Page 2 of His Muse

Every second with his eyes on me is a caress—a warm hand gliding down my spine. Iwelcomeit.

What is wrong with me?

A loud bang from the back of the stage makes me jump, breaking the spell woven between us. It’s the crew righting a toppled flight case, but it’s enough to bring me jolting back to earth.

When I look up again, the songwriter is gone.

Probably for the best. I’ll keep telling myself that, anyway.

Two

Carmen

Present day

After a whole summer of crewing for a world famous rock band, the Run Along Ruby tour ends how you’d expect: with a night of heavy drinking and a sea of take out boxes, then a quick shower and an exhausted cab ride to the airport.

As crew, we’ve taken this band around a whole continent, but on our final day in September, we exchange phone numbers and awkward hugs, then scatter like dandelion seeds to our various planes and trains and buses.

I won’t ever see any of these people again. Summer jobs are funny like that: intense bursts of living in someone else’s pocket, then a few weeks later, it all feels like a dream.

And Iwantedthat. Wanted to escape reality for a while.

Still need to go home though, don’t I?

I heave my suitcase onto the conveyor belt, the flight attendant smiling at me with crimson lips as she taps in my details. All around us, the airport clamors with life. Harried parents push luggage carts and call to their children; men in neon yellow jackets stride around, barking instructions into radios. I pluck at my Run Along Ruby crew t-shirt, my nose wrinkling at the musty fabric. The cab ride was sweaty as hell.

“Heading home?” the attendant asks, her voice honey-sweet.

I nod, too exhausted to make conversation. Those rock stars really know how to party, and I collapsed into my bed last night only an hour before dawn.

It’s not usually my scene, to be honest—despite the fever dream of this summer, I’m a homebody, through and through—but I couldn’t go touring around Europe with a famous rock band andnothang out with them on the last night.

They were as you’d expect. Downright feral.

“Gate fifty three. Enjoy your flight, miss.”

“Thank you.” My fingers are clumsy as I grab my passport off the counter, shouldering my backpack. Every muscle in my body aches from loading up the trucks after the last gig, and my temples pound from last night. Freaking rock stars.

And I feel bad for not chatting with the flight attendant, but honestly, there’s not much to say. I’m headed back to the States, that’s all. Back to reality and the faded beach town I grew up in; back to the blue-painted house my parents left me, the wooden deck splintered with age, and those steps leading down to the damp sand.

Is this a retreat? I mean, I finished the whole tour, and yet somehow I still feel like I’m running away with my tail between my legs. Cowed and exhausted.

That’s bullshit, obviously, because I worked hard all summer and I pulled my damn weight—but whatever I was looking for by flying across the world… I didn’t find it.

I’m going home with that old, familiar heaviness still in my chest.

That, and I feel lonelier than ever.

Probably just the hangover. Let’s hope so.

But for a while there, as we toured through sun-drenched cities and rain-slicked capitals, I got the strangest feeling that someone was there with me. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder by my side, grounding me with his presence… and it washeady.The best thing I’ve felt in a long, long time.

I don’t mean the other crew or the band or whatever. I have no idea where that feeling came from.

Okay, that’s a lie: I havesomeidea. A certain songwriter left one hell of an impression on me.

But that’s not something I want to admit, not even to myself. Because then I’ll have to confess that I’m truly unhinged, and who wants to deal with that? Not me.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com