Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar #1)

“And now?” John asked when I didn’t go on.

I shook my head.

Dale had told me I was putting all the wrong pieces together when it came to Tyler and he’d known exactly what he was talking about, of course.

But he’d been willing to let me find out on my own. He’d never once told me not to enter the contest, not to go to Maine.

It was all too much to take in at once. My brain was on overload.

But it was my heart, still beating in my chest like a steady drum, that knew the truth. It didn’t matter where I settled—if Dale wasn’t there, I wouldn’t be happy. I wouldn’t ever be happy without him.

Dale appeared at the end of the hallway.

I jumped up, ready to tell him so, ready to give it all up for him—because without him, there was nothing.

Then I saw he had his coat and his shoes on.

And he looked furious.

“I’m going out,” he said coldly, not even glancing at me. “I’ll be back before midnight.”

He headed for the door and I watched him, my heart sinking.

“Where are you going?” John called.

Dale hesitated, hand on the doorknob.

He glanced back, looking straight at me. “I’m going to spend some time with someone who appreciates me. If you want me, call Holly Larson’s. She’s listed in the phone book.”

The door clicked shut softly behind him and my heart stopped in my chest.

He’d just taken it with him, right out the front door.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

We met up at the hospital three days later.

“Who called you?” I asked, seeing Dale talking to a nurse at the desk as I was coming out of Aimee’s room. Matt and her mother were still in there, but I couldn’t stand it, not for another minute. I couldn’t stand myself—for not seeing, not saying something, not paying enough attention.

Again.

Selfish.

Dale had been right about me.

“Sara?” He grabbed me by the upper arms, pulling me aside, looking me up and down like he thought I might be hurt. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, realizing he obviously didn’t know about Aimee.

“My dad was in an accident.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “No!”

“He’s fine,” Dale insisted, shaking his head. “Whiplash. They’re keeping him overnight for observation.”

“Thank God. Can I see him?”

Dale nodded, but neither of us moved. His face and eyes softened as he looked at me and I wanted to put my arms around him and kiss him and tell him I loved him and how sorry I was about everything, but I couldn’t, not there in the middle of the hospital.

“Sara…” he started, his thumbs moving on my upper arms, hands still holding onto me, not wanting to let me go. Then he seemed to remember. “Wait… what are you doing here?”

“Aimee’s here…” I pointed to the room I’d just come out of. “She’s… oh Dale, she’s sick again. I’m not sure if she ever really got better…”

And what are the odds of that? That’s what the Aimee in my head said in regards to she and John just happening to end up in the same hospital on the same floor at the same time—the Aimee in my head nudging me and talking about fate and destiny and people who were meant to be together.

“Oh no.” Then Dale did put his arms around me, pulling my head to his chest, and I closed my eyes, letting myself be held by him. It felt so good, like coming home. “Why can’t the universe just give you a break?”

I sniffed and half-laughed at his comment. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t about me.”

“Is she going to be okay? Should I go in?” He nodded toward Aimee’s closed hospital room door.

“No, there’s a counselor in there.” That’s why I’d left, because the social worker wanted some time alone with ‘the family’—which now included Matt, but not me. So strange. But it was Matt who had noticed this time, not me, and maybe that was the way it should be. “She’s dehydrated—it was laxatives this time. Not as bad as before. Her weight is down, but they caught it, thanks to Matt. They’re talking about more therapy. I don’t know what will work.”

“Sometimes there’s no cure for the crazy.” Dale sighed, stroking my hair. “I think we all just have to keep loving through it. Maybe that’s the cure.”

“Love?” I smiled, rubbing my cheek against his t-shirt and the strong, solid chest underneath, his heart beating that beautiful, steady rhythm I had come to crave.

“Wouldn’t it be great if love was the cure for everything?” He tilted my chin up, searching my eyes. “Come on, my dad will want to see you.”

“Sara!” John’s eyes brightened behind the bandages when we walked into the room.

“Are you okay?” I went over to kiss him gently on the cheek. He had several cuts and bruises they’d bandaged up and a neck brace on.

“It looks far worse than it really is,” he assured me. “The other guy rear-ended me but he got away without a scratch. So I take it you two have made up?”

John looked hopefully between us but I just shrugged, glancing over at Dale. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a disapproving look on his face, but I thought that might have more to do with John being in a hospital bed than the fight we’d had the other day.

“I just wanted to bring her in to see you before I headed back home,” Dale told him.

I frowned. “How are you getting home?”

“The bus.” Dale looked pointedly at John. “Since the car’s in the shop for a while.”

“I’ll drive you,” I offered.

Dale hesitated, looking between me and his father.

“You know what?” John put a hand to his head. “Why don’t you two go on? I’m feeling a little tired.”

“Okay, Dad.” Dale said goodbyes to his father and went to the door, holding it open and waiting for me.

I bent down to kiss John’s cheek again and he whispered, “How’d I do?”

“You’re like an old Jewish matchmaker,” I whispered back. “Except you’re not old. Or Jewish.”

“I’d argue with you about the old part.” He grinned. “I feel ninety right about now.”

I made a face at him. “Feel better, old man.”

“I do already.”

“Thanks for the ride.” Dale turned to me in the darkness as I turned off the car, and there we were like we’d been so many times before, face to face in my front seat, the tension between us palpable.

“Dale…” How did I say I was sorry for… everything? Everything except loving him. And I couldn’t seem to say that either, even if it was all my heart would feel, in spite of my head’s staunch objections.

He started, somehow knowing I couldn’t. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“About Tyler?” It so didn’t matter to me anymore, but of course he didn’t know that.

“It was wrong. I should have told you. I just…” His head lowered, voice trailing off, and of course I knew why he hadn’t told me. He already doubted how much I cared about him, given my level of crazy about Tyler Vincent. How could he know it was Dale I stuck around for, and not the front row seats?

But the concert was over, and I was still here, loving him.

“No.” I touched his cheek, brushing my fingers over the stubble there, and when he looked up at me, he broke my heart. The question was there in his eyes, the one he tried so hard to hide. “I was stupid. I’ve been so stupid.”

He slid closer, taking me into his arms, giving me the reassurance he was looking for, as if by opening up to me, I might do the same with him. “I didn’t go to Holly Larson’s.”

“You didn’t?” My heart swelled to bursting. Somehow the thought of him spending a night with Holly Larson had been far worse than his sin of omission about Tyler Vincent.

“No.” He lowered his head to mine, kissing the top of my head again and again. “When are you going to realize there’s no one else for me? You’re it, baby.”

“Me too, Dale,” I whispered. It was the closest I could come in the moment.

He chuckled. “You’re forgetting Tyler.”

“No I’m not.” I lifted my head to meet his eyes, shining in the darkness.

“Wait… what are you saying?” Dale frowned, and I couldn’t resist, reaching out to touch that delicious dent in his chin. “I don’t want you to give up your dream for me.”

“What if you’re my dream?” I whispered, tracing the line of his jaw, trailing my finger down over his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “You’re good at being a rock star. I’m good at being the world’s biggest fan. It’s a match made in heaven.”

“I don’t want you to be my fan,” he said hoarsely. “I want you to be mine.”

“I am.” I moved my hand up under his shirt, seeking the heat of his skin, wanting to feel him, solid and warm. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world. Why? Because you chose me. Out of all those girls who want you—out of all the millions who will want you, and believe me, they will—I’m the one you chose.”

He kissed me—the soft press of his lips, the way he breathed me in as if I was honeysuckle or lilacs or roses, the most compelling scent in the world—reminding me in an instant of his love for me, how much I had missed him and how much I was missing when he was gone.

“Sara, listen to me.” He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes closed. “Once I choose a direction, I don’t stop. I can’t.”

I nodded, loving him for it. I’d seen it every day in the way he pursued his music, how much of his time he dedicated to practice, to perfecting his craft.

“I’m like a damned freight train. Or the fucking Titanic.” He snorted, opening his eyes and meeting my gaze. “There’s no turning me away, not now. I can’t turn back.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“No.” He pursed his lips, shaking his head, looking away from me, out the window at the shadow of someone going into the apartment building. “I don’t think you do. You seem to have room in your heart for more than just me. But I don’t. For me, there is only you. Only you.”

“Dale, no,” I protested. “You don’t understand. It’s not like that for me either.”

“Shhhh.” He pressed his fingers to my lips. “I know you. Inside and out, Sara. I know you, and I’ve accepted it all. Every bit of the crazy. And I love you anyway remember?”

“This isn’t about you.” He touched the locket hanging around my neck, a constant. “It’s about me. You need to know this. I will never, ever have room in my heart for more than one woman. I used Holly to hurt you, because it was the worst thing I could think of. It was wrong and I’m sorry.”