Dylan. Something tells me that flight won’t be very fun after today. Will he even still agree to come with me? The anxiety of the unknown cripples me, but I refuse to let it destroy me completely.
Zipping up my bags to be ready for the airport tomorrow, I walk out with my phone off in my room, and curl up next to Teagan.
“I’m going to miss you, Ash,” she says quietly, passing me another full glass of wine.
Clinking our glasses together, I lean into her and answer, “You’ll stop missing me when the A-listers come crawling to your door for a piece of Teagan Kent.”
She nudges me. “Nobody can stop missing their best friend, bitch. Don’t try getting rid of me that fast.”
I laugh, and for once, I mean it. “I hope you got out a second bottle of wine.”
She giggles. “I got out three.”
Dylan
It took me less than ten seconds to undo everything I spent an hour packing yesterday, all because the one thing I value isn’t anywhere to be found. My muscles tighten with anxiety over it showing up somewhere it shouldn’t be, so I keep tearing apart my hotel room like it’ll magically show up one of the millions of places I’ve already looked.
Where the fuck would it be?
I’m vaguely aware of the door opening and closing, but I’m too absorbed in my chaos to pay attention. It isn’t until I hear them questioning the mess that I finally step back for a moment, fingers digging into my hair as I survey everything.
“Dude, calm down,” Ian tries telling me from across the room, narrowly dodging a shirt I fling behind me from my suitcase.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Bash asks, coming up beside me and staring at the covered bed. The place looks like its been ransacked, but I couldn’t give a shit so long as I find what I’m looking for.
Even Ben comes in looking like I’m crazy, and he’s practically been absent this whole trip aside from our show.
“My notebook is missing,” I growl, pulling at the strands of my hair again.
“What notebook?” Ian asks. “We can help you search for it.”
“Yeah, man,” Bash assures, slapping my shoulder. “What’s it look like?”
Eyes closed, I let out a harsh breath. “It’s a black composition notebook. Tattered. Worn. I’ve had it since high school.”
I can tell they want to ask questions, but the neurotic expression on my face probably makes them think twice before speaking out. They start looking, splitting into different areas and moving around random shit I’ve scattered in the mayhem. After ten minutes, nobody finds it, and a string of curse words fly from my mouth.
Kicking the trash can clear across the room and throwing the rest of my bags onto the ground won’t do any good, but it sure as hell feels good.
The music in that book isn’t for anybody’s eyes but mine. Everything that I wrote since I got it is locked inside, the darkest part of me etched into those pages. In the wrong hands, it could be the end of the empire I built.
“Fuck!” I blast, two seconds from grabbing the lamp and tossing it against the wall. I needed to shatter, punch, or kick something.
“Dude!” Bash yells, grabbing the lamp before I can. “You need to calm down. What’s so important about the book?”
Everything. Jaw clenched, my eyes search the room—any shred of hope I have disappearing when I face the facts that it isn’t here.
A hand reaches out to touch my shoulder, trying to bring me back from my head, but I shrug it off and ignore the concerned expression on Ian’s face. I don’t have time for his worry or pity, and right now he’s giving me both.
“Dylan, what’s going on?” he questions. He gestures toward the chaos I created, trying to understand.
“Yeah, man.” Bash nudges one of my shoes with his foot. “We came to see you off since you were dead set on going to Nashville with Ash. Not partake in a search party for something you won’t even tell us about.”
“You’ve got a plane to catch,” Ian adds, glancing at the time on his phone. “Aren’t you supposed to be gone by now? The plane she booked is departing at ten.”
Eyes narrowing, I growl, “Fuck the plane!”
They all stare at me.
“I’m not leaving without that notebook. Do you get it now? Ashton can go home on her own. She doesn’t need me holding her damn hand.”
Ian steps forward. “Maybe if you tell us what’s so important about it we can understand. Instead, you choose to act like we won’t get it. And you told her you’d go with her to Nashville to finish the song. You can’t back out now.”
I scoff. “Watch me.”
Bash looks exasperated, setting the lamp back down on the stand. “You promised that you wouldn’t screw her over.”
“I also said I wouldn’t fuck her but look where we are now,” I spit out.
All three of them gape at me. Bash’s jaw ticks, Ian sighs, and Ben just shakes his head like he expected as much. It’s Bash who makes the first move toward me, but Ian grips his arm.
I roll my eyes, knowing he wouldn’t actually do anything. “Fight me later. Right now, I need my book.”
His teeth grind, and I know they’re about to ask why again. I have to remind myself that they’ve been one of the few people in my life that stuck with me despite how I acted. There aren’t many people that I owe anything to, but they’re the rare ones.
I stare at the floor. “It’s … it has my music in it. Shit that I’ve written, okay?”
Ian studies me for a second. “So that’s why you’re so territorial about it?”
Bash doesn’t seem as calm as Ian, which is odd considering Bash is the level headed one out of us. “Well maybe he should have pissed on it so he’d know where it is. Mark his damn territory.”
Ian grumbles under his breath. “Just chill.”
“No!” Bash turns to Ian, jabbing his finger in my direction. “He’s been doing whatever the hell he wants, and we let him. He told us he wouldn’t sleep with her, but he just said he did. Are we really going to let that slide?”
I step forward, stabbing my finger into his chest. “Who appointed you the judge and jury? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Sebastian. So shut the hell up.”
Ben and Ian pull us apart, Ben staring at me from beside Bash like he’s never actually seen me before in this light. And maybe he hasn’t. Not even I can keep track of when I lose my shit, but it’s usually never near the guys.
“What the hell?” Ian barks, moving me a few steps back. “We don’t go after anyone, especially not our friends. You need to take a deep breath and calm down. Both of you.”
Bash listens like a good little boy, but I’m too worked up. “What if I don’t?” I challenge, straightening to my full height. I’m a good couple inches taller than him, with only Ben being taller than me. But out of all of them, I know how to use my height to my advantage to intimidate others around me.
Ian’s face hardens. “Are you really doing this right now? You realize that you’re acting insane, right? We’re your friends, and we want to help you.”
Bash shrugs away Ben’s arm, which blocks him from moving toward me, and crosses his own arms on his chest. “He’s been on this path for a while. Why are any of you surprised?”
I look over Ian’s shoulder at him. “Since when do you care? You’ve been so swept up in your own problems that you can’t see straight. So why concern yourself with mine?”
Ian answers for him. “Your problems are our problems, Dylan. If you keep digging yourself deeper into a hole, it’s going to be that much harder for us to pull you out.”
My jaw ticks. “What if I don’t want you to help me?”
Ian shrugs. “Too damn bad. We’re already in this together. You can push everybody else away, but not us.”
Bash walks over, eyes hard and speculating. We stare each other down, waiting for the other to break first. Finally, he sighs. “He’s right, you know. We all have to deal with each other’s problems wheth
er we like it or not. That’s what family does.”
Family. I’m one of the lucky ones to have happily married parents, an annoying but healthy little brother and sister, and limited drama. Some people can’t say that, so to have two different families?
I’m a dick. But what’s new?
“Why do you always have to be the better dude?” I ask him, sighing. My stand loosens, tension creeping out of my muscles. Raking a hand through my hair, I assess the damage.
“You could be, too,” he tells me casually. “It isn’t that hard to stop being an asshole. You just need to figure your shit out.”
I eye him. “And you have your shit figured out? Last I checked, you booked an appointment to see real estate back in Clinton.”
“Your point?” he prods, brow arching.
Do I need to spell it out for him? “It’s been how long since you’ve been pining over a girl you left behind? Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Opal and you have been done for years. So why are you settling down in our hometown?”
“Maybe I like it there,” he reasons. “Ever think about that? Just because you have some reason to hate it there doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”
None of them know what happened to me outside of town that night, but they were there every step of the recovery process—visiting me at the hospital, at my parents’ house, and making sure I was comfortable. I’m sure they guessed why I never wanted to stick around after graduation, but they never said anything to me about it.
Ian looks like he wants to defend me, but doesn’t find the reason to. I can’t say I blame him because I haven’t given him a good reason.
Bash always loved Clinton from the day he moved there. And most of that was because of Opal, who lived across the street from him. It was obvious even then how those two would end up together, but none of us expected him to walk away when we were discovered. That’s been on him, and it’s haunted him since.
I sit on the edge of the bed. “All I’m saying is that you made the decision to leave her behind, and I don’t see how staying there is going to help you move on.”
Leaning against the wall, he looks me straight in the eyes. “What if I don’t want to? I happen to know she’s single. I’m single. Who’s to say she wouldn’t give me a second chance?”
The only reason he knew anything about Opal is because he employed Roy Poland to spy on her back in Clinton.
“You’re not single, you’re a damn monk,” I deadpan. “Have you really not hooked up with anyone at all since you left her?”
His answer is immediate. “Never.”
The answer surprises me, but it shouldn’t. Unlike me, he’s dedicated. What I can’t understand is who he’s proving it to if she isn’t around to see his efforts.
“What’s your end game then?” I doubt, unable to figure it out myself.
He stares at me in disbelief, studying me until I have to look away from his piercing eyes. If I keep eye contact, he’ll see through me. And even though we’re friends, I don’t know if I want him to truly see anything more than what I let him. I can barely stand myself. How can I expect him to? Or anyone else for that matter?
“I could ask you the same thing,” he challenges, tilting his head. “At least I have somebody to fight for—someone I’m willing to admit I’m fighting for. Who do you have?”
The way he looks at me is in accusation, like he has the answer but isn’t planning on saying it out loud. He wants me to.
I shake my head. “Not everyone has the same end game. Some of us want different things. If you want to live in Clinton the rest of your life and pine for Opal, fine. But that’ll never be my life. Clinton, everything that happened there, is my past.”
My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket, and I know who it is without needing to see the name. But it doesn’t stop me from looking. Taking it out, my lips twitch, just like I knew they would.
Ashton: Where are you?
Ashton: Dylan, this isn’t funny! The plane is going
to leave without you.
Ashton: The silent treatment? Really?
Ashton: You’re going back on your word.
My lips threaten to weigh down at the last text, but I force them to stay unwavering. Not responding, I slip my phone back into my pocket and look back at suspecting eyes.
“Fine,” Bash tells me causally. “It’s your past. But what about your future?”
“You need to go,” Ian says, gesturing toward my phone.
“Not until—”
“We’ll find your notebook,” Bash promises, cutting me off. “But we need this song, dude. You promised us you’d write it, and you told her you’d go to Nashville.”
I look at the clock on the wall. It’s after ten.
Ian notices my glance. “There are other flights. Can we count on you or what?”
All three of them wait for an answer. There isn’t a day when they can’t, not that I’ve been the most convincing of that lately. Especially today, but my head isn’t in the right place. Is it ever?
“You can,” I agree, nodding sincerely.
But I don’t think Ashton can.
Bash pushes off the wall, clasping my shoulder. “No matter how much you try pushing us away we’re not going anywhere. I meant what I said, Dylan. We’re family. Family looks out for each other. So if you need anything …” he shrugs. “You have our numbers.”
I manage to brush off the heart-to-heart moment with a subtle laugh. “Well I’ll be sure to drop you a line if I need it.”
Not likely.
He senses the silent addition to that. “Even the people who are sure they don’t need help ask for it eventually.”
I clasp his shoulder back. “Thanks, Dr. Phil. I’ll remember that.”
Ian snorts. “All right, wise ass. We need to get you packed up so you can head out. We’ve got a car waiting.”
I stare at him as he kneels to gather a handful of my clothes from the floor. “You’re going to escort me down? What, don’t trust me to leave?”
“Well that, and—” Bash begins.
“We’re all heading to the airport,” Ian cuts him off, eyeing Bash. “I’m heading to see Kasey and Taylor, and Bash and Ben are heading back to Clinton.”
“After you find my notebook, right?” I’m not leaving the only sanity I have left behind.
Ian sighs. “We’ll come back and search for it more, but we have planes to catch, too.”
I close my eyes, not wanting to go off again. They can’t understand the importance of the notebook, the songs, the feelings marked inside even if I tried to tell them. Everything in ink on those pages is an eternal admission that only that book has gotten. Not even my therapist saw it.
“Fine,” I relent, voice raw. My curiosity shifts to Ben, who’s too quiet in the corner like he has been this whole trip. “Wouldn’t you rather see somewhere other than the same old place?”
Ben’s smile is small. “Nah, it’d be good to see my family.”
Same Ben. Soft-spoken with little to say. He’s the quietest of us all, always staying in unless we drag him out. Never gets into trouble. I’ve tried corrupting him, but it’s nearly impossible.
I point to him. “You need to get laid, my friend.”
He coughs out a surprised laugh, handing me a pair of pants and boxers. “I think I’m good.”
Shoving my clothes back into my suitcase, I glance over my shoulder at him. “Seriously, when was the last time you got laid? I can give you the number to one of the women I know. Get your pipe nice and cleaned out.”
He looks at me like a deer in headlights, and I can’t figure out where his anxiety is coming from. Bash glances between us, concern carved onto his face when he locks his gaze on Ben. But something else is there, too. Curiosity.
Bash says, “I don’t think Ben needs to listen to your advice. Not the best role model of the group, wouldn’t you agree?”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue.
My phone buzzes in my poc
ket, and I itch to read whatever is on my screen, but opt not to. I want Ash to hate me so she can avoid my darkness. She has the chance to see the light again, and the idea of me clouding that makes me force myself to step away. Yet, the feeling I get knowing I’m going to see her tells me that maybe we’d be better balanced than I let myself accept.
It takes us half an hour before everything is back into my bags, tension nowhere near the level it was when they first came into my room.
Before we part ways at the airport, Ian and I exchange our usual handshake, a bro code we’ve had since we formed this band. Long before we ever thought we’d make it this far.
“If anyone can fix this with Ash, it’s you,” he says, pulling back and slapping my shoulder in comfort.
My brows raise. “You sure about that?”
He grins. “I don’t know anybody who is as annoyingly determined as you are. Just don’t hurt her, okay?”
Lips twitching, I nod.
But I think, It may be too late for that.
Ashton
I should have learned by now that waiting for anybody to be good enough would only lead to disappointment in the end. Sometimes I feel like I’ll be waiting for something that’s never going to happen.
“Waiting for someone else to make you happy will only make you sad,” Grandpa said.
And being stupid enough to wait for that person to be Dylan … I was setting myself up for disappoint the whole time. I have nobody to blame but myself.
Walking around my grandparents’ house, my house now I guess, brings back some of the sanity I thought I lost. They left me my childhood home in their will, wanting to ensure I had something sound in my life when they were gone. A safe place to fall when they couldn’t be here to catch me.
When I walk into the living room and see the familiar piano, a painless smile expands on my lips. Crouching down next to the bench, my heart picks up over the familiar carvings in the wood.
I swallow past the lump in my throat, and run my fingers over it. Blinking back tears, I look around the rest of the room, remembering what it was like when the large house was full.
The Moments We Share Page 17
