found I was humming it under my breath as I studied the books on the shelf beside the bed.
The guitar grew softer until Paul was only picking out the root notes of each chord and I could feel his eyes on my back. At last he spoke. “You got it.”
I glanced at him for a second, but returned to the shelf when I caught his gaze. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“No, I want to hear yours.”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Music’s for hearing, isn’t it?” He parroted my inflection from the day I’d made him play for me at the store.
“Not mine. Not anymore.”
Paul stood; I could tell from the sound of the bedsprings. And then he was behind me, one hand on my shoulder. It was his turn to kiss my shoulder, softly. “I get it,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes as a tide of emotions threatened to bring tears. But it wasn’t enough so I turned and wrapped my arms around Paul’s naked waist, keeping my head down, and pressed my cheek to his chest. He still held the guitar in one hand, but he squeezed me with the other arm. I fought the sadness. Hard. It was easier if I let the anger well up and take control.
Fuck you, Brendan. Fuck you, Shawn. And fuck the hell out of you, Dixon.
It was my mantra, but it wasn’t for inner peace. Still I let it flow through my mind for a moment while I squeezed my eyes shut. At last the urge to cry receded. I took a deep breath.
And immediately regretted it.
I pulled away from Paul, wrinkling my nose. “Oh my God, we smell so awful right now.”
He did a perfunctory sniff of himself and pulled a face. “We, or just me?”
“I think it’s both of us.”
“I’ll go grab a shower and then I can take you home, if you want.”
“Okay.”
When he was gone, I decided to get a glass of water. I had a bit of a hangover, to be honest, and my mouth was cottony. James and Kenzie were in the kitchen, taking up most of the room while James cooked…something.
“Hey, good morning!” Kenzie hopped off the counter where she’d been perched and came close to hug me again. I was definitely not used to this kind of routine affection anymore, and I stiffened unintentionally. She sensed my hesitation and backed off. “Sorry.”
“No, I—it’s just that I—I don’t think I smell all that great right now.” Very smooth cover.
“Oh, you’re fine.” Kenzie waved off my concerns. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Oh God, yes.”
She grinned and crossed the tiny kitchen to pull a mug from a cabinet and pour me some. I had to squeeze past James to add sugar, but I would have squeezed past a hungry grizzly bear to get my coffee.
“Thank you,” I said between inappropriately huge gulps.
“No problem. Hope we weren’t too loud this morning. We’re morning people.”
“No, of course not,” I lied. The truck was the last straw, but their noise had definitely contributed to my waking up much earlier than I would have chosen.
We chatted for a few more minutes while I downed my first cup and started on a second. Meanwhile, James served a huge omelet onto a plate and offered to make one for me, but the thought of eggs was a bit more than I could handle. I waited until they were both seated at the coffee table—now miraculously clear of beer bottles—before I asked Kenzie about my tattoo.
By the time Paul joined us in the living room, I was standing beside the couch with the back of my skirt dropped and Kenzie studying my tattoo under the glare of two cell phone flashlights.
“Uh…hi?” Paul said.
“ ’Mornin’,” James said around a mouthful of omelet.
“Hey, bro.” Kenzie brushed a feather-light finger over part of my tattoo. “This is nice work. A little prosaic, maybe, but well done,” she said. “I’m not always a fan of white ink, but whoever did this did it well.”
“Don’t be a snob, Kenzie,” Paul said.
“I got it in L.A.,” I said. There were three other similar tattoos in the world, belonging to my former bandmates. Mine was a feminine version, and
The guitar grew softer until Paul was only picking out the root notes of each chord and I could feel his eyes on my back. At last he spoke. “You got it.”
I glanced at him for a second, but returned to the shelf when I caught his gaze. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“No, I want to hear yours.”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Music’s for hearing, isn’t it?” He parroted my inflection from the day I’d made him play for me at the store.
“Not mine. Not anymore.”
Paul stood; I could tell from the sound of the bedsprings. And then he was behind me, one hand on my shoulder. It was his turn to kiss my shoulder, softly. “I get it,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes as a tide of emotions threatened to bring tears. But it wasn’t enough so I turned and wrapped my arms around Paul’s naked waist, keeping my head down, and pressed my cheek to his chest. He still held the guitar in one hand, but he squeezed me with the other arm. I fought the sadness. Hard. It was easier if I let the anger well up and take control.
Fuck you, Brendan. Fuck you, Shawn. And fuck the hell out of you, Dixon.
It was my mantra, but it wasn’t for inner peace. Still I let it flow through my mind for a moment while I squeezed my eyes shut. At last the urge to cry receded. I took a deep breath.
And immediately regretted it.
I pulled away from Paul, wrinkling my nose. “Oh my God, we smell so awful right now.”
He did a perfunctory sniff of himself and pulled a face. “We, or just me?”
“I think it’s both of us.”
“I’ll go grab a shower and then I can take you home, if you want.”
“Okay.”
When he was gone, I decided to get a glass of water. I had a bit of a hangover, to be honest, and my mouth was cottony. James and Kenzie were in the kitchen, taking up most of the room while James cooked…something.
“Hey, good morning!” Kenzie hopped off the counter where she’d been perched and came close to hug me again. I was definitely not used to this kind of routine affection anymore, and I stiffened unintentionally. She sensed my hesitation and backed off. “Sorry.”
“No, I—it’s just that I—I don’t think I smell all that great right now.” Very smooth cover.
“Oh, you’re fine.” Kenzie waved off my concerns. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Oh God, yes.”
She grinned and crossed the tiny kitchen to pull a mug from a cabinet and pour me some. I had to squeeze past James to add sugar, but I would have squeezed past a hungry grizzly bear to get my coffee.
“Thank you,” I said between inappropriately huge gulps.
“No problem. Hope we weren’t too loud this morning. We’re morning people.”
“No, of course not,” I lied. The truck was the last straw, but their noise had definitely contributed to my waking up much earlier than I would have chosen.
We chatted for a few more minutes while I downed my first cup and started on a second. Meanwhile, James served a huge omelet onto a plate and offered to make one for me, but the thought of eggs was a bit more than I could handle. I waited until they were both seated at the coffee table—now miraculously clear of beer bottles—before I asked Kenzie about my tattoo.
By the time Paul joined us in the living room, I was standing beside the couch with the back of my skirt dropped and Kenzie studying my tattoo under the glare of two cell phone flashlights.
“Uh…hi?” Paul said.
“ ’Mornin’,” James said around a mouthful of omelet.
“Hey, bro.” Kenzie brushed a feather-light finger over part of my tattoo. “This is nice work. A little prosaic, maybe, but well done,” she said. “I’m not always a fan of white ink, but whoever did this did it well.”
“Don’t be a snob, Kenzie,” Paul said.
“I got it in L.A.,” I said. There were three other similar tattoos in the world, belonging to my former bandmates. Mine was a feminine version, and
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