Chapter 37

Derek shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t, because it was shelved when the first one didn’t sell. I have a copy of the studio session tape somewhere, but that’s all that exists now. My whole music career boils down to one crappy song dragged out from time to time by DJs who want to know whatever happened to these guys, you know?”

Folding my hands around both of his, I ask, “Why didn’t you come back then? Why didn’t you at least call, or something? It’s been twenty damn years, Derek.”

“I know,” he says softly.

I squeeze his wrist. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of me in all that time—”

“I did,” he promises. “God, every single day.”

The way he’s kissed me, twice now, assures me that’s true. “So why didn’t you get back in touch?” I want to know.

“I wanted to wait until I became someone,” he whispers. “Someone famous. I kept telling myself my big break was just around the corner, and as soon as I had a number one song, I’d call you up. I’d come back home.”