I pushed out a sigh.
Why the hell was I letting myself get sucked into this conversation? But that was Ash’s way. Couldn’t keep a straight face to save his life. Always smiling. Living life. But he got shit no one else did. Knew things no one else could.
He blew a puff of air from his nose, eyebrows drawn in outright bewilderment. “You like her?”
“No.” I denied it faster than my mind could process. But my heart had plenty of time.
God, I wanted to fucking hate her, that sick, twisted side wanting to make her pay for having the ability to affect me this way.
Making me want and desire and question.
But like her?
Liking her would be slanting a little too far into the emotions than were allowed.
“Holy shit.” Ash chuckled low. “You like her.”
I lifted my gaze, halting the progression of the humor cutting lines all over his face, dimples denting in his cheeks and chin.
Don’t.
It was a silent warning.
He fucking knew better.
This time he huffed in disappointment, roughing his hair back from his forehead and looking at the far wall for two awkward beats, before he turned back to me with his head cocked to the side. “When are you going to give it up, man? Are you going to hang on to it forever? Are you going to let it continue to fester and rot until there’s absolutely nothing left of you?”
I swallowed hard.
He jabbed at my notebook with his finger. “You think I don’t know what comes out in the songs you write for us, Lyrik? In your words? You think I can’t hear that pain? It’s going to ruin you.”
Too late.
“You made a mistake,” he pressed on when I didn’t respond.
A swirl of anger twisted through my gut, my voice thick and hard and filled with hatred. “A mistake? A mistake is forgettin’ to pay your cell phone bill. Fumbling on the frets during a performance. Putting a ding in someone’s car and not telling them. What I did? That wasn’t a mistake.”
It was wicked.
Inhumane.
Unforgivable.
A somber smile spread across his face, while I shifted in discomfort.
I watched the thick bob of Ash’s throat when he began to speak. “You know, every guy gets his heart broken at least once. We all get that defining moment when we find out the world really fucking sucks. That it’s always gonna take more than it gives. Maybe it’s a kid’s dad to first break his heart when he comes at him with fists flying. Or maybe beating on his mom. Maybe it’s the day the dog he’s had his entire life dies. Maybe it’s the girl he would have cut his heart out for trounces all over it instead.”
His own regret traveled his expression, his jaw clenching. “Most of us? We just break our own damned hearts.”
He and I both knew that all too well.
“You know as well as I do the past can’t be undone. Maybe it’s time you moved on from it. Because you aren’t fooling anyone.”
Move on?
Ash knew better.
There was no fucking moving on.
Stagnant and stale.
Stuck back in that day.
That’s where I was gonna forever remain.
Diverting, I shook my head, because I wasn’t about to go there. “It’s not anything like that. I just feel…bad.”
Weird. Different. Unsettled.
He shook his head. “Whatever you say, man.”
I clasped my hands between my knees. “What do I do?”
He scoffed like it was obvious. “Maybe start by saying sorry.”
Right.
Sorry.
Guess I fucking was.
Ash readjusted the bass on his lap. “Are we going to do this, or sit around acting like pussies all day?”
“Yeah, let’s do this.”
Because this? It was why I lived. I’d sold my soul for it, after all.
A SLIGHT SHEEN OF sweat gathered at the nape of my neck. My hair was pinned up in a red bandana headband, the humid Savannah summer laying siege to the city. Birds flitted through the trees, the slight breeze rustling through the branches the only reprieve to the stifling heat. Rays of sunlight wove patterns on the ground as they glinted through the leaves like a kaleidoscope projected on the earth.
Rounding the corner, I headed back toward my apartment, an antsy, anxious feeling taking me over as I approached.
Knowing what I would find.
Of course it was there.
That menacing-looking motorcycle parked at the curb in front of our building. It didn’t matter how many times I found it there. It managed to stutter my breaths each time. Managed to fill me with hesitancy and fear, a shaky sense of excited apprehension that thrummed through my veins.
The thrill I was terrified to feel.
The last week and a half had been an exercise in evading him like the plague.
Because no question.
The boy was a disease.
The kind that came on strong and crept in slow.