Havoc

My smile starts to slip when nothing but silence replies, and I realize how badly I wish I could tell him my news in person, or at least have him on the other line of the phone. It’s been so hard matching up our schedules this past week, and even though Mike has sent me flowers—which I was extremely lucky he sent to my work instead of the apartment I share with Danica—they only made me miss him more.

“Alright, well . . . I hope you’re having a good show. I miss you. Maybe we’ll get to talk later . . .”

I hang up the phone and concentrate on walking. To dull the ache of missing him, I focus on the things that I still have: school, work, Phoenix. But the more I focus on these things, the more distant Mike seems to get.

I don’t have a boyfriend who is thousands of miles away . . .

What I have are dying flowers, a voice mail I know by heart, and boyfriend who’s never here.

Chapter 41

On Friday afternoon, Rowan and Dee kidnap me for ice cream and a funny movie, and I realize how much I needed it. My entire waking life has been spent either rehabilitating Phoenix or missing Mike—missing him during meals, during showers, during the quiet time before sleep. He calls me every day on the phone, or at least leaves me a voice mail or two, but it never feels like enough. It feels like eating gluten-free bread or sugar-free doughnuts. It’s just not the same, and it’s not what I really want.

On Friday night, he asks me out on a date, and a smile sneaks onto my face as I lie in my bed with my phone to my ear. “How are you going to take me on a date when you’re a million miles away?”

“Ninety-seven hundred,” Mike corrects, and I chuckle.

“You’re keeping track?”

“Sometimes,” he admits, and I can hear the bashful smile in his voice. “It’s not that far. The moon is over two hundred thousand miles away, and man managed to travel that distance. You’re only a flight away. You’re practically down the street.”

“Then I wish you’d come visit me,” I say, unable to stop myself but hating the sadness that creeps into Mike’s reply.

“Me too. I’ve never felt this way on a tour before.”

“What way?”

“So . . .” He searches for the word. “Homesick. So homesick. I’ve missed my house before. My bed, my TV . . . But those things don’t even matter anymore. I just want to hold you.”

I know what he means, which is why there’s nothing I can say. Talking about missing him isn’t going to change the fact that I’m not going to see him anytime soon.

“Only thirty more days,” he says, and I close my eyes. “So will you please go on this date with me tomorrow?”

“Where are we going?” I play along.

“My house. Normally, I’d pick you up in my big red truck . . .” His voice lowers, sending heat prickling across my skin. “You remember my red truck, don’t you?”

I blush fiercely at the memory of all the things we did inside it—on the side of the road, and then in his driveway with the door hanging open—and Mike chuckles.

“You play dirty,” I say, and his tone smolders.

“If I remember, Hailey, that’s just how you like it.”

Oh God. I groan and climb out from under my covers to open a window, letting the late October chill extinguish the fire blazing beneath my cheeks while Mike’s sexy, confident laugh sounds against my ear.

“This is no way to ask a girl out on a first date,” I scold so he’ll stop trying to kill me with his deliberately sexy voice, and Mike laughs a little harder before he stops teasing.

“Okay. So my place, seven o’clock. Does that work?”

“What do you have planned?” I ask as I slip back under my covers, excitement thrumming through my veins.

“A surprise” is all he’ll tell me, and for the first time in two weeks, I fall asleep looking forward to tomorrow.

Don’t forget your key. Text me before you go inside.

Mike’s text is the first thing I read in the morning, and it reminds me that today is our first date. I smile in the mirror as I brush my teeth, because even if he won’t be there for it, he’s taking me on a date, and the knowledge that Mike—Mike!—is taking me on a real date fills me with all sorts of giddy, girly freaking excitement. I tell Phoenix all about him that day, about his smile and his laugh and how skilled he was at teaching me to play the drums. And I leave the shelter early enough to shower and put on some non-dog-scented clothes, even though Mike won’t be there to smell me.

At seven o’clock on the dot, I text him to tell him I’m in his driveway, and a second later, a video chat request appears on my phone. My eyes flash wide, since Mike hasn’t had reception strong enough for a video chat since he left. It’s been two entire weeks since I’ve seen him, and nervous butterflies swarm in my stomach.

The video chat rings three times before I muster the courage to answer it, and my heart slams against my ribs when I finally accept his call.

Mike’s face instantly appears on my phone, and I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. The warmth that rushes through me when I see him makes it undeniable: I love him. I love him so much it hurts.

“Hey,” he says, a sexy smile on his face, and a nervous, giddy, happy one sneaks onto my lips to smile back at him.

“I thought you weren’t going to have good reception for a few more tour stops?” I ask, and he smiles wider when he hears my voice.