AllFreeNovel
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The bar without them, withouthim…
I know some of it’s in my head. These fears of mine, deep-seated with nowhere to go but further in. To places I can’t even reach. Places I don’t even know about until I get thatitchand can’t see anything outside of it.
Outside of what I need to do.
Muttering a curse, I grab my phone, pulling up my second recent contact.
It rings a couple times before I hear a click, then: “You better have a really, really fucking good reason why you’re calling me in the middle of the night.”
Cracking my knuckles against my knees, I say, “There’s been a change of plans.”
Ivy groans, but before I can say anything, she goes, “I swear on my cousin’s life, if you don’t get on that fucking plane this time, I will change all the locks and you’ll have no fucking choice but—”
I hang up on her, shaking my head.
Guess that’s all the permission I need.
Jumping to a stand, I head back to our dresser and start grabbing shit.
Three days.
Three fucking days.
In the grand scheme of things, three days is nothing.
Shoving clothes in my old duffle, I grab my phone and pop open the app I’ve been religiously scoping the last, well, ten days, and pull up the schedule for Delta Airlines.
They’re gonna hate me there,I think dryly, hitting theConfirmbutton without hardly a glance before throwing on the first clean shirt I can find, and exchanging my sweats for jeans.
I flip the lights, shut off the television in the living room, and unplug the coffee pot before the timer can kick on.
Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I grab my keys and hightail it to the front door, locking up behind me without a backward glance.
Yeah, three days is a blink, but in the grand scheme of all that is near and dear and holy tome…
Fuck. That.
West Coast, here I come.
Tonight’sgonnabeabad night.
Mason hits the lights, plunging the studio into black. He’s the last one out of the room, so he locks up while Shawn and I start heading down the dimly lit hallway.
Digging out my pack of smokes from my back pocket, I slap them against my palm and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
Faded red brick walls stretch out on either side of me as we pass by the other practice rooms, doors closed and already locked for the night.
The building is owned by Slater Records, the label we signed with to produce our first album, with their state of the art recording studio located three floors up.
Footsteps sound behind me, quick and loud before fading off as Mason catches up to us.
I try not to stiffen. Iknowit’s him.
But there’s something about this narrow fucking hallway and buzzing lightbulbs swinging from the ceilings that gives me the creeps.
And not in a fun way.
More like a trapped in a closet way.
