Turning off the running water, I wiped my mouth on a towel and pivoted to the door.
I hadn’t written any new lyrics in several weeks, and now, with the meds beginning to kick in and Terri’s reassuring presence, I had a sudden urge to break out my guitar and dive into one of my few escapes.
Music.
Chapter thirty-four
Terri Kingston
AfterwatchingPaxtonheadto the bathroom, I stood and glanced through the glass at the bedroom.He’s hiding something.
I wasn’t exactly surehowI knew, but that connection we’d shared years ago was in full force, and it nagged at me.
Or maybe it was in the way his eyes shifted ever so slightly and he hesitated before answering certain questions, as if he needed a second to formulate a response.
As gently as possible, I eased open the door and slid it on its tracks praying it didn’t squeal. Once the gap was wide enough for me to slip through, I shut it and tiptoed to the backpack in the corner and crouched, my hand hovering over the zippered closure.
I’m not really going to dig through his stuff, am I?
The Terri Kingston from before, the one who allowed mean girls to shit all over her, who didn’t have the backbone to stand up to her mom, would’ve died from shame at even the thought of snooping.
But not today’s Terri. If this is everything he owns, then it’s the most important to him.
Besides, I had to know if he was truly clean. I wouldn’t risk my heart to a junkie, regardless of who they were. Maybe that was judgmental and I should have taken his denial at face value, but I knew how prevalent drugs were in the music scene. And something in the way he’d answered felt off…forced.
Through the bathroom wall, the sound of running water from the sink filled the air, telling me I had time if I was quick.
Tugging at the metal zipperhead, I opened the bag and peeked, thrusting a hand inside and rummaging around.
Several spiral notebooks lay on top. In the middle rested a worn paperback, and on the bottom lay folded T-shirts, jeans, underwear, and socks.
That was it. No needles, powder, or pills. No paraphernalia. No baggies.
I breathed out a sigh of relief, mildly disgusted at my snooping, and let my gaze roam the outside of the backpack, where several zippered pockets marched up the side and around to the front.
I frowned.They would make easy access to drugs.But seriously? Paxton wasn’t stupid, and I couldn’t imagine him hoarding illegal substances practically out in the open.
Still…
Water splashed, as if he was washing his hands, so I carefully investigated each pocket, finding a pack of cigarettes, pens, toothpaste, toothbrushes, and other toiletry items.
The sink turned off.
I jerked the last pocket closed and pushed the bag into the corner, hoping it didn’t look disturbed. Jumping to my feet, I willed my racing heart to slow and slammed my ass on the edge of the bed, trying to look like I didn’t just pilfer through someone’s private belongings.
The handle twisted, the door opened, and Paxton stepped over the threshold. As his eyes landed on me, they widened, and he smiled. “Hey there.”
“You okay?” I fidgeted, picking at my nails, then slid my palms onto the bed and tucked them under my thighs.
“Loads better.” He turned to the backpack in the corner.
The breath caught in my throat.Can he tell I dug around in there?What the hell was wrong with me, invading someone’s personal space like that?
“As a matter of fact…” Leaning forward, he unzipped it, pulled out a notebook, then grabbed a pen from the desk. “I just had an idea for a song.”
I glanced at the ceiling and drew in a long breath. “That’s great.”
Throwing the items onto the comforter next to me, he lifted the closed guitar case and laid it on the bed, unsnapping the latches and strapping the instrument across his chest. Setting the case back to the floor, he sat on the edge of the bed, a foot of space between our bodies.
