Page 132 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“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.”

---