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I clear my throat and she looks at me sharply, a definite air offinally he’s gonna say somethingrising from her.
“You should probably ditch your phone,” I say. “Or Scar is gonna have no trouble finding us.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” she says. “Then the three of us can have the conversation you’re too afraid to have on your own.”
Now that just fucking stings worse than a slap. She gets too damn catty when she’s angry. It’s probably because she’s hearing the music too and it’s telling her more than just the fact that we can’t go out there and have some fun tonight. There won’t be any such nights for us again. And music is her life. One I’ll never be able to share with her. I see all that too. I just don’t wanna talk about it, because talking ain’t gonna change shit.
I sigh and stand up, then join her on the bed, even wrap my arm around her shoulders, though I’m afraid she’s just gonna slap it away. She doesn’t. Instead she leans on me and rests her head on my shoulder.
“I don’t even know who I’m angrier at, you or Scar,” she says.
Him, I hope. But it should be me.
“We’ll buy a used piece of shit car first thing tomorrow morning and move on,” I say. “What time do you have to be at your next tour stop?”
“I cancelled it,” she mutters. “And the next three after that too. My guitar’s busted, my voice is messed up, and I don’t really feel like singing anyway.”
“Then we’ll head somewhere where you can get your guitar fixed,” I say, because that’s the only thing I can actually give her. “How about Memphis?”
Her breath catches in her throat, it’s such a sweet little sound, so innocent and pure and she always makes it when she’s caught off guard.
“OK. Yes, I’d like that,” she says and rises up to look at me, her eyes soft yet swirling with golden flecks of sunshine. They always do, even in the dark. “But you already knew that.”
“That you really want to go to Memphis?” I ask. “Yeah, you only told me about a million times. And the only thing I really want is for you to be happy.”
She sighs, shakes her head and blinks her eyes, cutting off the pleasant warmth that her eyes on me always bring.
“The things you say, Jax,” she says in an exasperated whisper.
“It’s the truth,” I tell her. “Nothing would make me happier than to just follow you around and listen to you play your songs.”
Her breath hitches again, only this time her eyes turn all watery like she’s gonna cry. It won’t be tears of happiness over me being so damn romantic. It’ll be for reasons that she has every right to be sad about. That doesn’t make what I said and what I feel not the truth, but it does make it kinda pointless.
That’s why I prefer not to say too much.
“I’m sorry everything’s so fucked up,” I say anyway.
“Yeah,” she says in a broken whisper and leans on me again, resting her head on my chest this time.
“Yeah, I’d like to go to Memphis with you,” she adds. “Maybe we’ll even make it all the way there.”
“I won’t leave you again,” I tell her. “Not if I can help it.”
“But maybe you won’t be able to help it,” she says. “Let’s stop talking about it now. Tomorrow’s another day.”
Funny she should say that. It was her idea to have this dead end, depressing as fuck conversation in the first place. All I wanted from the moment she called me was to fall asleep with her in my arms. Naked. Sweaty from all the overdue make-up sex that we barely got started on.
But that’s not gonna happen tonight. Because she had to go dredging up and discussing this whole impossible situation. And because I got nothing to give her. Even less than I could when I left her.
She likes things heavy and deep. I get that. But the end result of these conversations is always the same. A big fat NO shining at us everywhere we turn. We gotta just make the most of it now. I should’ve told her that. I can’t now, because she’s already falling asleep, her sighs drifting off into even breaths.
I’ll tell her tomorrow.
Fact is, it’s only gonna get worse from here on in. And never better.
But that I’ll never say to her.
15
