"Hey sweetheart."

    I didn't look up from my feet as I heard my father's voice. He sat down next to me and we were silent for a few minutes.

    I watched the cars driving past and the people staring out their windows at the scene in front of them. Two people, one a world-famous singer, sitting on the side of the road in the middle of Texas, blistering in the sun, saying nothing. One of them crying uncontrollably, and the other unsure of what to say to comfort their youngest daughter.

    What was he supposed to say?

    I wiped tears from my cheeks and allowed myself to calm down, slowly but surely. I had just needed to cry. I had needed to let everything out. All the pent-up emotions that were eating away at me, at everything I did and everything I tried to think about. I couldn't bring myself to think about the relationships before Liam, because I just kept remembering that I had never made anything work in the long run.

    I hadn't even lasted two months with this one.

    I took a few deep breaths, eventually calming down to the point that my breathing slowed and my heart stopped racing. I could feel a headache beginning to form, something that rarely happened to me unless I had been crying.

    I looked over at my father, who was staring at the street.

    "How did you know I was here?"

    He looked over at me, seeming surprised to find a tear-free face in front of him.

    "I got a call from one of the guys who tours with me. He said he had driven by and saw you sitting on the side of the road. When you didn't answer your phone, I figured it wouldn't hurt to come out here and see if it was really you." He paused for a moment, searching my face to see if he was able to ask a question. "What happened?"

    I shrugged.

    "What always happens, Dad? They want to be famous and they want to meet you. They don't want anything to do with silly little Samantha Greene."

    My father nodded slowly, turning away to look at the street again.

    "I'm sorry, Sam." He whispered. I caught my breath in surprise; my father never called me by my nickname. Neither of my parents did.

    "I didn't want to make your life difficult. And I know that it's worse for you than it was for your siblings, since I was retired when they were growing up. I just...I don't want you to hurt any more. And I don't know how to fix it."

    I shook my head.

    "You can't fix it. And I don't blame you for any of this." I looked towards the car, remembering that air conditioning existed inside of it. "I just wish that there were good people out there, who wouldn't take advantage of a girl's heart...over and over again."

    We sat in silence for a few more minutes before getting up and going to the car, driving home without saying much of anything. I didn't want him to think that I blamed him for anything. I didn't want him to think that this was his fault.

    If anything, it was mine.


    "Superstar sits on the side of the road with young fan while she cries her very soul to him." Jessica snorted, "Hey, at least the paps don't know who you are."

    I rolled my eyes and snatched the tabloid from her hands. There I was, front and center, teary-eyed and puffy-nosed. My father looked as handsome as ever, and I swore the paparazzi touched him up to make him look younger, while I was sure I hadn't been crying as hard as it looked in that picture.

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