Benny shoots me a faintly curious glance. He’s probably wondering what I could possibly have to do while I’m hiding from all my responsibilities and utterly ignoring my phone.
I don’t tell him. He’ll find out soon enough.
10
BENNY
When I first began selling songs, itwas because I couldn’t stop writing them. They piled up in my notebook and battered my brain. Sometimes, I can sense when one will be a hit, and other times, it takes me by complete surprise to see what listeners like or what doesn’t take off like I expect. I used to write personal stories, heartfelt breakup ballads, things I was feeling deeply.
In those early years, I had a lot of material to work with. Breaking up with Bree and leaving the music industry did a number on me, and I channeled everything I felt into music. It was my therapy, and it became my new occupation.
Before selling those first songs, I never wrote for anyone but myself. Bree and I worked on a song together once as teenagers, sharing credit, but that experience didn’t feel like writing. It was the ultimate collaboration. At the end of it, I could never identify which parts came from her and which came from me. It was like we had a collective brainpower, and I’ve never had another experience like it.
To be fair, I’ve never tried to write with anyone again. Collaborating with Jaida was a one-time crap experience and a lot ofconfusing, tangential emails back and forth. I’ll never do it again. She had sent me a horrible poem, and I managed to turn it into a song that somewhat resembled a few lines from the original. Writing a song from someone else’s brainchild is a lot more difficult than producing my own thing.
But after spending the day with Bree yesterday, I went home and wrote…a lot.
She’s my muse. There’s no doubt about it. The woman inspires music within me on a cellular level.
Which is how I ended up spending the night in my music studio, writing until four in the morning and crashing on the too-short sofa. The sun shines through the narrow slits in my blinds and makes my face warm. A headache pounds my temples. I sit up, rubbing my eyes clear enough to see that it’s past eleven in the morning. I can’t remember the last time I slept so late, but I also can’t remember the last time I went to bed only hours before the sun rose.
The doorbell rings as I yawn, stretching my tight muscles. I’d ignore it, but if it’s Bree and she needs something—yeah, I’m answering that door.
It’s not Bree looking at me with wide, baleful eyes. It’s Peter and his golden retriever, Ethan.
Yes, I thought that name was an odd choice for a dog, too.
“What’s up?” I ask, pulling the door open wide and yawning again.
Peter’s blond eyebrows hitch up on his tanned forehead. “I thought we were surfing this morning, but you didn’t pick up. Thought I should check in…you don’t look so hot.”
I swear under my breath. “I forgot.”
“Apparently,” he says, laughing. “What happened to you?”
“Stayed up too late working.” I leave him behind to pull a Red Bull out of my fridge and pop the tab. “I’m too old for this.”
Peter laughs again. I’m on fire this morning.
“How were the waves?” I ask.
“Not great. You didn’t miss much. Kyle had a good run, but mine were all pretty meh.”
“You want something to drink? Water? I can throw a protein shake together pretty fast.”
“Nah, I’m good.” Peter takes a seat at the kitchen island while I take a slug of my energy drink. “I felt weird after the BBQ yesterday, so I was hoping to talk to you this morning.”
Something about his watchful gaze sets off alarm bells in my head. Did he recognize Bree? Want to know if she’s free game? He seemed interested at the beach, and again at the BBQ, and I don’t want him to think I’ll step aside and let something develop between them.
I might be over her, but that doesn’t mean I can watch one of my closest friends fall in love with her. Given the way she’s trying to hide from the world, she doesn’t want to fall in love with anyone right now, either.
It’s not my place to tell Peter he can’t date her.
That’s her decision to make.
But…I could tell him that, couldn’t I? We’re card-carrying members of the bro club. I checked in with him before I dated his sister, which is possibly antiquated, but his friendship is important to me.
I brace myself, ready to not like whatever’s about to come out of his mouth. “What’s up?”
