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“This band is hers too! She may not perform with us, but “Shattered Dreams” is still our number one single and the song we’re known for. It’s still the song we’re asked to perform the most, and we haven’t been able to release anything as good since. You and I both know it,” Cal says, stepping into my space and daring me to argue with him.
I groan and roll my eyes, trying to walk away, but Cal grabs my arm, stopping me.
“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but it’s been years. You need to get past it,” he says. “You saw and heard her, Kai. She needs to come with us. I can’t go anywhere with her like that. I can’t risk him getting to her while we’re gone.”
I sigh and drop my head. “Ok,” I say before jerking my arm out of his grasp and leaving the house.
I get into my car and slam my fists on the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
I’ve tried to forget her. Forget every smile and laugh. Forget the way she felt in my arms every time she hugged me. Forget her sweet smell. I tried to fuck her out of my system with groupies. When that didn’t work, I gave them up too. Bellamy Griffin is an addiction I can’t shake, even though I’ve never had her.
The day I got the call from my parents saying the police found Ezra’s phone and a rock with blood matching his next to the river was the worst day of my life. They ruled it an accidental drowning even though they never found his body. The first person I wanted to run to was Belle. I wanted her to hold me while I mourned the loss of my twin, my brother, the other part of my soul. But instead, I drank until I couldn’t feel anymore. Then I kept drinking every time thatpain resurfaced. Cal put me in rehab and told me I had to get my shit together or I was out of the band.
I almost didn’t care.
Almost.
But that song. The one I know she wrote about Ezra no matter what she tells people. That song is forever in my head and heart, keeping me tied to her, to him. Pulling me from the brink again and again.
I owe Belle my life in more ways than she knows. The least I can do is suck it up and let her come with us.
I take a deep breath and put my car in gear, ready to head home and finish packing. The European tour is six weeks long. Six weeks of having to watch the once fiery girl I grew up with walk around as a shell. Every minute of those six weeks is going to hurt, but I can’t tell if it’s me or her who is going to feel it the most.
Cal is right about the band. Belle and Ezra were the heart and soul of Shattered Halo. Belle had a way with words and Ezra felt music in his soul in a way I wish I did. We hit it big because of her words and his music. We’re barely hanging on, still riding the high they deserved. The upcoming tour is just to fulfill the rest of our contract. I honestly doubt we’ll be resigned.
Once I’m home, I throw my keys on the table by the door and look around. My house isn’t as big or ostentatious as Cal’s, but it’s still huge. Huge and empty. The flooring throughout is black wood and the walls are white and gray. I was at the height of my anger and depression when I bought this place and it still reeks of it. Nothing about it is warm and inviting. Though, nothing about me is warm and inviting either.
My parents divorced after Ezra was declared dead. I haven’t seen or heard from my dad since, and my mother is drowning her sorrows in pills and rum. The only people I have in my life are the band.
I walk over to the fireplace in the main room. I painted it black and stained the mantel a dark brown. It stands out against the white walls. Grabbing the picture in the middle of the mantle, I take it over to my couch and sit.
It was taken on the beach when we were in high school. Ezra has his arm slung over my shoulder. My arm is over Cal’s. Belle and Willa have their arms locked around each other’s waists, where they stand in front of us. We were all happy and smiling, tan from spending our summer in the sand.
Ezra and I looked so much alike that the only way people who didn’t know us well could tell us apart was from how I kept my hair longer. Ezra liked his cut shorter, so he didn’t have to deal with the curls. I’ve always embraced them.
My eyes keep going back to Belle, like they always do. The happy, smiling girl in this picture looks nothing like the sad woman I just left in her brother’s kitchen.
Tossing the picture onto the cushion next to me, I lean back and sigh. “What the fuck is my problem?”
I keep letting my anger get the better of me. Anger about my brother, anger about my parents. But mostly the anger and resentment that comes from feeling like one of the most important people in my life abandoned me. I know that’s not fair to put on Belle, but I keep doing it. I keep blaming her for the band’s lack of success without her. Blaming her for leaving us. The worst of all is how much I blame her for not choosing me.Like I was ever an option.
I need to get my fucking shit together and my head on straight. I can’t spend the entire tour avoiding her, and I can’t continue to be angry.
Pulling up my phone, I open a new message thread with her and just stare at the blank screen.
Hey
Nope. Delete.
Can we talk?
Do I even want to talk? No. Delete.
Your ex is a piece of shit.
That’s super fucking helpful, Kai. Delete.
Why?
