Biting the inside of my cheek, I yank the garment over my head and set my backpack down beside the narrow bed frame. The mattress smells like mildew and the springs squeak in protest as I sit down on the edge. I pull a granola bar from my bag and tear off the wrapper with fingers that are shaky from hunger. It’s got raisins, which I normally avoid at all costs, but at the moment I’m too tired to pick them out and too hungry to care. I swallow the entire thing in about four seconds flat. It does precious little to alleviate the pangs in my empty stomach.
My muscles are aching and my eyelids feel leaden as I curl into a tight ball on the lumpy, stinking mattress with my knees tucked up to my chest and my head pillowed on my arms. For a long while, I stare up at the blooming water stains on the ceiling, thinking about how much my life has changed in the past twenty four hours… and how much it hasn’t.
New city. New job. New place to lay my head.
Same uncertainty. Same crushing doubt. Same chair wedged beneath a doorknob in the darkness to keep out the monsters.
I don’t turn off the light as I lay there, praying for sleep to come.
When it does, my dreams are full of blood and fire and death.
* * *
My first fewweeks in Nashville pass in a blur. I settle into my new life as Felicity Wilkes so easily, I sometimes forget about Felicity Wilde, the sad girl with the tragic backstory. I know it’s only a matter of time before my past catches up to me, but I try not to think about that. Instead, I focus on the present. Small details of my new world here in Nashville: morning walks past the open-air cafe around the corner, the air perfumed by fresh biscuits and grits; afternoons at the park, watching dogs chase balls and toddlers chase bubbles; nights at the bar, serving drinks and expanding my musical education.
It takes a while, but eventually I stop looking over my shoulder every time I step out my doorway, or flinching every time the phone behind the bar rings. I stop waiting for the other shoe to drop and actually start living. Breathing. Even laughing occasionally when Carly makes a joke at Adam’s expense as we clean up from another shift of cocktails and country songs.
I’ve worked at The Nightingale every night since my arrival, usually stumbling upstairs to my room around three in the morning by the time the bar’s restocked and the floors are swept. After that first night, I discovered a thin wool blanket tucked away inside one of the dresser drawers along with a misshapen pillow, so my bed is no longer entirely threadbare when I collapse onto it face-first, my feet aching and numb from nine straight hours on them, my stomach protesting noisily from a steady diet of tap water and granola bars pilfered from the staff break room.
At this point, I’ve made enough cash to stop stockpiling my tips like a squirrel preparing for the first winter frost… but I can’t bring myself to waste single a penny. I’ll eventually have to splurge and restock some essentials — I’m getting dangerously low on deodorant and toothpaste — but the ever-growing wad of bills beneath the loose floorboard in the corner of my room is the only security blanket I have left in this world. Not to mention my only means of escape, if my past comes knocking at the door.
Thankfully, my tips tonight are flowing in even faster than usual. It’s Saturday and there’s a line out the door so long, you’d think Elvis himself was about to take the stage. I drop off a round of tequila shots to a group of particularly generous guys in the corner, then head back to the bar to put in a few more orders.
“Thanks, Jay,” I call, as he starts mixing the drinks.
He grunts in acknowledgment — apparently tonight will not be the night he betrays hisstrong silent typepersona.
“Hey!” Carly appears out of thin air at my side, a platinum pixie blur. “How’s everything going out here?”
“Busy. We’re turning over tables so fast I can hardly keep up.”
“At least you’re getting in some solid cardio.”
“I can always count on you to find that silver lining, Carly.” I grin at her. “How’s the lineup looking?”
“All good so far. Everyone’s been on time for their slots… but we’ve got Lacey Briggs on the schedule next, so there’s a definite chance that’ll change.”
I go still, my heart beginning to pound faster. If Lacey’s on the schedule… that means Ryder is, too.
I haven’t seen him since that first night in the parking lot, a few weeks ago. I wish I could say he hasn’t been on my mind, but that would be a lie. At night, when I’m tossing and turning in my bed trying to get to sleep, I sometimes replay that moment we shared. Him and me, standing in the shadows. The tension in the tendons of his neck as he leaned against the wall, eyes closed, breaths coming fast. I’d wanted to lay my hand on his skin, to comfort him in some way. To tell him he wasn’t alone, even if it was only for a moment.
But that’s insane.
I barely know the man. He’s a virtual stranger. We’ll probably never speak again.
“Hello?” Carly snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Where’d you go?”
I blush. “Sorry. I think I need some coffee, I’m out of it tonight.”
“Go grab a cup from the break room. I’ll cover for you for a few minutes.”
“Thanks. You want me to bring you one?”
She shakes her head and pushes me lightly toward the door. By the time I suck down a cup of coffee in the back and return to check on my tables, the folk singer on stage has finished her set. Carly walks up to the mic to introduce the next act.
“Hey, y’all! Hope you’re having a good time tonight! Our next act is a firecracker about to set this stage on fire… I think some of y’all may know her already…”
The audience starts to whistle.