As always, the big green circle indicating he’s online makes my heart jump. He’s here. Right now. And so am I. We’re here together, but so very, very far apart. I haven’t found the courage to type in a message. I can’t even think of what I’d say. He’s off doing Europe. The last thing he wants is to hear from the stupid little girl he rejected before he left.
I read through our message thread from before he left for the hundredth time and a tear dampens the corner of my eye. How can he seem so different when it’s just me? I know who he is. I always have. Celebrities and royalty. That’s who he’s been fucking for the last two months. He said I could have whatever I wanted from him when he got back, but out of sight, out of mind, I guess.
I click it over to my music app, because I’m not going to cry over him. I press in my earbuds and choose a playlist from before the tour started—one that has nothing Tro ever sent or played for me on it, then crank the volume to block the sounds from the bedroom. I’m just losing myself in some classic shit when there’s an alert. I look at the lit screen of my phone and see it’s Skype.
I’ve got three Skype contacts: Billie, who I doubt has the balls to contact me after what she did; Lilah, who’s pinned between the mattress and two-hundred-thirty pounds of ex-marine right now, and Tro.
When I open the app, there’s a new message indicator next to Tro’s name on my list. I pull up our convo thread and see a new video message loading.
My heart is slamming against my ribs as it finishes loading and opens. Tro is sitting on the floor, his back against a white wall and his guitar in his lap.
“Been working on something,” he says into the camera, and God, he looks tired. His scruff is on the long side, so it’s been a while since he trimmed it, and his dark hair is all over the place, but his eyes are clear. He’s sober. “Thinking maybe it should be the opening track of my first solo studio album. See what you think.”
There’s nothing twisted or complicated about the melody. It’s simple and pure and straightforward. But as he begins to sing, I realize it’s because the lyrics stand on their own and he didn’t want the meaning to get lost in too much glitz.
I listen to him sing about the death of the beast and the rise of the heart…how life isn’t a battle, but a dance. When the video ends, his status circle is still green.
My fingers hover over the screen for a moment, and then I start to type. I read my message over twice before sending it.
What do the guys think about you going solo?
The alert for a Skype video call sends my stomach into a freefall. I pull my earbuds out and find it’s quiet in the bedroom next door now.
I open the bedroom door and skitter through the family room, stepping out into the hall. I leave the door open just a crack so I can get back in and skip down the first flight of stairs, sitting in the landing away from people’s doors. My finger shakes as it taps the icon to answer. The next second, Tro Gunnison’s incredible face fills my screen.
“Isn’t it, like, three in the morning there?” he asks.
I go for annoyed so he won’t see how nervous I am. “Yep. So why the hell are you calling me in the middle of the night.”
“Because you responded to my video message, which meant you were awake.”
“Maybe you woke me.”
He gives a slow nod. “If I did, I’m not sorry.”
I shake off the goose bumps. “What do you want, Tro?”
“Your opinion. Seriously,” he adds when he must notice my face screw into a frown.
“You didn’t answer my question. What do the guys think about you going solo?’
His expression goes solemn and he turns his head as he scratches the top of it. That’s when I notice the split on the corner of his lower lip. “I don’t think it will surprise anyone at this point.”
“What’s going on?” I ask cautiously.
“Grim doesn’t think my heart’s in it anymore,” he says, his eyes finding mine again through the screen. “Thinks I’m distracted.”
“He did that to you?” I ask, tapping my lip with a finger.
He nods. “And being the asshole I am, I gave it back tenfold.”
“Is he okay?”
Tro looks away again. “Got a concussion. The doc told him not to play, but I think he’s hoping he’ll die onstage and they’ll arrest me for his murder. His final fuck you, you know?”
“Wow,” I say, my stomach sinking to my toes. Grim mostly ignored me when we were touring, so I never really got a feel for him, but… “I thought you guys were tight.”
He shrugs and locks me in his gaze as if we were in the same room instead of half a world apart. “Things change.”
I pull my eyes away because, even through the cyber, there’s something untamed in his gaze that unnerves me. “So when will you start recording this solo album, do you think?”
“Not for a while. My manager needs to hammer out some contract details, and I need to pull some material together. But I really need some downtime first, so I’m heading home to Austin to kick back for a few weeks before I worry about the rest of it.” He shrugs like he’s not talking about his whole world turning upside down. “Whatever.”