felicity
Ink bleedsfrom my pen tip as my eyes scan over the lyrics scrawled across the page.
He said make a little music with me, baby
Sit here by my side
Starin’ into my eyes
Don’t worry ‘bout that crowd going crazy
It’s you and me now
Just you and me now
Angrily,I scratch out the words till they’re nothing but a black blob of ink. That still seems inadequate, so I wad the page into a ball and hurl it toward the wall.
I miss my guitar, not to mention my proper songbook, which is tucked inside the case. I can’t compose properly without it. It’s got every lyric I’ve ever written, every deep, dark snippet of poetry that’s ever crossed my mind doodled in the tear-stained margins. I’m furious with myself for leaving it behind in Ryder’s van, not to mention terrified he’s going to find it.
Just the thought of him opening my journal, reading my songs…
No. He wouldn’t. That’s a total invasion of my privacy.
I chew the inside of my cheek worriedly. For three days, I’ve been a tangle of emotional knots. Rage and hurt and confusion and something I don’t have a name for, something that aches in the left upper quadrant of my chest like a physical ailment.
My shifts at The Nightingale have been a welcome distraction but at night, in the small hours when the world is dark and my mind is full, there’s only one thing I want to do:write. Unfortunately, I’m finding that almost impossible without my journal.
Thanks a lot, Ryder.
If I ever see him again, I plan on giving him a piece of my mind. Heck, if he dares to show his face, I’ll—
A fist bangs against my door, rattling it on the hinges.
Oh, mother fudger. I justhadto go and tempt the universe…
My breaths come a bit too fast as I rise to shaky feet.
“Who is it?”
“Carly!” Her fist bangs again. “Open up!”
A relieved breath slips out of my mouth as I cross the room to let her in. I glance at my watch. It’s four o’clock on Friday afternoon — she should be downstairs getting ready to open the bar.
“Hey,” I murmur, sliding the chain off the door. “What’s up? Aren’t you on the schedule tonight?”
“I was until I begged Adam to switch my shift.” Grinning, she pushes her way inside and plunks herself down on my squeaky mattress. “This place is looking better than the last time I saw it.”
It’s true — the first time we hung out, I’d just arrived in Nashville and my small space was a sparse, stale mess. Over the past month, I’ve cleaned up all the dust, scrubbed the rust stains off the porcelain fixtures in the bathroom, and wiped the window free of grime. I even splurged on a set of pale blue sheets and navy throw pillows I found last week in the discount section of a bargain store a few blocks over.
There’s a plastic coffee cup filled with fresh cut flowers from the park on my dresser and I’ve strategically repurposed several glossy band posters pilfered from the Nightingale trash as wall hangings. They lend the space some much needed artistic flare while covering the worst of the water spots.
Win, win.
“If you need me to cover your shift tonight, I don’t mind,” I tell Carly. “Just let me change into my uniform—”
“No! That’s not why I’m here.” She smiles at me. “I came to kidnap you.”
My brows lift. “Come again?”