ryder
I drivethe van back to the warehouse so fast, I nearly wrap myself around a telephone pole twice. I chain-smoke half a pack of cigarettes, hoping it might calm me down, but it does nothing to dissipate the simmering frustration inside me. My hands curl around the steering wheel so tight, I’m worried I might break it.
Lacey.
I swear, the girl is one of the seven signs of the apocalypse. A plague worse than locusts, famine, and pestilence combined. When she called me at the Elmwood, I should’ve known better than to answer. I should’ve let the damn call go to voicemail. Instead, I pressed the phone to my ear and got to spend five long minutes swallowing my rage as I listened to her prattle on about the arrangements she’s made with Clay, never bothering to consult me, of course.
“They’re flying us out for a showcase on the Fourth of July — isn’t that great? All the major Red Machine executives will be in LA for the holiday. We leave Saturday morning. They’re throwing a massive rooftop pool party for all their artists that night… It’ll be an ah-mazingintroduction to the LA music scene!”
When I reminded her we couldn’t be in LA on the Fourth, seeing as we agreed to play at theLet Freedom Singfestival, she simply scoffed.
“I’m talking about a record deal here, Ryder. This is about the rest of yourlife, not some little festival on the riverfront.”
I tried to stall her, to tell her I needed more time to talk to Aiden and Linc. Deep down, I still thought there might be a chance to bring them in on the deal, that maybe together we could come up with a plan to change Clay’s mind. But Lacey had no interest in that — she’s already cut emotional ties with everything still binding her here.
“Playing one last gig with them isn’t going to change things,” she snarled through the receiver. “Don’t mess up our only shot over a little guilt. Opportunities like this don’t come around every day, Ryder. Do you really want to be stuck in this town forever because you were afraid to hurt the feelings of two guys whose names you won’t even remember in ten years?”
I hung up on her in a blind rage. I’ve always known Lacey’s about as loyal as a paperclip in a room full of magnets — just ask Adam and every other guy she’s screwed over — so it doesn’t surprise me that she’s so apathetic about breaking up the band we’ve spent the better part of two years playing music with. What really gets under my skin is that, deep down, even if I don’t want to admit it…
I know she’s right.
Playing one last gig with the guys won’t change a damn thing. If I can’t get Clay to bring on all four of us… our friendship is over. I can avoid the loft as much as I want, put off telling them till the last fucking minute before I leave for the airport… but I’m just delaying the inevitable moment when they realize what a shitty person I am for choosing my dreams over theirs.
After that phone call, normally I would’ve drowned my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. Since I was at a nursing home at the time, that wasn’t exactly an option. Despite my efforts to compartmentalize all the guilt and anger swirling around inside me, when I walked back to Felicity’s side and saw her gazing up at me with pure trust in her eyes, I thought I was going to lose it completely.
Don’t give me your trust,I wanted to warn her.I don’t deserve it.
Don’t place your heart in my hands,I wanted to scream at her.I’ll only break it.
Instead, I tried to tell her the only way I could.
It ain’t me babe,I sang to her, begging her to understand.It ain’t me you’re looking for.
But singing with her was my biggest mistake of all. Sitting there, our voices harmonizing perfectly, staring into her eyes… feeling that gravitational pull between us… everything changed. Because out of nowhere, like a bolt of lightning, I was hit with the horrifying fucking realization that if this girl — this gorgeous, mysterious, funny, broken girl — asked me to stay here with her… If she asked me to walk away from Lacey, from Red Machine, from the goddamned dreams I’ve been chasing for as long as I can remember…
I might just do it.
That scared me far worse than any confrontation with my roommates or discussion with my dad about my looming resignation. My dreams are the only thing I have. My dreams, my voice, and these two hands to play with.
Take that away…
I’ve got nothing at all.
I pull the van into the warehouse, hitting a button to close the garage door behind me. I unload the equipment from the back, wincing when I see Felicity’s guitar still sitting there. She was in such a rush to get away from me, she forgot it. I don’t blame her; I was a total dick.
Iama total dick.
At least now she understands that. Now, she’ll stay away.
Now, she’ll be safe from me.
The light is on in the office, which means my father is still here. I approach, already dreading the encounter, and pause in the doorway. He’s sitting at his desk, head bowed over a ledger, a half-empty tumbler of scotch clutched in his right hand as his left turns the pages. I suck in a steadying breath and rap my knuckles against the frame.
“Dad.”
Kip Woods looks up, his disappointed expression as familiar a sight as that glass in his hand. “Where the fuck have you been all day?”
“I was helping a friend with something.”