Nineteen-year-old, Bea Somerton, knows exactly how she wants to live. Become a doctor, remain in remission from her childhood Leukaemia and have a happy, normal, life.
The last thing she expects is to meet rising star and troubled musician, Holden P...
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"How— what are you doing here?"
Holden's gaze lingers on mine a moment longer before he makes the descent towards me, taking the three small stairs that lead to the open expanse of the yard.
"You changed your hair."
"Shaved it, actually," I respond. "It's a wig. What are you doing here?"
"Your friends—"
"Of course," I grit, teeth clenching. "Did they tell you why I left too?"
He shakes his head, taking the seat opposite me as he rests his hands on his knees. "They left that up to you."
"They shouldn't have asked you to come," I respond. "They don't understand."
"Then explain it to me," he pleads. "You've ignored all my calls, Bea. I've gone over that night so many times in my fucking head and I don't get it. I don't get what happened."
"You're not supposed to get it," I say. I try my best not to lean towards him; fighting the energy that pulls me close to him. "That's the point, Holden. I'm doing this— I'm doing this for you," I croak.
Laugher erupts from inside and I jump, staring over my shoulder as people mill around the kitchen. "Did anyone see you arrive here? Anyone from inside?"
"Who the fuck cares?" He responds. "I'll sign a goddamn autograph if that means you'll just talk to me."
"That isn't—" I sigh, scrubbing my face. "I just meant that it'll be bad if anyone videos us together or something."
"Why?" he says, frustrated. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on."
"Holden..." I whisper, teary-eyed.
"Trust me, Blake."
"It's not about trust," I defend. "I— of course I trust you. This is about protecting you and stopping you from doing something stupid—"
"Protecting me?" he laughs. "I don't want you to protect me, Blake. I want you to be honest."
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling exposed. The night air bites at my arms, despite the heat that pulls along with it.
"You should leave," I say, wiping my eyes.
"Bea—"
"Leave!" I shout.
"No," he snaps, standing from the chair. His large frame looms over me and I see the anger raging from his eyes. "I'm not leaving."
I stand up too, pushing him back from me. "Leave," I sob.
"I've never seen you like this," he says, alarmed. "You're always so— so controlled with your emotions. What's made you this upset? Who did this?"
