CHAPTER 47 (1)

LIPS OF AN ANGEL

By: HINDER

Honey, why you calling me so late? It's kinda hard to talk right now Honey, why you crying, is everything okay? I gotta whisper 'cause I can't be too loud Well, my girl's in the next room Sometimes I wish she was you I guess we never really moved on It's really good to hear your voice saying my name It sounds so sweet Coming from the lips of an angel Hearing those words, it makes me weak And I never wanna say goodbye But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful With the lips of an angel It's funny that you're calling me tonight And, yes, I've dreamt of you too And does he know you're talking to me? Will it start a fight? No, I don't think she has a clue Well, my girl's in the next room Sometimes I wish she was you I guess we never really moved on It's really good to hear your voice saying my name It sounds so sweet Coming from the lips of an angel Hearing those words, it makes me weak And I never wanna say goodbye But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful With the lips of an angel It's really good to hear your voice saying my name It sounds so sweet Coming from the lips of an angel Hearing those words, it makes me weak And I never wanna say goodbye But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful With the lips of an angel And I never wanna say goodbye But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful With the lips of an angel Honey, why you calling me so late?

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“So, then he moons the cops and runs ten blocks with his pants around his knees,” Avery says, clanking her glass on the side table in the dressing room for emphasis. “And this guy’s running for treasurer?” I reply. “Apparently.” We’re backstage after Frank’s second show in LA. The past two days have been nuts between rehearsals and soundchecks and hanging out with my friend. It feels strange not doing my own material after all my work for the showcase. But I’m working—as a singer. Frank’s people not only paid for the hotel—I’m actually getting compensated. “Emily! That’s Emily Carlton. Eddie Carlton’s kid.” I turn to see the guys bent over the coffee table, and Frank waves me over. “You must’ve grown up backstage,” one of the guys drawls. “Bet you have some great stories.” I cross to them, the cowboy boots I changed into after the show clacking on the hard floor. “Honestly, I was a kid the last time he toured. And the best stories I have of him are personal.” I haven’t talked to my dad since coming to LA. Haley called me last night, but it was a short conversation. I can tell she’s disappointed, which hurts too, but she said she’d work on him as far as tuition. Clearly, she doesn’t agree with his position, but I don’t see her going behind his back unless I really need something. “We’ll take personal stories,” Frank says with a grin, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. My dad’s name is currency here. It gives me renewed appreciation for the way Timothy was always chill about it. More than that, he lied for me. I shove the thought away. “You know what?” I ask. “You should be remembering nights like tonight instead of asking for old stories. Someday you won’t be asking me about him. You’ll be asking him about me.” I arch a brow, and a round of hollers goes up. I cut a look back at Avery, and she nods. “We’re gonna get out of here. Thanks for the gig,” I tell Frank, starting for the door. Avery goes to grab her things while Frank follows me toward the hall. “Don’t take it personally. Someday you’ll have stories. Until then, the sexiest thing about you is him.” I size him up. “Did you know who my dad was when you took me on? Before it came out at school?” He grins. “I did my homework. Can’t fault me for that.” Some of the joy I felt about making it to LA on my own merit falls away, but I refuse to let it vanish entirely. Jacob’s right. I’ll always be Eddie Carlton’s kid, and I need to make peace with that. Even if my dad and I can’t find a way to make peace with each other. Avery joins me, and I nod to Frank. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the final show.” I grab my friend, and we take off back to our hotel. “I’m glad you came with me this weekend. It means a lot,” I say. “Of course! I can afford to make a DIY long weekend by blowing off a single day of classes.” November in LA is balmy as hell. I stick my hands in the pockets of my jean shorts as we pass palm trees. “I’ve been wondering if I made the right call in going to Vanier instead of Columbia. The highs and the lows are a kind of extreme I’ve never experienced, not even when I learned Eddie was my dad or when Carla tortured me.” “Well, if you ever decided to transfer to Columbia, obviously I’d be supportive,” Avery says. “We’d have a fabulous apartment with a wine fridge, and I’d be the best sommelier-slash-roommate ever.” My chest expands. “I’ll miss you when you go back tomorrow. And I’m taking you to the airport whether you like it or not.” “You’ll spend the whole day in traffic,” she warns. “You should just fly back with me.” I kick a stone on the pavement with my boot, thinking about everything that’s gone down. “Nah, I’ll stay and do the final show tomorrow night. But I do want to see Andie and Jacob. Hell, maybe even Rica.” “And Timothy.” “Definitely Timothy.”

His handsome face appears in my mind. I wish I had him to talk to. I know what I’d say. I miss you. I shouldn’t have blamed you. I’m sorry I fucked up your chance in this industry. Back in the hotel, Avery’s sprawled across the other double bed when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. Andie: You need to see this. It’s a link for Jacob’s vlog. Something’s glitchy though, because the number of followers is off by a few zeroes. I reload the page, but it shows the same thing. It’s not only the follower count that’s off—it’s the views. The top video is one called “Unhinged.” Most of Jacob’s videos are ten or fifteen minutes, but this one’s nearly an hour long. I hit Play. It’s Timothy sitting on his bed with his guitar.