Love Song(140)

“Eh. If you didn’t, that’s also okay,” Dad says.

“Seriously?” I say in surprise.

He scoots closer and slings his arm around me. “Kiddo, I don’t care what you do as long as you’re happy,” he says, echoing what Wyatt said when he asked me to go with him. “I think your mom would probably prefer if you graduated, though.”

“I will.”

“And this tour… You want to go?”

“I don’t know. Part of me does, but another part of me is scared.”

“Scared of what?”

My teeth dig into my bottom lip again. “That he doesn’t actually love me and that maybe someone like Mollie May makes more sense for him.”

Dad chuckles. “Sweet pea, life isn’t about what makes sense on paper. It’s about who makes you feel like breathing’s easier when they’re around.”

Tears sting my eyes. “I pushed him away after the hospital. Like, I’ve been so horrible to him, Dad. Partially because of hormones—I mean, I was a dick to everyone.”

He snickers. “Yeah, the hormone monster wasn’t fun. But we understood. And so does Wyatt.”

“But I kept pushing him away after the hormones settled,” I moan. “I was insecure, and I ruined everything.”

“So fix it.”

“Uh-huh. Because it’s that simple?”

“Of course it is. You want him back, you feel bad about how you treated him, then grovel.”

“Grovel,” I echo dubiously.

“Yes. Beg. Apologize. Tell him you messed up. Tell him you love him, because we both know you do. And then prove it to him.”

I let out a choked laugh. “Since when are you a romantic?”

“Since always. Ask your mom about the poem I wrote her once.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nope, I think she still has it in a scrapbook somewhere. It was beautiful.”

I narrow my eyes. “I believe you wrote the poem, but I do not believe it was beautiful. Also, why?”

He grins at me. “Because I messed up and had to humble myself to get her back. The reality is if you let a good thing walk away because you’re too proud to beg, you’re always going to regret it.”

“So…grovel,” I say slowly, testing out the word.

“Yes, sweet pea. Because you’re a Logan, and Logans grovel.”

Anxiety skitters through me. “You don’t think it’s too late?”

He shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”





Chapter 57


WYATT





I ADJUST MY HEADPHONES, TRYING to act like I’m not sweating under these lights. Or maybe it’s the pressure that’s making my collar damp. The radio studio is smaller than I expected. Dimly lit and soundproof, with a glowing, red ON AIR sign flashing over the booth window. I don’t know how I let my manager convince me to do a live interview instead of a prerecorded podcast or something that could be edited in case I make a fool out of myself.

But no. Live radio. Fucking hell. Kill me.

You’re about to perform live for thousands of people for the next six months, a voice in my head points out.

True, I relent. Maybe this interview is a good way to dip my toe in. Prepare for the never-ending spotlight I’m about to be under.

The tour starts in four days, kicking off in Boston because it’s the hometown of Mollie May’s Irish mother, who’ll be backstage for the show. While I’m excited to meet her, I wish the person backstage was Blake, but I haven’t heard from her since fate brought us together on a street in Trenton.

I’m calling it fate, because I refuse to accept that Spencer and Spencer Hanz were right about a ghost spreading her love magic around.

“And that was Wyatt Graham’s ‘Lightkeeper,’” Ashley, the host, chirps into her mic.

Her cohost is a big, bald quipster named Hughie, and the three of us are squished into this hot studio like buns in an oven. They’re cool, if you ignore Hughie’s obnoxious habit of overemphasizing every other word.

“And you guys are in luck,” Hughie tells the listeners, “because we have the Wyatt Graham sitting here in studio with us.”

“Looking real fine, if I might add,” Ashley chimes in, winking at me.

“That song,” Hughie says to me. “Streaming numbers are through the roof, and it just got a review in Rolling Stone. Critics are calling it raw and reckless and sad as hell. So I guess what I want to know is—who hurt you?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Sad, huh? I thought it was more romantic than sad.”

“Very romantic,” Ashley agrees, nodding. “Big song. Big feelings. Is that what we can expect from the rest of the album?”

“I think so. I worked with Tobey Dodson, who’s so great at pulling out the emotion and getting the best out of you with every track.”

“And how many songs can we expect?”

“Ten, plus a bonus track,” I say, because the publicist that the label connected me with said I need to tease the bonus track. Apparently, people love ’em. “I’m excited for everyone to hear them.”

Grinning, Hughie wags his finger at me. “Now, now, don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging my question. So. ‘Lightkeeper.’ Is it about a real girl?”