***Alissa Blake***
The notifications on my phone were restless that day. I didn’t have active social media or friends, so focusing on my phone wasn’t something I did intensely when I had nothing productive to do or anything to research.
But while it sat in my lap, vibrating now and then with irrelevant things and notifications that probably didn’t interest me, I felt my heart race in a stupid way that made me roll my eyes every time I noticed.
I kept waiting, thinking that everything Cyrus said was probably a mistake. Holden wanted to talk to me, and he wouldn’t release my song without waiting for me to reach out.
But… he had my number. He had my contact, he knew he could reach out. So why didn’t he? Why did he decide to get into this relationship with Chloe without even giving us a proper ending to whatever we had?
When I thought about that, I felt even less inclined to ever see him again. Because he accused me of running away and giving up, yet when I made this trip, he didn’t take a single day to run from everything we had. It was hypocritical, and he didn’t even respond to my letter.
Yes, the letter I sent to the address of his first show. I didn’t even dare to ask Cyrus about it—I think my ego was too bruised. I couldn’t just pick up the phone and call him to explain that I was going after the sister I had just discovered, so I wrote everything down. I poured my feelings into that letter, but there was no response. I sent it as soon as I set foot in this city before I even dared to come here and meet Morgan.
Maybe the itinerary changed, and Holden went somewhere else instead of the first hotel he told me he’d be in, but it didn’t matter—he didn’t try to contact me in any other way.
And then, as my head throbbed from thinking about it, another notification.
But it wasn’t from Holden.
I knew it wouldn’t be. Still, it was ridiculous how my breath caught every time I picked up the phone as if something from him would suddenly appear.
It didn’t.
I took a deep breath, trying to push that stupid feeling away. I was in a different place now. I had more important things to worry about.
Morgan was sitting on the living room rug, drawing with her feet swinging in the air. My parents had gone out—some church event they pretended was philanthropy but was probably just another opportunity to suck up to someone influential. They left me alone with Morgan, which was already telling. If they had something to hide, they were confident enough to believe I wouldn’t find out.
Or maybe they were just happy to get rid of their parenting duties for a few hours. I didn’t buy into their “dedicated parents” act—I knew those crooks too well.
Idiots.
"You don’t draw?" Morgan asked out of nowhere, still scribbling with her tongue sticking out a little in a funny way that made me laugh.
"I’m not very good at it."
"So what are you good at?"
Good question.
"Making sandwiches," I said, heading to the kitchen.
Morgan looked excited and went back to her drawing.
I took advantage of her distraction to test something else—I wanted to be subtle because I didn’t know to what extent she reported things back to them.
"Do you like school?"
"I do! My teacher is nice."
"And do Mom and Dad go there a lot?"
"Sort of. Mom goes when the teacher asks."
"When the teacher asks." In other words, never on her own.
"And do they get mad at you?"
She stopped drawing for a second, looking at me with those big eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Like… when you do something wrong. What happens?"
She looked around as if choosing her words carefully.
"Oh… I don’t get dessert sometimes, or no TV. One time, I didn’t get dinner because I spilled milk on the table. But just once! I wasn’t clumsy again!"
I knew exactly how that felt, but Morgan—she just seemed to accept it as if it were normal. Maybe because, for her, it was.
Because for me, it was too—until I was old enough to realize it wasn’t the same in other families.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth. It wasn’t the coffee.
"I get it."
"But I’m a good girl! Mom says I behave better than you."
Yeah, of course she does.
I had to take a deep breath. This wasn’t Morgan’s fault.
I was about to change the subject when I noticed she had stopped drawing and was staring at the TV. I followed her gaze, and suddenly, my stomach twisted into a knot so tight it nearly sank.
The news report was playing on full screen, but the caption was what hit me first.
***"Holden Young arrested for disorderly conduct and possession of illegal substances."***
The image switched to him being escorted by two police officers. His face was wrecked. Red eyes, disheveled hair, a distraught expression. He looked like he was shouting something, but with all the noise, it was impossible to make out.
My chest tightened so much I thought I would break.
"Hey, I know him!" Morgan pointed excitedly. "He’s your famous friend, Alissa."
My fingers trembled as I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.
"You don’t need to see that."
"But is he okay?"
I didn’t know what to say because the truth was—he wasn’t.
Not at all.
Morgan pouted but went back to her drawing. My mind, however, was spinning.
Holy shit… Holden got arrested.
For drugs. This is insane.
The image of his distraught face stuck in my head. This wasn’t just a party that got out of control, it wasn’t just some drunken night after a show. It was something much worse.
My phone felt heavy in my hand, pulling me like a magnet.
Call him, you idiot.
The voice in my head wouldn’t stop. My finger was already hovering over his contact, but then I remembered. I remembered that he released my song without asking me.
I remembered that he didn’t try to reach out. I remembered that, to him, I was probably just someone from his past. A stepping stone.
He had Chloe now. They lived together. They were probably sleeping together—it was obvious. I wasn’t part of the equation.
He didn’t want me in his life, and I—well, I couldn’t say the same, but I had to try to move on.