The Secret Life of a Dream Girl (Creative HeArts) (15 page)

“It’s not bullshit. It was no big deal. We were just hanging out. I mean, why do you even care when you’ve got Dream Girl?”

“Don’t.”

“Keegan—”

“I said don’t! I think after that kiss last night, we both know that the only girl I’m interested in right now is you. And if you haven’t figured out that you’re Dream Girl by now, I don’t know what to say to you.”

“All along?” she asked, sounding shocked. “It’s been me all along? You just made her up?” She looked incredulous.

“No,
you
made her up. I was talking to Jacen about the girl I was crazy about and you assumed it was someone else.”

“You
let
me assume that. You brainstormed ideas with me on how to get her attention! Who does that?”

“I was desperate to get your attention. And it worked, didn’t it?”

She shook her head. “You know what? You’re a lot more diabolical than I gave you credit for.”

“That’s your mistake then. You’re all worried about hurting the nice guy. But I can take care of myself—and you, too. If you’ll let me. But you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. Please, Dahlia. What happened between when you sent me that text this morning and now? Why are you shutting me out? Why are you so closed down all of a sudden?”

“Because.” She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him as she stood. “It wouldn’t work.”

“It’s been five days. You have no idea if it would work between us or not.”

“I do.”

He stepped closer, watched as her face went sad and weary and watchful all at the same time. It hurt him to see her look like that, even as a razor blade sliced through his own insides. “You don’t.”

She was still holding her guitar and he reached for it, prying it gently from her fingers before setting it on the swing she’d just vacated. Then he wrapped a gentle hand around her wrist and tugged her close. Not into his arms, because he was smart enough to know she would fight him on that. Just close, so that when she bowed her head to look at her feet, her cheek brushed against his chest.

His shoulders curled forward, until he was sheltering her against his body, instinctively wanting to protect her even as she devastated him.

“Aren’t you even angry?” she asked, her voice muffled by his chest.

“That you’re stopping things between us before they even have a chance to get started? Of course I—”

“That I didn’t tell you who I was.”

“I think you’re the one who doesn’t know who you are.” She flinched, and he immediately felt like a bastard. But he didn’t take the words back, either, because they were true.

“Yeah, well, why do you want to date a girl who doesn’t have a clue who she is?” she asked after a second.

“Because I know who you are.”

“You’ve known me five minutes.”

“Yeah, but they’ve been a really important five minutes.” She laughed, but it sounded a little watery, so he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer. “Famous, not famous, it doesn’t matter to me. You’re the girl who takes her shoes off to walk in the grass. The girl who gets tears in her eyes when she listens to a poem that moves her. The girl who asks the most interesting questions in class and who wrote the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard. You also send really great emoji texts, by the way.”

This time her heart was in her eyes when she looked up at him. And it was as beautiful as he thought it would be. At least until she shook her head and said, “I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“I mean, I can’t.”

His gut churned with frustration. “Why not? What are you so afraid of?”

She pushed against his chest and he let her go, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. “You know there’s a reason I filed for emancipation, right?”

“Of course. I didn’t want to ask because I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“Okay.” He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he hated the way she looked. Like something as simple as the act of breathing would shatter her into a million pieces.

“That’s it?
Okay
?”

“I’m not going to push you, Dahlia. That’s not what I want from you.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I want a chance to see where this thing between us goes. I like you. I’m pretty sure you like me. We’ve obviously got pretty good chemistry… What’s so wrong with that?”

“Our worlds are so completely different.”

“Are they really? Because you’ve been in my world for two months and you seem to be doing just fine there.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“I’m sure it is. Just like I’m sure that I won’t fit perfectly into Cherry’s world, but I’m willing to try if you want me to—”

“You don’t get it. Your mom told me to stay away from you.”

It took a minute for her words to register, and once they did, he stared at her for long seconds, his mouth opening and closing like a guppy’s. “She did what?” he demanded when he could finally get his tongue to work. “When?”

Anger started stirring under the confusion.

“She called me into her office when I got to school today—”

“So you
were
there!”

“Obviously.” She shot him an impatient look. “She reminded me that we don’t have much in common and then told me to leave you alone.”

The top of his head felt like it was going to blow off. Or worse, like it already had. “And you agreed?”

“She made a lot of good points. My life is a mess right now, and will be for a while.”

“So what? You think I’m just going to walk away because everything isn’t perfect in your life? My own life is pretty messed up right now, too, you know.”

“I do. Which is part of the problem, I think. You’ve got enough going on right now with your dad’s cancer. You don’t need to be dealing with my baggage, too.”

“Why don’t you let me decide if I want to deal with your baggage?”

“Because you’re a good guy, Keegan. Of course you’re going to be like, ‘it doesn’t matter how big of a mess your life is, I’ll stand by you.’”

He thrust a frustrated hand into his hair. “Why do you make it sound like that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not. It’s just that you need someone who can stand by you right now, and I’m not her.”

“Why? Because my mom said you’re not?”

“Because I’m me! I’m Cherry. I’m a pop star, for God’s sake. That’s about as shallow as you can get.”

“There’s nothing shallow about you, and I’m pretty damn sick of you selling yourself short.”

“Don’t you get it? My regular life is a circus. And yeah, I took some time away from it, but the truth is it’s taking all my energy right now just to be Dahlia Greene. I don’t know if I can…”

“If you can what? Be my girlfriend? Be my friend? Does it really take so much energy to just be around me?”

“You’re twisting my words!”

“Actually, I think you’re doing a pretty good job of twisting them all on your own.” He shook his head in disbelief. He was furious—at his mother for butting in and at Dahlia for letting her
and
for running scared.

“Look, I get it if you’re nervous. You obviously have a pretty good reason for putting your career on hold to come be a high school student in Austin. And yes, my life is complicated right now, too. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make something work. I’m not saying we have to be serious. And my mother will come around.”

“She doesn’t need to come around. She was just telling the truth. I’ll make more problems for you than I’ll solve.”

“I want a girlfriend, not a calculator. I don’t need you to solve my problems for me. I just need you to give me a chance to show you how good things can be between us.”

His phone rang before she could answer. It was his mom’s ringtone, and since she was pretty much the last person he wanted to talk to right now, he ignored it. At least until three texts came in in quick succession. His mom wasn’t a texter and almost never resorted to it unless she had something important to say.

And still he almost ignored it—on general principle considering the stunt she’d pulled this morning—but some sixth sense he didn’t know he had had him pulling it out and swiping his way to messages. What he saw there chilled his blood.

En route to hospital with your dad.

Started coughing up blood

It’s serious. Come now

He froze at the words, his mind racing even as his body refused to move.

It’s serious. Come now.

It’s serious. Come now.

It’s serious.

It’s serious.

It’s serious.

“Keegan.” Dahlia’s voice sounded urgent, yet far away at the same time. “Keegan, what’s wrong?”

“I have to go.” He barely got the words out. “My dad…he…”

When he didn’t say anything else, Dahlia grabbed the phone from him and read his mom’s messages. Then she shoved the phone back into his hand and said, “I’m driving. Let’s go.”

His mind was racing so fast he barely registered what she said. When he did, he shook his head. “You don’t have to do that. I’m—”

“Shut up.” She glared at him even as she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the house. “It’s not up for discussion. I’m taking you.”

Chapter Eighteen

I’ve never seen Keegan look so pale.

It’s scaring me a little, if I’m honest. Not just the paleness, but the harsh little breaths he takes every minute or so, like he can’t quite get enough oxygen into his lungs.

I’m probably the last person he wants comfort from right now, considering I just spent the last twenty minutes trying to break up with him. But I can’t leave him like this without at least trying to help. He looks shell-shocked—and broken.

Reaching out, I rest a gentle hand on his knee, then squeeze a little, just to let him know I’m here. He’s trembling.

I start to move my hand away as I’m turning a corner, but then he takes a break from texting and grabs on to my hand like it’s a lifeline. He’s squeezing hard and I let him, wishing I could take away his pain—his fear—if only for a little while.

I want to tell him that it’s going to be okay, but I’ve lived in the real world long enough to know that that might not be the case. A ton of people told me my mother would be okay after the accident—and instead, she died. Just like they always knew she would.

I remember being so bitter about it at the time, being so resentful of these people with their whole, perfect families, coming into the hospital and lying straight to my face like it was nothing. Voicing platitude after platitude because they thought it would somehow make things easier for me.

It didn’t.

So instead of telling Keegan how sorry I am, instead of telling him that everything is going to be okay, instead of asking him if there is anything else I can do, I hold on to his hand as tightly as I can. And send a prayer into the universe that he won’t have to lose his father yet. Not yet.

A couple minutes pass like that as I fight my way through midday traffic. Eventually, though, Keegan’s phone buzzes with another series of texts, and he lets go of my hand to answer them.

By the time he’s done, I’ve pulled into the hospital parking lot. “Emergency room?” I ask as I follow the winding signs with the huge red letters.

“Yeah. For now.”

“Okay.” I pull up next to the ambulance bay so he can get inside quickly. He doesn’t make a move to get out of the car.

“Are you coming in?” he finally asks.

I don’t know what to say, don’t know what he wants. But he’s waiting, and I have to answer somehow. “Do you want me to come in?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation at all when he says it.

“Okay, then. Why don’t you go see what’s going on and I’ll park the car. I’ll meet you inside.”

He nods, but still doesn’t move.

I wait for a few seconds, but when he makes no effort to reach for the handle, I take matters into my own hands. Pulling away from the curb, I cruise up and down a couple aisles and finally manage to find a spot.

After parking, I get out of the car and walk around to the passenger side. When Keegan still makes no move to get out, I open up his door and then crouch next to him, so I can look up into his down-turned face.

“Hey,” I say, and this time I’m the one who reaches for his hand. “It’s okay to be afraid, you know.”

“I’m not ready,” he says, his voice hoarse and choked. “If he’s going to die, I’m not ready to know yet.”

“Okay,” I tell him even as I pull him out of the car. Then I close the door and wrap my arms around his waist, burrowing against his trembling body as I hold on as tightly as I can.

He’s always felt so big and strong and solid, but right now he feels the opposite. Like a gust of wind could just blow him away—or like he’s about to break into a thousand different pieces.

I know what that’s like—I’ve broken a couple times in my life. I won’t let that happen to him.

“I’ve got you,” I tell him, rubbing my hand gently up and down his back. “I’ve got you, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, a hoarse sob ripping from his chest.

“Don’t be,” I soothe as I hold him even tighter. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

He shakes his head, and it’s obvious he’s trying so hard to keep it all inside.

“It’s okay, Keegan. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here.”

His jaw is working now, and he’s staring straight out at the very uninteresting I-35.

I don’t know what to do, don’t know how to reach him. I won’t tell him it’s okay, won’t be one of those people who say shit when they have no idea what they’re talking about. But I have to do something, because I can’t leave him like this. I just can’t.

Stretching up on my tiptoes, I cup his face in my hands. Look straight into his stormy green eyes. And then I kiss him, soft and sweet and gentle.

He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t respond, either. At least not at first.

But then his whole body relaxes, leans into me. His jaw and his fists unclench; the arms holding me become much less rigid. Even his mouth softens.

He kisses me back, taking the comfort I’m offering just for a moment. And then I can feel the wetness beneath my fingers, the tears he can’t keep locked inside himself any longer.

I start to move away, but he pulls me closer, holding me tight as he leans down and buries his face in my neck.

I don’t know how long we stand there like that, locked in each other and the pain Keegan is struggling so hard to accept. Long enough for his phone to buzz several times with texts. Long enough for an ambulance to come screaming through the parking lot. More than long enough for me to fall—completely, absolutely, irrevocably—for Keegan Matthews.

We’re both shaking when he pulls away, but I can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s better. More grounded. More ready to face whatever is waiting inside that hospital for him. For us. Because whatever his mother says, whatever she threatens, I’m not going to let her take this away from me. From us. Not now, when Keegan needs me. Not now, when I’m just figuring out how much I need him, too.

I reach into my purse, grab a couple tissues, and give them to him. Then I take his hand and start propelling him slowly, inexorably, toward the emergency room doors. Because whatever is waiting for him in there, whatever the doctors have to say about his father, it can’t be as scary as what he’s imagining out here.

And whatever it is—however bad it might be—we’ll deal with it. Together.