Page 58 of Pistol Whipped

Only I was too blind,

But I finally see it.”

It’s my melody. It’s ‘Places We’ve Been’, but she’s changed the words, changed the ending. Where my lyrics ended, hers continue. We don’t just write a different ending to my song; we spend the next few hours in bed writing new ones, better ones. Love songs and hurt songs and help songs and hope songs.

It’s only May, and the sun still sets relatively early, but by the time we notice how low it’s sitting outside my windows, there are pages and pages of lyrics and music in front of us.

“Should we take these back to the guys?” Rain asks nervously.

I nod, before gathering some clothes of mine that she can wear back to the tour bus. I take a sick moment of pleasure knowing that Cohen will shit bricks when he sees her head to toe in my clothes, but only a moment. Because fuck him. He had his chance, and he blew it. This moment is mine, and unlike him, I have zero intention of fucking it up.

I don’t say a word of that to Rain, because I don’t want anything to sully what has been without a doubt the best day of my whole fucking life, but as I watch her gather up the new songs and music we’ve written today, I know her Grandmother would be so fucking proud of her. Because, lord knows, I am.

Chapter 29

If You Wanted a Song Written About You, All You Had To Do Was Ask

Dallas

There’s still no sign of my brother or Rain. I only know because I’m woken by Cohen stomping around swearing.

“Where the fuck are they?!”

I pull back the curtain surrounding my bunk and, after a quick look around, confirm he’s right. They aren’t here.

“Well, Co, knowing my brother, either he found Rain, and they’re off somewhere together.” He grimaces at that. “Or, he hasn’t found her yet, but he won’t stop looking until he does. So there’s no point stressing about it.”

He ignores my statement and watches me.

“Did you sleep?”

The question catches me off guard, but I acknowledge, “Actually, yeah!”

We’re both right to look surprised. It’s been a long time since that happened. Then again, it’s also been a long time since I had an orgasm strong enough to put me in a fucking coma. Not to mention, sometime around 4 a.m. I rolled over and found Kitten stretched out against me.

Without Rain here, she sticks to me like glue. The first thing I do is feed her, then grab some food for myself. Over the past couple of weeks, we’ve socked away enough snacks and shit that there’s plenty to scrounge from. I manage a bowl of cereal sans milk.

It tastes disgusting, like cardboard, but I’ve had worse things in my mouth. Besides, without my brother or Rain here, the bus is actually peaceful. No one is arguing or exchanging resentful glares. I let that unusual calm wash over me, helped along by Kitten, who, now with a full belly, seeks out my lap so she can curl up and go back to sleep.

Well, I suppose, it’s mostly peaceful if you can ignore the way Cohen stomps around, though even he gives that up pretty quickly and settles across the table from me.

“You know, we don’t have to stay on this stupid bus. We could go home?”

I concentrate on chewing rather than answering him at first. Of course, my silence doesn’t deter Cohen, and even though I don’t bother to look up, I feel the pressure of being watched like heat blowing on my face. Finally, I choke down the last bite of my food and scoff, “What home, Cohen? Do you even know where I live?”

“With Dutch,” he replies, but there’s a sliver of doubt in there. “I’ve been there with you.”

I reply, pushing that on that little sliver, “Oh yeah? And where is it exactly? How many times have you been there? You claim I’m your best friend, so tell me, Cohen, how many times have you been to my place?”

He swallows because my questions have widened that sliver of doubt into a full-on canyon. I’m not sure why I’m so annoyed with him this morning, maybe because I got a taste of what I can’t have last night.

“Besides, I’m not leaving Kitten, at least not until Rain comes back.”

I scratch the tiny thing between the ears and am rewarded with a gentle rumble that only reaffirms my decision.

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave Kitten.”