Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2) by A.C. Dillon Page A
Authors: A.C. Dillon
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hair, Andrew bent forward to kiss her cheek. "That's my girl."
* * *
Two days. He hadn't slept in two days, and it was fast approaching a third night without respite.
Cursing under his breath as he was killed yet again in a round of Call of Duty , Evan tossed the controller aside and punched the power button on his Xbox. Screw it. There had to be something mindless on Netflix to watch. Something with misery and a lack of romance. No songs. No musical numbers. No blondes with shy smiles, beckoning him from bed at two in the morning for a rendezvous near the pond.
There would be no Veronica St. Clair tonight. He simply couldn't cope with it.
And yet, here he was, at his goddamn computer, not to pull up a downloaded movie or chat about the latest news in baseball. No, he was Googling her name again , wondering how she was. Where she was. Wondering who was at her side now, replacing him.
Evan hadn't been able to reconcile the woman he knew with the woman who broke up with him on the phone a scant two weeks ago. The woman he'd fallen for was surprisingly quiet and serene, when tucked away from the adoring masses and her beloved stage. Veronica loved attention, but she also appreciated the comfortable silence shared between two people in perfect synchronicity. She loved to read books on weekends, sprawled by her pool with a bottle of sunscreen at her side.
"When I'm wealthy and fabulous," she would tell him, "I'm going to buy first editions of every single one of my favourite books. I'm going to have the most bad-ass library in the universe."
"But you wouldn't be able to read them without risking damage," he'd argue from the pool.
"That's why I'll also have them on my Kindle. Problem solved, babe."
Her attention to the little things—his favourite colour, or the precise way he liked his eggs cooked—was what made her so charming. She loved knowing every quirk about her friends and family, taking pride in always securing the best Christmas and birthday gifts. Evan remembered briefly mentioning some collector's item related to Battlestar Galactica while drunk; six months later, she'd delivered it on his birthday.
Devotion. Veronica was a devoted person. So how could she have decided that he wasn't worth dating long distance? How could she have missed that he would wait for her, that small moments in time to cherish were better than not having her in his life at all? This was what kept Evan up at night, often weeping when the delirium of exhaustion seized control. Doesn't she know me ?
He thought she did. He thought he'd known her too.
He took a stroll through his bookmarks, pulling up early reviews of In the Garden , smiling to himself as each and every one praised the talents of Broadway newcomer Veronica St. Clair . She was right where she belonged, shining brighter than the stars in the sky. She had stumbled onto her big break and like a movie, she'd been living her dreams.
She was so very high. And Evan? He was stuck on earth, torn between the woman he knew—a woman worth fighting for—and the woman who'd broken his heart.
Ah, TMZ . He resisted the urge to click on the trash masquerading as news. Zachary Parsons was a teenybopper dream, but there was no way Veronica had given him a moment of her time. Guys like Parsons were shot down on the regular at Casteel, usually with a scathing insult directed at their lacking manhood or ignorant behaviour. She just couldn't be seeing the guy...
But what if she is?
No, no, she wasn't. Evan absently scrolled through his Facebook feed in search of a mundane Buzzfeed bullshit quiz to kill time. He told himself it wasn't to look for her. It wasn't to scope Autumn's page for any hints of her New York trip. Just passing through, like any teen with the attention span of a fruit fly.
A private message alert popped up and Evan startled, glancing over at the clock. Who the hell is up at two in the morning on a Tuesday? Curious, perhaps hopeful that it was Veronica, he
* * *
Two days. He hadn't slept in two days, and it was fast approaching a third night without respite.
Cursing under his breath as he was killed yet again in a round of Call of Duty , Evan tossed the controller aside and punched the power button on his Xbox. Screw it. There had to be something mindless on Netflix to watch. Something with misery and a lack of romance. No songs. No musical numbers. No blondes with shy smiles, beckoning him from bed at two in the morning for a rendezvous near the pond.
There would be no Veronica St. Clair tonight. He simply couldn't cope with it.
And yet, here he was, at his goddamn computer, not to pull up a downloaded movie or chat about the latest news in baseball. No, he was Googling her name again , wondering how she was. Where she was. Wondering who was at her side now, replacing him.
Evan hadn't been able to reconcile the woman he knew with the woman who broke up with him on the phone a scant two weeks ago. The woman he'd fallen for was surprisingly quiet and serene, when tucked away from the adoring masses and her beloved stage. Veronica loved attention, but she also appreciated the comfortable silence shared between two people in perfect synchronicity. She loved to read books on weekends, sprawled by her pool with a bottle of sunscreen at her side.
"When I'm wealthy and fabulous," she would tell him, "I'm going to buy first editions of every single one of my favourite books. I'm going to have the most bad-ass library in the universe."
"But you wouldn't be able to read them without risking damage," he'd argue from the pool.
"That's why I'll also have them on my Kindle. Problem solved, babe."
Her attention to the little things—his favourite colour, or the precise way he liked his eggs cooked—was what made her so charming. She loved knowing every quirk about her friends and family, taking pride in always securing the best Christmas and birthday gifts. Evan remembered briefly mentioning some collector's item related to Battlestar Galactica while drunk; six months later, she'd delivered it on his birthday.
Devotion. Veronica was a devoted person. So how could she have decided that he wasn't worth dating long distance? How could she have missed that he would wait for her, that small moments in time to cherish were better than not having her in his life at all? This was what kept Evan up at night, often weeping when the delirium of exhaustion seized control. Doesn't she know me ?
He thought she did. He thought he'd known her too.
He took a stroll through his bookmarks, pulling up early reviews of In the Garden , smiling to himself as each and every one praised the talents of Broadway newcomer Veronica St. Clair . She was right where she belonged, shining brighter than the stars in the sky. She had stumbled onto her big break and like a movie, she'd been living her dreams.
She was so very high. And Evan? He was stuck on earth, torn between the woman he knew—a woman worth fighting for—and the woman who'd broken his heart.
Ah, TMZ . He resisted the urge to click on the trash masquerading as news. Zachary Parsons was a teenybopper dream, but there was no way Veronica had given him a moment of her time. Guys like Parsons were shot down on the regular at Casteel, usually with a scathing insult directed at their lacking manhood or ignorant behaviour. She just couldn't be seeing the guy...
But what if she is?
No, no, she wasn't. Evan absently scrolled through his Facebook feed in search of a mundane Buzzfeed bullshit quiz to kill time. He told himself it wasn't to look for her. It wasn't to scope Autumn's page for any hints of her New York trip. Just passing through, like any teen with the attention span of a fruit fly.
A private message alert popped up and Evan startled, glancing over at the clock. Who the hell is up at two in the morning on a Tuesday? Curious, perhaps hopeful that it was Veronica, he
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