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Not since him.
The artist’s voice rings through the studio as she belts out the song I wrote, and it’s beautiful, but it’s just not it. There’s something missing. Something keeping it from being as strong as it should be.
“Stop her,” I tell the producer.
Getting out of my chair, I step into the recording booth and look at the innocent-eyed up-and-comer who still thinks the world is beautiful and life is full of roses and rainbows.
“I don’t feel it,” I say simply.
She looks confused. “Feel what?”
“The pain. The absoluteagony. This song is about real heartbreak. The kind that makes it so you can’t take a single breath without feeling like someone cut open your chest and ripped your heart right out your body. It’s the kind you don’t recover from, no matter how much time passes or how many times you convince yourself that you did the right thing.”
I nod for her to move, and she steps out of my way. After I slip the headphones on, I rest my hands on the microphone. The fadedHon my ring finger stares back at me—the one thing that constantly reminds me what we had was real.
The tune of the chorus starts to play in my ear as I belt out the lyrics with the conviction they deserve.
Left my heart on the floor,
As I walked out the door.
Do you still think about me?
Please don’t think about me.
Cause I don’t deserve you,
After what I put us through.
I need to set you free.
Please don’t think about me.
The producer grins as he presses a button and stops the music. I look over at the freshly signed artist, and her eyes water. At first, I don’t understand why, until I feel a tear slide down my own cheek. Swatting it away like it never existed, I hand her the headphones.
“Try it again.”
She agrees, and I leave the recording booth. The producer waits for her go ahead, playing the music once he gets it, and then turns to me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sing this yourself?” he asks. “No one seems to be doing it as well as you do.”
I listen to the way she screams the lyrics, like speaking the words are actually painful for her, and the hint of a smile forms on my face. She’s a quick learner. And when she extends that last note, goosebumps rise across my skin.
“I’m sure,” I answer with finality. “She’s got it.”
WALKING THROUGH THE FRONTdoor, I drop my keys into the bowl we have by the door and kick off my shoes. The cold tile chills my feet as I go through the foyer and into the kitchen. Honestly, this place is a little too big for my liking. I’ve always preferred having my own little oasis. But I didn’t pick this place.
Nolan had it long before I moved in.
It’s a mansion by all accounts. The ceilings are so high not even a ladder could help me reach them. And the doors are twice the size of me. The whole thing justscreamsexpensive, and I always feel like I’m going to break something valuable. It’s been my place of residence for over a year and a half, but it’s never had that feeling of home.
I look through the house, finding each room empty until the last one. Nolan lies face down on the massage table, letting the masseuse work their magic on her back—as if she does something worth working out. Leaning against the doorway, I clear my throat, and my roommate lifts her head to look at me.
“You’re home!” she says excitedly. “How was it? Did she totally crush it?”
My head tilts from side to side. “Eventually.”
Meeting my heiress of a roommate was a blessing I didn’t see coming—one that confirmed I was making the right decision and karma was rewarding me. I was staying at a hotel and trying to figure out who was behind the texts that led to me leaving Hayes. I was trying to find someone who could help me, someone powerful or well connected, so I went to a club. One of the exclusive ones where the guests are some of the most influential people in the area.
