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“I want to know how this all got in here,” Raff barks angrily, furious at security being breached so easily. He storms away to interrogate the gate staff while I step inside and grab a card I find. I want to be nosy, but I hand it over.
Eyes narrowed, she rips it open and snorts before tossing it at me. I can’t resist. I tell myself it’s so I can learn of any threats and report back, but it’s pure curiosity.
I love you. I miss you. Come home to me.
—Tucker
Her ex? I look around. This is a bold move, apart from the fact that she seems angry rather than impressed.
Raffiel storms back in. “The gate staff apparently didn’t know they weren’t allowed to let deliveries in,” he snaps. “Miss Harrow, I apologize for this oversight.”
She shrugs, looks around, and pulls her phone out. We watch her delete all her messages and peer around again. “What a waste.” She sighs. “Get rid of them.” I start to move to do just that when an evil grin curls her lips. “Actually, send them to every hospital in the area. Someone should get some use out of them.”
I can’t help but grin, and she glances back at us.
“And I agree with the new security measures. Nothing from him is allowed to be let in again. Understood?”
“Of course, Miss Harrow,” Raffiel responds, something unknown in his eyes.
She looks around again and shakes her head. “Idiot. If you need me, I’ll be in the studio.”
We watch her go, and then Astro lets out a whistle. “Oh, he really fucked up. How much do you reckon this cost?”
“Too much,” I say. “Plus, her favorite flowers are clearly peonies.” They all turn to gape at me, and I roll my eyes. “They are in her studio and her bedroom, and she has one tattooed on her skin, idiots.”
“Well shit,” Dal mutters, grinning at me. “I suppose we better get to work.”
EIGHT
Ilose myself in the music. My notebooks are spread around me, my guitar sits to the side, and the piano is open. I drum my fingers over the keys, trying to work through the problem in the melody. I know what I want to sing, but I can’t seem to figure out the arrangement, and I don’t want to show it to Jack until I’m sure.
Sighing, I scribble through the line and stretch my arms above my head. My back aches and my eyes are blurry, which tells me it’s been hours. I have a tendency to lose myself in my work, sometimes for days at a time, barely eating or sleeping. It’s a bad habit, but if I stop, it breaks my creativity and I struggle to get back into it.
Humming the melody I want, I pick up the guitar and rest it on my thighs, my comfy shorts riding up as I bend one leg under me where I’m perched on the stool. I close my eyes as I strum the chords, trying to fix the composition, and words flow as I play. Sometimes, just throwing myself into it is how I get the best songs. There is no thinking or second-guessing this way, and I can always make tweaks after.
“I guess I fell in love with a lie, nothing was true. Just some pretty lies spread from the lips I craved more than air in my lungs . . .” I break off and try again.
“Such a pretty liar, love was just another game to you. I saw the future, immortality held in your arms only to be buried away in your past.”
Humming the next few notes, I strum more chords before turning to the notebook and scribbling down some rough lyrics with the melody.
I choke on your lies,
tears like fire tearing me apart,
devouring me with my mistakes.
With my regrets.
Wrap me in your arms, make it okay.
It’s then I sense eyes on me. I don’t know how long they have been here, but someone is watching me. Lifting my head, I spot Dal. He’s leaning against the doorway. His suit jacket and shirt are gone, leaving a rumpled tank covering his torso, and his hair is slightly out of place. It must be late.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says, his voice slightly rough as if from misuse. I’m already sure he doesn’t speak a lot unless he feels the need to, and when he does, it’s succinct and well thought out.
“No, it’s okay. I need a break anyway.” I carefully place the worn guitar away. It’s the one I’ve had since I first started. I saved up to buy it from a secondhand store when I should have been buying food. I went hungry for a week, but it was so worth it. This guitar has carried me throughout the years and become my safety net. It’s what I create every song on and always will. It’s one of the only possessions I have from my past. My name and his are scratched into it. I run my fingers over the etchings we did under a tree, the sun shining down on us.
“You’ll make it big, Rey. If anybody can, it’s you,” he promised solemnly.
