Page 61 of Love Felt Like This

“Bye, A. Bye, G.”

“I’m okay with just Griffin.”

“Griffin Patrick?”

He snorts. “Sure.”

I smile. It’s not exactly a laugh, but I’ll still take it.

Chapter Ten

Very Chalant

Griffin

I wake up to Ava crying on my chest. Blinking my eyes open feels like breaking through dried concrete. My palm rests in her hair mid-stroke, as if I’d fallen asleep brushing it.

“Shh, shh,” I coo, pulling her closer. Her cries cut through my arms like knives.

I adjust us on the couch, but a plastic toy apple bumps into my thigh. My butt cheek dents a fake banana. I move Ava arm to arm and toss both fruits into my guitar case across the room with the rest of the plastic orchard.

The flat-screen TV on the wall streams a classic sitcom. It’s the same episode I fell asleep to. We must have been out for only ten minutes at best.

I bounce Ava in my arms, cradling her head in my palm and stroking with continued shushes. It quiets her down but only enough to leave sad little sobs and sniffles. I have no clue what time it is, and part of me doesn’t want to know. But the sun is starting to rise, which means we went a full night with barely any sleep. Again.

I sigh and kiss her forehead.

My phone vibrates on the side table. A group text flashes the names of my bandmates. I unlock my phone to see a slew of drunk messages from the night before. I huff out a laughing breath through my nose, but then my face falls.

Poe: bets on how many more books I can read by the end of the week?

Royce: You can read?

I set down my phone. My hands feel tight. My jaw tense. The guys make jokes about their increased free time, but I can tell it weighs on them. They could get gig work with other artists, but not anything long term since they’re waiting for our tour in March. I’ve put their schedules on hold, along with their income, and I can’t even guarantee a new album.

I swivel my gaze to my guitar, perched in the corner, its case currently filled with plastic fruit and ratty notebooks crowded with abandoned lyrics. The guitar is still. Silent. Waiting.

My finger twitches. It wants to play. To create.

Suddenly I’m standing. I set Ava on the couch as she drifts off to sleep. I pick up the guitar. It’s heavy, but it feels right, resting on my knee as I crouch to a chair. I strum, and notes form, flowing, easy…On the couch, Robin cradles Ava to her chest. She gives me that pointed look—the look she always did over video calls with Ava. I guess it sounds good, but don’t get too cocky. I smile. I need to text the guys. I need to let them know that—

My body jolts. My eyes fly open. Ava coughs out another small sob.

I fell asleep. The guitar still sits in the corner. Robin is still gone.

I try to picture those same notes, but they float away just as easily as they arrived. A distant dream. A memory.

I hum a small tune to Ava—a song we created about washing our hands. She coos. Her cries calm, but I know it won’t put her to sleep.

My phone vibrates, and another text pops up.

Royce: I think I finally mastered expert-level Sudoku.

Poe: how old are you again?

Poe: that’s baby stuff.

Royce: Something tells me you don’t know what Sudoku is