Page 70 of Play the Last Track

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“So…” She hums over the phone. “What’s keeping you up?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Flynn. I promise.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

There’s a beat of silence and then a small, “Yes.” She’s lying. Of course, she is. I may have gotten through many of her tall, thick walls, but there’s still more to break through. More like wait for her to build a door and open it for me. Grant did enough breaking of her boundaries for a lifetime.

“Good. I miss you.”

She’s silent again, but this time, when she speaks, I know she’s telling the truth. “I miss you, too.”

“Do you want to watch something together?” I fumble around, feeling for the remote on the other side of the bed where I threw it earlier. The TV screen lights up the room instantly. “Oh, I want to show you something. Turn on YouTube.”

Her laughter rings down the phone and sends a warm jolt through my veins. I wish I could bottle that sound. The sound of her laughing, happy and free. “Okay,” she says. “I’m on YouTube.”

“Type insecretsongsboston.” I type in the name of the channel as Katie goes quiet on the other end of the line. “It’s this girl, woman, I have no idea how old she is, but I found her a few weeks ago. She posts these incredible covers of all these songs, and lately, they’ve all been these ones that I love. It’s incredible.”

“You … you don’t know who it is?” she asks quietly.

“Nah, the channel is completely anonymous.” I flick through the tracks. “Have you found it?”

She sucks in a breath before answering. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

“They just posted a new one the other day. ‘I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing’by Aerosmith.” I flick across until I find the video I want. “It’s got to be one of my all-time favorite tracks.”

“I-I know. The vinyl is hanging on the wall on the staircase.” Her voice is a little shaky. The reception must not be the best in the hotel.

“Will you listen to it with me?” I ask her, hovering over the play button.

I can hear the sounds of the TV back in my bedroom, the small clicks as she searches through the videos on the screen. “Okay, I found it.”

“Ready?”

“Go,” she whispers.

The voice coming through the phone and the one playing on the screen are in perfect sync. We stay quiet, listening to the singer’s soft voice as it turns every lyric into the most beautiful melody. The video is trained on her fingers as they play the keyboard that accompanies her voice. She’s got red nails.

“Katie?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you get the red nails back if I win tomorrow?” I ask, smirking as I remember how good they looked. She lets out a watery laugh and then sniffs. Is she … crying? “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Another sniffle and a ruffle of sheets as she turns over. “It’s just a nice song. What’s another of your favorites?”

I name track after track on the YouTube channel, and we listen to them all. Sometimes twice. Eventually, I hear her breathing go steady, and she’s been quiet for a while. I realize she’s fallen asleep on the other end of the phone. I turn the TV off, listening to whatever sound comes through the phone, and close my eyes.

I’m asleep within minutes.

Chapter Nineteen

Katie

Myemotionsareallover the place. One minute, I’m fine, the next, I feel like crying. It’s all utterly and completely Flynn Reed’s fault.