Page 67 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

He told me they never slept together, that they were only friends and nothing more.

Forcing myself to suck in the thick air in the room, I turn the page. My eyes open slowly, looking over everything else, until I get to the very bottom of the page and freeze at the signature below.

I flip to the next page and the next page. Each sign-off is from the exact same officer.

My father.

My lungs pinch, making it harder to breathe. A sob escapes, and I hiccup. Tears trickle down my cheeks, hot and heavy. Uncontrollable.

How did I not connect the two? My father’s rage toward any topic of Alec. The way he looked when he first saw me with Alec….

I was nothing but a puppet in a twisted game. I feel disgusted.

I think of the way Alec looked at me when our eyes met at the concert. He knew who I was. Everything was right there, right in front of my eyes, and I was too blind to see it.

How could I be so stupid?

Alec knew my father the whole fucking time.

Chapter Twenty-six

Alec

With my pick nestled between my teeth, I casually fine-tune my electric Squier on my lap, resting both feet on the footrest.

Aimlessly, I pluck the pick from my mouth, running its tip effortlessly along the strings. The melody caresses my senses, filling the air with ethereal notes. Its enchanting rhythm reverberates deep within, blending with the rhythm of my heart.

It’s the only thing that keeps me from going under.

My mind drags toward Summer. A sting sits in my chest, and I can’t be sure if it’s rage or worry. Not knowing whether she’s safe at her house right now.

So, instead of doing what Summer told me I should do—calling Samantha back and scheduling a meeting with Chase—I came into the studio to drown myself in the muse. To block out the agony thrumming in my bones, knowing I fucked up the band more than I’d like to admit.

As I allow myself to drift into the melody of the music I create, I think about everything I have done. How my plans have changed all because of one girl, and I’m not even mad about it.

The door opens but I pay no mind, fixing my guitar and strumming again. Closing my eyes and listening to the beautiful melody.

“What the fuck, Alec.”

My muscles tighten, screwing up the most essential note of the song I spent months writing. With the pick resting between my fingers, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my knuckles. Frustration slithers into my pores, coasting its way deep into my skin.

“Samantha,” I say, opening my eyes to look at her.

My jaw clenches tighter when I see Samantha’s arms crossed at her chest and her foot tapping against the wooden floor, James and Tyler by her side.

There was a reason I didn’t answer her call, and it was precisely this.

“So, you screw up one of the biggest opportunities for what? Not to mention, you’ve done nothing but dodge every single one of my calls.” She drops her arms to her side. “What’s going on with you?”

My eyes follow Tyler as he steps over the colorful wires along the floor and onto the red carpet. He leans close to me, whispering, “She’s pissed. Called me twenty times until I was stuck with massive blue balls.”

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “I need time.”

“Are you shitting me?” James bites, stepping forward. “What is more important than what we’ve built here?”

My eyes drag to him, cocking my head. “I said I needed fucking time. Is that too hard to believe?”

He huffs, dragging his hand across the stubble on his chin, and shakes his head. They have every right to be disappointed in me. I’ll admit that.

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