Wasted Heart

by Nicole Reed

  I see a commotion at the door, and my stomach sinks, knowing they’re coming to get us, and now I’ll have to cancel. Instead, a beautiful blonde walks through, an angel to my rescue. Her fancy dress and matching makeup make her look fucking gorgeous, but again, it’s what’s on the inside of Syn that shines. The only non-perfect thing about her are the pink eyes she sports. You can tell she’s been crying. She glances around at everyone until she finds me.

  With one single solitary action, she brings me to my knees. She smiles. And I smile back. I watch her take a step towards me when they call us to the stage. Everything happens fast. Her manager grabs her by the waist and says how worried we’ve been. So many people start ushering us to the stage at the same time. I grab my guitar and watch her pick hers up by the door she just walked in.

  After they go through all the directions, I try to make my way to her, but before I can speak, we enter a silent zone where a television camera could easily pick up any backstage conversation. We stand in hushed tension then follow the ushers, holding small flashlights, as they guide us to the blacked out stage. I sit down on the chair they have set up, and Syn takes a seat diagonally across from me.

  At first, we both stare at each other through the semi-darkness, and I see her open her mouth to speak, but before she can, we hear a thunderous applause as huge curtains move to reveal us on the stage. The lighting is hundreds of lit candles in the background to set the scene. She looks at me and begins to play, my cue to join in.

  We play the first few music lines of “Wasted Heart” before Syn’s pure country voice starts in. She looks at me and sings, “When I say that I love you, boy. And you still walk away. I’m not sure what to do. Or even what to say. Do you know how much I care? How can you possibly know? You take me to my highest high. And bring me to my lowest low.”

  I watch the tears gather in her eyes, and my heart skips a beat, knowing that she means every single line. She is speaking directly to me when one tear falls, but her voice never halters.

  “I don’t know how to revive the ceaseless beating. Or even a way to make it start. I’m lost trying to find my way, inside your wasted heart.”

  For a second, I forget my words, and then I’m afraid they’ll come out in a squeak when I do remember them. The emotions that she brings forth in me run too deep, making our lyrics heartfelt apologies and promises. I glance into her eyes and sing straight from my heart. “There is nothing you can say. When I can’t hear your words. Especially when my heart no longer feels the rhythm or the chords. My eyes don’t see the beauty or the wonder you possess. When everything within me is devoured in this emptiness.”

  By the time I reach the chorus, she joins me. Our voices blend, melding together in harmony, and I know that our lives would do the same if we would just let them.

  When the bridge starts, I sing only for her, “If I could have relinquished this fear, it would have been for you. Given my demons up, if I only knew how to find my way to you.” I play my guitar riffs and then glance into her beautiful eyes to finish. “And I don’t know how you revived the ceaseless beating. And made it restart. I want you to stay, inside this once wasted heart.”

  She stops playing when she hears the altered lyrics at the end. I finish the last chord and look into the eyes that have changed my life forever. “I love you,” I say to her, leaning in until our lips touch. The sound of everyone cheering for our performance is deafening, but we don’t let it bother us. Syn lets her guitar drop to the ground and rushes to sit on my lap, deepening the kiss.

  Pulling away, she whispers over the crowd and into my ear, “I love you, and I’m going to fight for us. It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get away with your crap. I’m going to call you on it, and we are going to fight, fix it, and get over it. Agreed?”

  “Whatever you say,” I tell her, knowing I would agree no matter what at this point. She is my beating heart.

  “Room Service,” a male voice calls outside of the hotel room. I stab my cigarette butt out in the ashtray and walk through the open balcony doors to let him in. The uniformed attendant wheels in a silver tray piled high with the breakfast I ordered. I’m starving after a full night playing with Syn. That girl knows how to get me fucking going and doesn’t let up until I beg for mercy. I may have created a monster.

  After he exits the room, I lift one of the lids to sample a hot piece of bacon. My stomach growls at the thought of food, and I smile thinking how nine months can change so much but leave just as much unchanged. It’s not been an easy road, or does it continue to be. I’ve had a couple of relapses, one that completely fucked up my relationship with Syn. She actually did the right thing by leaving my sorry ass for several months. Josh, of course, kept her updated on my status, and here we are again, back together for now.

  The road is fucking hell without her. We thought we would be able to see each other more, but it turns out it isn’t that fucking easy. Syn has a hard time dealing with the press detailing what is going on when she isn’t with me. Hell, I have a hard time dealing with what is going on when she isn’t with me. Touring doesn’t change just because I’m trying to. In actuality, it becomes innately harder. The women, the drugs, and the partying. If they could make a pill that would make the desire for each of those things to disappear, I would be first in line to take it.

  So, for now, I continue to fight my demons on my own and with Syn. Oh, and Josh. I can’t get rid of that fucker. I have this fear of being in an old folk’s home one day with Josh sitting beside me. True story. Syn loves him and treats him like family, so I try to be nice to him for her sake. That is my story, and I’m sticking to it.

  Both of our tours are on their last leg of dates, so we both flew into New York to celebrate. Last night, we were able to pull our hoodies up and walk around Times Square incognito. We probably looked like some emo kids in our black jeans with black hoodies cowling around our face, but it was great to be normal for two damn minutes.

  We have both decided to take a month off after our tours to spend together at Syn’s house in Nashville. I’m more hesitant, and a little worried, that I might go fucking stir crazy, but at the same time, I look forward to having private time with Syn. Josh is going home to recharge also, so I will actually be without the old ball and chain for a bit.

  I don’t know how everything will continue to work for us. I wish I could promise Syn everything, something, hell, anything about a future, but the truth remains that I can’t. In fact, in all honesty, I can barely promise today, but the difference is that I’m trying, and that is all she says she can request. We will work it out as it comes, or doesn’t come, she says.

  Life is hard. Sometimes it gives you hell, and you have to decide what you are going to do with it. Let it rule you or you rule it. I’m trying to rule mine. Shape it into something that makes me happy so it makes the days passable. I hold my breath most times when I wake up, knowing it’s going to be a tough day, but I keep to the promise that nothing is as bad as it seems, and I trudge on.

  Time will only tell about Syn and I, but damn if I will not try my best to keep her. She keeps me grounded in this chaotic life most days, keeping me real, including making me clean up after myself when we are together. It’s going to be a long month spent with her.

  Knowing that the food is getting cold, I walk into the bedroom to wake her. She is stretched out over the bed, butt naked, wrapped mummy style in the sheet. Syn is a cover hog, and we fight all night over the bed spread. I sit on the edge and quietly lean over her.

  “Wake up. Food is here, and I’m hungry,” I say, letting my fingers run softly over her cheek to brush back her hair.

  “Go away. I just want to sleep,” she says grouchily, slapping my hand away.

  “Girl, fucking get your sweet ass up. Now!” I say moments before I tickle the sensitive sides of her stomach, which she hates.

  She struggles against me, laughing like a hyena. Once, I stop, I glance down at Syn. This beautiful woman that I hold in my arms
is the main reason I keep fighting my demons every day. “I love you, Syn Landry. My little country girl.”

  Looking up at me, she smiles, lifting her hand to caress her name inked across my heart. “I love you, Rhye Clark,” she whispers with love in her eyes. “My wasted heart.”

  Coming November 2013

  USA Today Best Selling Author

  Erin Noelle

  EUPHORIA

  (Book Boyfriend Series #3)

  PROLOGUE ~ Christmas Night

  Reminder ~ Mumford & Sons

  Lips of an Angel ~ Hinder

  ASH

  Frustrated. That summed up my mood in one word. I was so frustrated with Scarlett for bailing on our Christmas dinner, so damn frustrated with my sister for standing up for her, and extremely fucking frustrated with Mason for being such a stupid ass to get himself in this mess. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he did it on purpose just to see if she would come running to him. Which of course she did. Fucking always. I’m not a violent person, but I really wanted to beat the shit out of someone that night. It was a good thing that he was in a different state ‘cause if he had been close, I may have finished the job for him.

  The frustration was eating me from the inside out as I sat alone in my house after the awkward holiday dinner with my family. My mom hadn’t said much except that she understood why Scarlett left. Will commented that the situation was jacked up, which led to Crys getting mad at him and telling him he was insensitive ass. He shut up shortly after that. Oscar and Evan were oblivious to it all ~ they ate as quickly as possible so that they could get back to playing the Xbox. I sat silently eating the food that she and I had prepared the night before, trying not to think of the reminder fuck I had given her at the kitchen sink. Obviously it wasn’t a reminder enough.

  I decided I needed to do something except lie in bed alone thinking about what could possibly be happening in Florida. The frustration was quickly turning into anger and I needed to cool off. I got up and threw on some jeans and a long sleeved Henley, ran my fingers through my hair, and slipped my feet in some flip flops. Grabbing my keys, wallet, and phone, I called Nicholas as I headed out to my car.

  Five minutes later I was pulling up to his house, and it appeared I wasn’t the only person looking for a place to hang out for the evening. The driveway and street were packed with cars and the music was flowing from the house. The scene reminded of the many Saturday nights that I had spent there~ drinking, playing the guitar, and hooking up with random girls. It also reminded me of the first night I met Scarlett. Fuck, I couldn’t escape thinking about her. I shook my head at my pathetic self as I walked up to the front door. I needed a drink… or twelve.

  As I made my way through the living room to the kitchen, I spotted Nicholas and Jess standing at the island and headed in their direction. We exchanged hugs and wished each other Merry Christmas before Jess asked where Scarlett was. I knew it was coming, but I really just didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Something came up,” I answered vaguely. “Now where’s the whiskey? I need a shot stat.”

  Jess raised her eyebrows at me and was about to say something else, but Nicholas whispered something in her ear and she closed her mouth. He gave me a knowing look and I made a mental note to thank him later.

  “The liquor’s at the bar and the beer’s in the fridge dude. Help yourself. It’s good seeing you here; we’ve missed you coming around,” he replied.

  “Thanks man.”

  “You gonna play tonight for us?”

  I hadn’t really thought about it, but now that he mentioned it, it sounded like a great idea. Music was always a good prescription for the soul.

  “Yeah, I think I will. Let me get my buzz on and I’ll grab your guitar.”

  Three shots and two beers later, I was sitting on the back deck, acoustic in hand with most of the house guests sitting around me. I loved winter nights in Houston. It never got that cold, the air had just enough chill in it to make you feel alive. Couples were cuddled up to each other watching the flame inside the chimenea and a flicker of jealousy shot through me. Scarlett should have been there with me, not sitting next to Mason’s hospital bed taking care of him.

  I took a long gulp of my beer and settled the guitar in my lap. I went through my usual favorites, a little Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, and such, before taking requests from people. After a couple of more songs, a familiar-looking blonde girl that had been trying to catch my eye all night asked me to play Lips of an Angel. Not thinking much about it, I began playing the popular Hinder song, but by the time I finished the end of the first chorus I thought I was going to be sick. It wasn’t that the song’s lyrics really applied to my life or situation exactly, it was just the subject matter of cheating and the fact that I kept having to saying the word Angel. Knowing that’s what Rat called Scarlett, I could totally picture him singing it to her and I suddenly despised the song that I had never given a second thought to. As soon as I spat out the last verse, I abruptly rose to my feet, setting the guitar in my chair, and claimed I needed a drink break.

  I walked back in the house to escape everyone for a minute, especially Blondie who had kept inching closer to me throughout the song, and I poured another shot. Throwing the glass back, the warm liquid tingled my throat and chest as it settled in my gut. After repeating the motion two more times, I heard the back door open and close and I assumed Jess had come in to ask me what my problem was and where Scarlett was exactly. I closed my eyes and grabbed the counter to steady myself in the somewhat blurry room. However, the hands that wrapped themselves around my waist from behind and the voice that whispered in my ear didn’t belong to Jess.

  “My lips are soft as an angel’s… especially when they’re wrapped around your cock. Don’t you remember, Ash?”

  Oh fuck.

  Metamorphosis (Book Boyfriend Series #1) & Ambrosia (Book Boyfriend Series #2) by Erin Noelle are both currently available at www.amazon.com and www.barnesandnoble.com

  I love angst....I thrive on it, but only the fictional kind. I adore a story that grips the reader from the beginning and doesn't let go...EVER. I'm an avid reader who just recently discovered my love of writing. My favorite things in life include my three wild & crazy kids, Reese’s Pieces, and every genre of music. Please come find me @ nicolereedbooks.com or www.facebook.com/authornicolereed