Page 18 of When the Stars Rise
The audience erupts into cheers, and I look over at Dean, shaking his head, arms crossed over his chest. “Come on. Don’t be shy,” I cajole, using the exact words he used on me on my eighteenth birthday when he got me out on the stage with him to sing at the Hollywood Bowl.
Zoe, my publicist who turned up yesterday for unclear reasons, hands him his guitar, then gives him a big shove and a smirk as he strides across the stage and joins me.
“What are you doin’ calling me out here?” he says, but I know he’s not mad because he’s smiling. He loves performing just as much as I do.
When this tour is over, I’m taking some time off to write a new album, and he’ll be free to work on his own music.
“What are we playing?” he asks.
“‘Broken World’ and ‘What I Never Knew.’” One of his and one of mine.
He nods, not overly surprised by my choices. We recorded “What I Never Knew” as a duet on my first album, and “Broken World” has always been one of my favorite songs he’s ever written. “Let’s do it.”
We launch right into “Broken World” followed closely by “What I Never Knew,” both of us sitting on stools facing each other. We sound good together. Dean has one of those growly, gravelly voices coated in velvet that’s only improved over the years. Deeper, raspier, more soulful. I take the high notes, and he takes the low.
“When I was singing to the Beatles in the back seat…”
“…voice sweet as honey, pure as freshly fallen snow…”
“…you were slaying dragons in the crooked alleys of Skid Row…”
“…I never wanted you to know…”
“… so many things I never knew…”
“What I never knew… was how much of me I got from you.”
“What I never knew… was how my life would change because of you.”
When the last note rings out, I jump off the stool and hug Dean. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you, darlin’. I’m so fucking proud of you.” With that, he releases me and waves to the audience as he walks off the stage, and I continue alone for the rest of the show.
Later that night, back at the hotel, Noah and I are propped against the headboard of my queen-size bed, watchingFleabagon my laptop when he turns to me. “Are you ever going to forgive her?”
I pretend I don’t understand the question and keep my eyes glued to the screen where Phoebe Waller-Bridge is breaking the fourth wall. “Who?”
He flicks my arm like we’re eight years old. “You know who. Shiloh.”
I give him the side-eye but don’t respond immediately. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. I’m wearing an overnight face mask that will allegedly revive my dry skin and remove all puffiness. He’s on top of the covers, and I’m underneath them. “It’s not that there’s anything to forgive. I just…”
“Felt betrayed,” he finishes.
I nod. “But so did you,” I say, reminding him that we both had similar feelings after discovering the truth.
“Yeah, but I was more upset with my dad for not being honest with me.”
“He was keepinghersecret,” I say, jumping to Brody’s defense. “So it's not like he could tell anyone.”
Growing up, Noah was always so close with his dad. It bordered on hero worship. Until he found out the truth, and then their relationship was a bit rocky for a while. “Are things okay with you and your dad?”
Noah blows air out of his cheeks and stares at the ceiling. “We’re good. It’s all cool.” He shrugs it off, but I’m not sure if I believe him. “What I don’t get is how you treat Dean.”
“How do I treat Dean?”
“Like you worship the ground he walks on.” He shoots me a look between a frown and a glare. “He’s not exactly a saint, Hales.”
My shields go up. “And who is?” I give him a pointed look, my implication clear. “I don’t know any saints.”
