote she likes: Change is hard in the beginning, messy in the middle, and beautiful at the end. I don’t know if this is the beginning or the middle. It’s hard and messy. It’s long stretches of not seeing each other punctuated by a stolen weekend here and there that ends with another heartbreaking goodbye.
I can only hope she’s right, that all this heartache is worth it and that it’ll be beautiful in the end.
October—
I haven’t written much in here lately. I’ve been too busy; my studies get harder with every passing semester. But being that busy helps keep me occupied, so I don’t spend every waking hours missing Miller.
Of course that’s not true. I miss him always. Every minute is colored slightly by not having him. I probably sound dramatic, writing stuff like that, but this is my outlet. Miller’s is his music. As everyone predicted, his first full-length album, Out of Reach, went triple platinum. It’s beautiful and I can hear us in it. Our distance and our hard goodbyes.
He’s in Europe now, headlining his own world tour. The last time I saw him was a month ago. The label set him free for an entire weekend before kickoff. We hid away in a cabin in Lake Tahoe to avoid the press, desperate to make the most of those forty-eight hours. He looked so tired. Exhausted. He loves his fans and playing live but the rest of it is overwhelming. I told him he was allowed to enjoy his success and take care of himself better, but he’s determined to do this tour. He’s negotiated that half of his profits will go to a charity that feeds the homeless and helps find them housing.
I do this and it all makes sense, he told me. Then I can look myself in the mirror every morning.
I loved him for that, even more than I thought possible. He asked me to wait for him and I promised him I would. Of course, I did. Because I’m the one who has to do the waiting. I can’t jet off with him; I have my own work and my own goals to accomplish so I can be proud of myself.
We kissed and made love, and then he was gone again, and now there’s nothing I can do but wait.
Chapter Twenty-Five
March
“Violet, order up!”
Chef Benito—who everyone called ‘Papa’—set two plates of eggs, bacon, and hash browns in the window. He banged on the bell, then disappeared again.
I wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, finished taking a table’s order, and hurried to the window to stick the ticket. Two other tables needed coffee refills, but nothing got cold faster than eggs. I’d learned that the hard way when I got hired at Mack’s Diner two years ago.
I grabbed the plates Papa had set out, refilled coffee, dropped a check. When the breakfast rush ended, I had a moment to catch my breath.
“Hey, V.” Dean, another server, sidled up and flashed me one of his trademark charming smiles. “There’s an art exhibit opening downtown tonight. Want to check it out?”
“Can’t,” I said, marrying two ketchup bottles. “Have to study.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?”
“Because for two years you’ve been asking me to go out with you, and for two years I’ve said no.”
He grinned. “Make me sound pathetic, why don’t you?”
I gave him a tired smile. “You know how it is.”
“I know that all work and no fun is bad for your health.” Dean leaned over the counter and whipped a lock of sandy blond hair off his brow. He nudged my arm softly, his fingers lingering on my skin. “I worry about you.”
“Oh please,” I said with a wry laugh, then dropped my glance to where he was touching me and back to him, brows arched.
He pulled his hand away and stood straight, grinning. “I don’t understand how you can stay immune to my considerable charm. It’s not like you have a boyfriend, right?”
I winced and busied myself with the ketchup. “Right.” I gave him a look. “Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe I just don’t like you?”
His eyes widened innocently. “Me? Nah.”
Papa appeared in the kitchen window. “Violet! Order up.” He banged the bell.
“I gotta get that.”
Dean heaved a sigh and walked backward, hands up. “I’m not going to give up on you, V. Someday, I’m going to win you over and you’re going to say, why didn’t I order the Dean Special sooner?”
I rolled my eyes at him. He was so full of shit; most girls were not
immune to his considerable charm. He only wanted me because I hadn’t fallen into his bed immediately. He had no idea how impossible it was. How even the idea of it couldn’t find a hand hold in my thoughts.
My shift ended, and I went to the backroom to take off my apron and unpin the silly cloth cap from my head. Other guys in the back and servers starting their shifts greeted me warmly or said goodbye for the day. The crew at Mack’s had become like a second family to me, with grouchy Papa as head of household. It was one of the things I liked best about Texas—the southern mentality of warmth and familiarity that I’d have died of loneliness without.
I drove my Rav 4—which was getting old and needed some work—through Waco, Texas. Halfway between Dallas and Austin, the town was completely landlocked. Nothing but flat stretches of land as far as the eye could see. It had its own beauty, but I missed the ocean, forests, and mountains of Santa Cruz. The bonfires at the Shack were becoming a distant memory, replaced, instead, by scents of fried food at Mack’s and the recycled air in the Baylor University Library.
Growing fainter still were the scents of Miller’s skin and cologne. The way his shirt smelled when I wore it after he’d slept in it. The salt of his sweat in bed after he’d brought me from one delirious orgasm to another…
“Stop torturing yourself,” I muttered as I pulled the car into the covered parking of the Desert Dune Apartments.
It was a cute complex about a mile from Baylor. Despite my roommate, Veronica’s urging to make it my own, it had very little of me in it. Her tapestries and bizarre artistic knickknacks filled the cozy two-bedroom, one bath unit. My contribution had been to bring in a few houseplants for a bit of green, but I never quite felt settled there. Like wearing a sweater that was too tight.
Inside our apartment, I headed straight for the shower to wash the scent of bacon grease from my hair and skin. Afterward, I dressed in a tank top and sleep pants—my usual Friday night attire. Veronica’s bedroom door was open, but she wasn’t home. The apartment was thick with silence.
I had a report to write up for Physics Lab, but the couch called to me because suddenly, I was so tired. Tired of being sad. Tired of missing him. God, I missed Miller so much, my bones ached. Sometimes, in moments like that, I had the urge to throw it all away, quit school, and be with him on tour. But I knew it would wreck us. As hard as it was being apart, it would be harder still for me to do nothing and watch my own goals slip away, city by city, concert by concert. I would lose my sense of self. Miller and I were two halves of the same equation. If I faded away, we wouldn’t work anymore.
Still, tears filled my eyes to look at the wreckage of my old life. I missed Mom and Dad. I missed my house in Santa Cruz and the family we’d once been in it. I missed Shiloh and River…all of us blasted apart and flung to all corners of the country.
As if she’d heard my silent plea, my phone lit up with Shiloh’s number.
I swallowed my tears. “Hey, Shi.”
“What’s wrong?”
I sniffed a laugh. “Hello to you too.”
“It’s me, Vi,” she said. “I know you.”
“I’m so glad it’s you,” I said, curling up on the couch. “I miss your voice.”
“Me too, girl. How are things? Though I think I already know.”
“I’ve been better.” I hesitated, then asked anyway. “How’s Ronan?”
“Same.” She bit off the word.
“And you? How are you, Shi?”
She exhaled softly into the phone, but when she spoke, her voice was hard again. “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. I read that Miller is going to be on the next cover of Rolling Stone and something told me to call.”
“Is he?” I said, my heart soaring and cracking at the same time.
“He didn’t tell you?”
“He never tells me stuff like that. He considers it bragging.”
“Lord, that boy. He’s the least-famous famous person I know. How are you holding up?”
“Okay. I had to take some time off from the diner to get a huge Biochem project completed. Now I have midterms coming up.”
“You should be proud,” Shiloh said. “You’re working your ass off over there.”
“Thank you. I’m sort of proud of me too.” Tears filled my eyes. “This is hard.”
Her tone grew soft. “I know it is.”
I sniffed and wiped my eyes, trying to keep it together. “But we knew it would be. He’s headlining a world tour. He has shows almost every night. There are time zone differences…” I heaved a sigh. “I’m trying to stay positive.”
“I know. Long-distance relationships suck and you’re over there without even a lifeline from your parents. Has Miller offered to help with your college? I’m sure he—”
“No, no. My tuition is paid for. I earned that scholarship on my own and I want to keep earning it.”
“Okay, but how about rent? He’s sent you money, right? He’s making a fortune over there. There’s no way he wouldn’t help you.”
“He wants to. And if I got in real trouble, he’d help but I don’t want his money. All my life, I’ve been a pampered rich kid who never had to want for anything. Hell, I never even had a job until Mack’s.”
“Girl, you volunteered for every medical program under the sun.”
“True, but ultimately that helped me get ahead in my career. I never had to earn a living. I think I need this. I can’t see the whole thing yet, but I feel like my crappy job, my crazy school work load and even being apart from Miller are making me a better person. One who understands what it’s like to struggle so I can appreciate what I have even more.”
Like Miller has done is entire life.
“Well, dang, girl. I guess Snow White has left the building.”
I laughed. “I hope so.” I plucked a piece of lint off the couch. “Shi, you know you can talk to me, right? Like how I talk to you?”
A silence. Then, “I know.”
“I mean, if it’s too much to talk about, I get it. I don’t want to make you relive anything over the phone with me. But I just want you to know that I’m here, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, her voice breathy with tears. Then she cleared her throat, pulling her own protective walls around her. After all that happened, I couldn’t blame her.
“Shi?”
“I’m okay. I promise.”
“Okay. Call me if that ever changes. Hell, call me anyway.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hung up with her and closed my eyes, allowing myself a rare moment of unscheduled rest, while shedding a few tears for my friend who’d suffered so much.
But only for a few minutes. I then sat up, dried my tears, and got back to work.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A hard, sharp rapping came at the green room door. “Five minutes,” Evelyn called.
“Coming,” I called back.
I depressed the needle, emptying the little vial of insulin into my thigh. I’d already bolused to handle the carbs I’d eaten at dinner to get through tonight’s concert, but my numbers had spiked again.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered, pulling my pants up.
Other diabetics handled their shit well, but for me it was a constant battle. I followed plans, I counted carbs until my eyes crossed, and yet my numbers swung high and low no matter how careful I was. A few weeks ago, I’d passed out after a show in Lisbon, so the label assigned a doctor to babysit me for the duration of the tour, and even he was baffled. He wanted to get me in a hospital and run a bunch of test and check my A1C which I was long overdue for, but that meant pausing the tour, and that couldn’t happen.
I put away my insulin kit as the booming screams, stomps and applause of twenty-thousand fans in the T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas rolled over me like thunder. Then the sound swelled louder—my band taking the stage ahead of me. They were good guys, all of them talented. We could’ve been close like brothers if I’d let them, but I burne
d that bridge early on. They all thought I was stuck-up and aloof. Fine by me. I’d already had friends who were like brothers and look how that turned out.
Pain tightened my chest for Ronan and Holden. For Violet.
I miss her so much, it’s making me sick.
I gave myself a last glance in the mirror. My reflection glowered back in my usual jeans, T-shirt and boots. Except now the T-shirt cost $190, the jeans $450, and the boots, more than I wanted to think about.
“It’s too much.”
I went from having nothing to having everything, almost overnight. It reminded me of the urban legend that said if you took a person from the North Pole and dropped them in the middle of the equator, they’d die instantly from the sudden change in latitude.
I could relate.
The machine of the concert they’d built around me—a huge, lumbering apparatus that crawled from city to city, breaking down and reforming within days, was overwhelming to a former poor kid like me. I poured my focus into what I loved about music. The creation of a song and letting the harmony bend its way around the lyrics. The energy the fans gave to me and what I gave them. I worked to keep that connection with them, no matter how big the arenas got, because that’s what mattered. The music and the listener. All the rest felt like something I hadn’t earned.
I threw open the green room door. Evelyn was there in her headset with a clipboard in her hand. A badge hung from a lanyard around her neck and marked her as one of the two hundred or so other people who were making this tour happen.
I strode down the corridor, Evelyn’s thigh-high black boots clacking along beside me. She wore a short black miniskirt and a fitted blazer that showed her cleavage. She looked more like an executive at a fashion magazine than a personal assistant.
“Do you have my phone?” I demanded.
She flinched at my harsh tone, then gave me a stern look. “You left it in the hotel. Again.”
