Having Hope by Tabatha Vargo

Author:Tabatha Vargo
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Wicked Books, LLC
Published: 2016-06-27T21:00:00+00:00

Hope was Blackbird … my Blackbird. The girl who had been on my mind for the past five years of my life—who had given me a night unlike any other night with a woman—was Hope.

Sure, we were young. Of course, I was totally wasted, but the more I closed my eyes and saw Hope’s face, the more my memories with Blackbird came in clearly. I could hardly believe it, but I was slowly remembering everything about that night … every second.

We hopped on the bus and pulled out for New Orleans at exactly seven in the morning. Keeping my distance from the rest of the guys, I lay in my bunk and thought about every detail I could have of Blackbird and Hope. It was definitely her.

We pulled into the New Orleans hotel six hours later, and within the hour, I was settled into my room. Technically, we only had one show in New Orleans, but everyone had decided that since we had a few days until our show in Florida, we were going to stay that few days drinking fish bowls on Bourbon Street and eating jambalaya.

But I didn’t leave my room again until it was time to go on, and the guys didn’t push. Instead, I ordered room service and swallowed as many pills as I could without killing myself. My migraine remained, but the medicine made it manageable.

The following day, we played a great show. I kept my head in the game, playing hard and ignoring the pounding in my head. Constance sat on the side stage watching the show, but the other girls stayed away. Secretly, I had hoped Hope would show up so I could see her. Just because I had stayed away from her didn’t mean it was what I wanted. I wanted to see her.

No.

I needed to see her.

Because of that, I stood on the side stage and watched the Sirens play. Looking at Hope while she played the drums in front of a venue full of fans, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. Sure, she had rainbow hair now instead of the long, dark locks. And sure, she didn’t dress provocatively the way she had five years ago. She was the opposite of provocative, in fact, with her boyish jeans and graphic tees.

It was more than the way she dressed, though. More than her hair color. It was her face and her dark eyes that were capable of looking right through me. She did it that night five years ago, and she was doing it now.

It was glaringly obvious to me now.

How could I have missed it before?

Every time I closed my eyes, our night together came rushing back. My once blurred and drunken memories of her face—her smile—her eyes—were all clear as day now.

Her laughter.

The way she’d come apart in my hands in her hotel room.

It all brought back memories of our night together.

For years, I’d longed for Blackbird. I’d longed to feel the way she’d made me feel that night together.

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