I nod enthusiastically, trying to figure out how I can bring up Lyric in this conversation without ruining the moment. “Definitely. We’ll take it day by day. No pressure.”
Squinting, he rubs his fingertips across his forehead. “My head is killing me. I’m so tired. I can’t remember when I slept.”
“You need to get some rest. It’s late.”
He rolls onto his side and curls his body around mine. “Sleep with me and we’ll get you home in the morning. I won’t be able to sleep if you leave.”
Shit. I should have gone home hours ago, or at least called Josh, who must be worried out of his mind right now. I feel like the worst mother in the world. I’ve never let Lyric go to bed without telling her I love her. Ever.
“I need to call my roommate.”
He nods, already drifting off to sleep, too tired to ask questions. “Okay, then come sleep with me,” he mumbles into his pillow.
I use the phone on the desk across the room rather than the one closer to the bed, and Josh answers on the second ring.
“Jesus Christ, Piper, where the hell are you? It’s two a.m.”
I cringe from the receiver. “Calm down, please? I’m with Blue.”
He scoffs down the line. “What a surprise. I saw this coming a mile away.”
“Josh, please,” I whisper loudly. “Is Lyric okay? Is she awake?”
“She’s fine, and no, she’s not awake. I put her to bed hours ago. I’ve been sitting here watching Project Runway for hours worrying about you.”
“I didn’t get to say goodnight to her. Was she upset?”
“No, she just kept asking when you were coming home and if she could have more ice cream.”
“Shit. I feel terrible.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Nope. Not at all.
“So I guess he took the news well?” he prods.
“I didn’t tell him yet.”
“Are you going to?”
“Yes. In the morning. This is really hard, Josh. He’s so happy to see me. You don’t know him, not much makes him happy and excited like this. I just wanted us to enjoy some time together.”
“I have a bad feeling about this. Don’t make me regret getting you those tickets, Piper.”
“Ugh. Really? Why are you being like this? I’m an adult.”
“Yeah and the first night you go out to see your ex you don’t come home and completely blow off your kid. This guy just fucks you all up.”
“He doesn’t fuck me up. And I didn’t blow off Lyric. How dare you say that to me? This is the first time I’ve gone out at night in months! I just lost track of the time.”
“I’m not going to argue with you—I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “And don’t worry about Lyric, I’ll make her breakfast and keep her busy until you get home.”
“I do appreciate you taking care of her for me. I’m sorry I made you worry. I just need a little more time with him.”
“Just be careful.” He ends the call and I slowly put the phone down, feeling my happy bubble slowly deflating.
Sighing, I crawl under the covers with Blue and cuddle up against his warm body. He presses his lips to the top of my head. “Don’t go,” he says sleepily.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” I whisper, rubbing my hand back and forth across his warm back.
Tomorrow morning I’ll tell him about Lyric. After we’ve both gotten some sleep and have absorbed our decision to be together again. To try again. I don’t let my mind wander too far into the future. I won’t let myself worry about being in a relationship with a rock star. Blue is the same person he used to be. He’s humble, unfazed by his new life. I can see it so clearly—our future—as I envisioned and hoped for. We can be a family. We can be happy. We can put the past behind us, leave his demons in the dust.
We are the myth, of love and lore
Of visions and gem-painted bugs, forever and evermore
We are faith and hope and dreams come true
We are one and two and there is no one but you.
No one but you....
The lyrics of Ladybug drift through my exhausted mind. Blue is a poet, a dreamer. Loyal to love and forgiving of its madness. We’ll be fine, the two of us, and our whimsical little girl.
Mend my shredded wings, lend me your heart
Fly with me, there’s nothing to tear us apart....
Chapter Twenty-Three
8:06 a.m.
I yawn at the digital clock on the nightstand. It seems like just a blink ago it was three a.m. Last night’s activities cycle through my memory like a slow, out-of-focus slideshow.
Blue on stage, with his band, surrounded by fans.
The way his voice and his lyrics slammed through my chest and into my soul.
Cheeseburgers.
Love.
His hand in my hair, his body buried in mine.
The hope.
Waking to slow, sweet kisses with the rise of the sun.
Him in my mouth, his moans and lusty eyes.
The promises.
A sensation creeps over me, similar to that feeling I get when I forget to put my watch on, and then for the rest of the day my wrist feels strange and oddly amputated.
Blue isn’t in bed with me. I’m a wrist without a watch.
My back and neck ache in protest when I sit up and stretch my arms high up over my head. I’m not used to sleeping all tangled up with another person. Or being stretched and bent and bit and sucked.
On my way to the balcony, I pick his T-shirt up off the floor and slip it over my head, then slowly slide the glass door open to step out into the warmth of the sun, which doesn’t wake me as much I hoped it would.
I desperately need a latte to fight off the lingering brain fog from lack of sleep. In fact, I could probably use a gallon to help me get through the interrogation I’m sure I’ll be enduring from Josh and Lyric when I get home. But first, I need to use the bathroom and take a long hot shower. Then we can have breakfast in the café in the lobby and figure out how I’m getting home and where we go from there.
And somewhere in there, we need to have a serious talk.
When I step back inside he still hasn’t come out of the bathroom. My bare feet pad silently over the plush carpet as I cross the room to the marble tile hallway that leads to the bathroom. Pausing, I turn my ear toward the heavy door. There’s no sound from the other side.
“You okay?” I call out awkwardly.
No answer.
“Blue?”
A cough. “Gimme a sec, babe….”
While I wait, I tidy up the room, which other than our clothes all over the floor, is surprisingly neat. Two large suitcases are on the floor with their lids open, exposing his wardrobe of jeans and T-shirts. And cigarettes. Lots and lots of cigarette packs.
Five empty water bottles and two empty liters of lemon soda line the top of the dresser.
Even though I know a maid will be coming shortly, I make the bed and smooth the wrinkles from the comforter, then sit on the edge with my feet dangling, waiting for him to come out. I’ll be upset if he decided to soak in that huge tub without me.
A cold chill suddenly courses through me. What if he changed his mind about us and now he’s hiding from me, devising an escape plan like he did five years ago, but now he’s got himself cornered in the bathroom with no way out?
No. That’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that.
I exhale a steadying breath, growing more impatient and worried, and search for the television remote, hoping to distract myself. Instead, a book on his nightstand catches my eye, and I realize it’s one of his notebooks, with the pen I gave him for Christmas years ago sitting on top of it. The pen brings a smile to my lips. He kept it, and he’s using it. Which means it must remind him of me. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I pick up the notebook and flip through the pages.
The pages are filled with nothing but harsh jagged scribbles.
My mind races back to the shed, to the first time I noticed the pages of scribblings. But I saw him on the floor, with one of these books, writing and tearing the pages out, throwing them around the room, then starting all over again. I distinctly remember him telling me he was trying to get the words right. He was distraught, literally agonizing over the words and the notes.
What words? Where are the actual words?