on my phone while I work out, I listen to the rock station the gym plays. I listen for any sign of her song, but I’m left feeling let down. I drive back home, shower, then make something for dinner with the radio on. Still nothing. Then finally, as I’m drifting in and out of sleep on the couch, I hear the DJ say, “Guys, this one is brand-new from a band right here in Chicago called The Wonder Kings. Take a listen.” The song starts up. Excitement fills my body like this is my song—like I’m the one who’s about to get famous. I grab my phone and call her immediately.
“Are you listening to it?” she asks the moment she answers the phone.
“I am. It sounds amazing,” I say, feeling sadness taking over me. This is the moment I’ve been dreading all these weeks.
She squeals. “It sounds so good. Better than it did in the studio!”
“I knew it would. I just wanted to let you know I heard it and that I’m so proud of you. Congratulations! Now you can get back to celebrating with the band.”
“Okay, thanks again. Bye!”
The phone disconnects and suddenly, the loneliness I’ve been putting off for weeks hits me like a freight train. This is finally the start of it all. The start to her fame. The start of us falling apart. The start of my loneliness.
The next few days for her are jam-packed with radio meet-and-greets, shows, and filming their first music video. We meet up when we can, but it’s getting harder and harder with everyone demanding her time. I hang around in the back at her shows, but usually end up having to leave without her because her manager or label is always wanting them for something. A few nights, she surprises me by showing up out of the blue, and when that happens, it’s like nothing has changed.
The music video drops a week after the single, and I pull up YouTube to watch it as I eat my pizza for dinner. The video is cool—switching back and forth from color to black and white. It’s loud and fast-paced and I’ve never seen Luna look more beautiful. Her hair is wild and her eyes are dark against her olive skin. She’s wearing a ripped-up shirt that shows her hard stomach, and it makes my body tighten as I watch her dance and move around on the screen.
I make sure I like the video and subscribe to the band’s page before closing my laptop and grabbing my phone. I send her a text.
Saw the video. You looked sexy as fuck. Coming by tonight?
Just got to my place. Going to take a shower. Come here?
I finish up my pizza and push myself off the couch to get dressed. Thirty minutes later, I’m knocking on her door. She pulls it open wearing nothing but a pair of black panties and a cropped white T-shirt. Her hair is wet and hanging around her, the ends starting to soak her shirt. She offers up a smirk and I step inside.
“What’d you think of the video?”
I slip out of my jacket and toss it down on the table. “I thought you were beautiful,” I say, walking closer. She knows what’s coming and she looks up at me with a smile.
“You didn’t get bored watching it?”
I shake my head once. “I could never get bored watching you.” I take another step and my hands finally find her body, pulling her against my chest where our lips meet.
She’s completely naked and lying in my arms in her dark bedroom when she says, “Hypothetical question: Would you ever consider giving up your life here to come on tour with me . . . like if we decided to stay together?”
I’m not sure how to answer. It’s not something I’ve seriously considered. “I know that I would never let you give up your hopes and dreams to stay here with me, but as far as coming on tour with you . . . I don’t know. I don’t know if I have it in me to just travel constantly with no real destination in mind. Why do you ask?”
I feel her shoulder shrug against me. “I was just thinking . . . well, trying to think of any way this could work between us. I can’t stay. We know that for sure. But I didn’t know if you’d want to go or if you’d want to stay here. But another part