Page 87 of Good Girls Don't Date Rock Stars (Rock Canyon, Idaho 2)

“Travis, please call me back. Charlie tried to climb out of his upstairs window and fell. We’re on our way to the hospital . . .”

Hospital. It was like someone had slammed into him with a cement truck; the pain was so immediate that he couldn’t catch his breath. Charlie had fallen out of a two-story window and Gemma had tried to call him, but he’d been such a stubborn bastard he’d turned off his phone.

Travis hung up and dialed her cell. One ring. Two rings.

“Come on. Come on. Come on!” he yelled.

“Hello?”

“Gemma?” Travis asked, knowing the voice wasn’t right.

“No, it’s Gracie,” she said, her voice chilly.

“Can you put her on? I want to know how Charlie is,” Travis said, trying to be patient.

“Gee, really? Twelve hours later and you’re worried about Charlie?” Gracie snapped.

Travis was getting tired of her attitude. “I had my phone off. Will you get her, or tell me how he is?”

“He’s got a broken arm and a mild concussion. They’re holding him overnight, but he should be okay.” Gracie’s tone said she’d hated giving in.

Travis breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he said, hesitating before he asked, “And Gemma? Is she okay?”

“Like you care.”

Travis lost his temper. “You know what, Gracie? You don’t know what in the fuck you’re talking about, so why don’t you put Gemma on the phone?”

“Can’t, sorry. She’s busy making up with Michael. You know him, the guy who actually cares about her, unlike some selfish, immature asshole singer who thinks his shit don’t stink? And by the way, your last album sucked balls!” With that little dig, she hung up.

Grief and remorse overwhelmed T

ravis as he pulled the truck over and pounded his fist on the dash, yelling at the top of his lungs. Again, he hadn’t been there for his son. Only this time, it was his fault. Had he not lost his temper and taken off, had he just gotten a hotel room or gone to Buck’s for a beer, he would be there. Instead, another man was comforting his wife, and would be there when his son woke up.

He couldn’t lay all the blame on Gemma, although he wanted to. If she hadn’t panicked, if she hadn’t acted like a wimp, he wouldn’t have left.

They had both acted like stupid teenagers, all over again.

Getting his emotions under control, he called George. “George, when does your flight get into Sacramento? We need to talk.”

WHEN HER MOTHER arrived, Gemma had sat her down and explained everything, from her impromptu marriage to the last fight before Charlie’s accident. Her mother had been quiet, offering not one opinion, and Gemma had almost wished she’d berate her instead of patting her hand with sympathy. She didn’t deserve it.

“Why don’t you go get some coffee, or maybe take a nap, honey?” her mother suggested. “You look worn out.”

Gemma took her up on the offer and left the hospital room, heading toward the cafeteria. She was just getting ready to get a cup of coffee when Gracie caught up to her.

“Captain Douche Bag finally called.”

Gemma stopped pumping coffee into her cup and swung around. “Travis? Travis called?”

“Yeah, and I told him what a dick he was for ditching you and not answering any of your calls—”

Gemma turned her back on her and continued filling her cup, but Gracie must have seen something on her face because she asked, “What? What did I say?”

Taking a deep, bracing breath, Gemma said, “Travis left because I told him to.”

“What do you mean? Why would you do that?” Gracie cried.

Because I’m an idiot. “Because he knew that someone had leaked my name to the tabloids and he didn’t warn me. When I woke up this morning, there were hordes of reporters on the front lawn and I flipped out. I told him it was his fault and I wanted him to give us space.”