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I withdraw my hand like he’s burned me. My nose scrunches as another wave of pain radiates from my cracking heart. “What does that mean?”
In his silence, his answer is crystal clear.
“You can’t do this with me,” I say softly, fighting back the sting of tears. I’ve been patient. Well, as patient as I’m capable of being. I was ready and willing to do whatever it took to keep him around. To make him mine.
When he still doesn’t answer, I rise up with a sniffle. “Got it. Way to make it loud and clear. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Almost every part of me thrashes to stay with him, convinced he needs me to hold him together tonight, but my last bit of self-preservation is telling me to get the fuck out before I fall apart, too; just like I did when I walked in on my ex.
I’ll never be good enough, will I?
I leave Z in the dark, just like he asked.
The city looks so much less intimidating from the roof of the hotel. No wonder superheroes have such confidence. From my spot perched on the ledge, I feel like a god watching over tiny humans scurrying below.
But even at this height, you can barely glimpse any stars, and that makes my chest feel a bit hollow. Makes me pine for my parent’s sprawling back porch where I’d lay out in a hammock and dream of fame.
That was when I was forced into football and track and AP classes. Then I set off a bomb in our house when I shared the news that I was dropping out of school and quitting all of my activities to join a garage band.
I dangle my legs off the edge as I light up a cigarette from the fresh pack I bought across the street at a shady convenience store. It’s a disgusting habit—I even hate the smell on other people—but it’s always done the trick to turn the dial down on my anxious energy.
And right now? I’m more than a little keyed up.
The fight with Z was one thing. Obviously, I’m not pleased about it. Still, I’m more worried that he might quit the tour because that’s how my brain works. Forget how I feel. I care about Z’s well-being more. That’s always been my problem, right? I fucking care more.
I mean, I get why people don’t want to sign up for long term with me. Once they see past surface level Mykhail Koval, what is there to keep them around? Some goofy smiles and golden retriever loyalty? The persona I take on stage is nothing like how I act in real life, and that always seems to bother people.
No, the icing on the cake to this shit night was the voicemail I got from my sister, Stasi.
Puffing out curls of smoke, I startle as the roof door screeches all the way open. I’d left it propped with a rock so I wouldn’t get locked out, though I know Liam would always answer my call to get me out of a bad situation.
“Here I thought I’d have the roof to myself tonight,” Liam says, running a hand through his long hair.
I drop my focus back to the streets as he hoists himself up on the ledge next to me and swipes a cigarette. He’s never been a smoker other than the occasional joint or blunt. Told me he’s not interested in anything that might require commitment. Which means he’s smoking to keep me from polishing off the pack.
I watch him blow out a long trail of smoke. “What’s going on in that troubled head of yours, Hail?”
My thumb swipes over my palm nervously. “Stasi left me a message. I guess Max had his kid today. No call from him or my parents. No pics sent.” I draw more smoke into my lungs, knowing I’ll regret this decision tomorrow when my throat aches. “Radio silence fucking sucks, man.”
Not to mention I just got shut down by the guy I’m falling for. A guy that doesn’t want me. How pathetic am I?
Liam nods and stubs out his cigarette. He lines it up next to the pack. “I get why that could be difficult. They showed you a glimpse of what family should look like, and then they ripped it away when you decided to pursue a dream.”
I hang my head lower. “I’m sorry, Liam. I’m not trying to be whiny or ungrateful for what I do have.”
Liam hasn’t had anyone in such a long time. I still remember attending his dad’s funeral. How silent Liam became after. When it was evident his mom wasn’t going to show up to finally parent, he was placed with a foster family until he turned eighteen and booked it the hell out of their life soon after.
At least my parents put in effort to start. It was just my choices they didn’t agree with that resulted in them cutting ties.
Well, except Stasi. Thank god for my twin.
“Wasn’t implying you were either of those things. I just imagine it must be hard for you. With my parents, I knew where I stood from day one. No confusion. No heartbreak.” He shrugs.
“God, that’s horrible.” Tears well in my eyes once more, and I reach for another cigarette. Damn it, why am I so emotional tonight? “Can I dig up your father’s corpse and punch him in the teeth?”
Liam gives a hearty chuckle. “I got in enough blows of my own before the fucker croaked.”
When I polish off my third cigarette, I circle back to the main reason for my sorry state. “You know I’ve wanted nothing else but music for the longest time.”
