“Ready to go home?” she asked with her hand outstretched.
With a nod, I took her hand into mine. In silence, I led her off the bridge and back to The Rustic. Instead of driving home immediately, I took her to an overlook where we watched the sunrise that morning.
“I miss her,” I admitted to Lena.
She turned to me and pressed a palm to my chest. “She’s right here.”
My chest warmed, and it felt like something that I didn’t realize was broken had healed in those few hours. Not wholly, but healed enough that if rubbed up against, the wound wouldn’t reopen.
Chapter 29
Lena
Weeks after Gabe’s birthday, I awakened with a question on my mind.
What next?
What was I going to do now that I was close to finishing this album? I contemplated that thought as I turned over in the bed, inhaling Gabe’s scent in the sheets. My heart squeezed as both love and dread filled my belly.
Since that night, Gabe told me every day how much he loved me. I’d heard those three words before, but coming from him, it felt like a present wrapped up in a bow every time he said them. My muse had become my lover, my best friend, and possibly my future.
But I was delaying finishing the album. Completing it would mean I’d have to leave Texas. There were some musical artists that I wanted to feature on a few songs. Once complete, there was the inevitable meeting with the label, followed by promotional work and eventually a tour.
As happy as I was to nearing the completion of this album, I dreaded it just as much.
While I missed performing, my heart was torn about the idea of leaving Gabriel. Could what we built survive my hectic career?
I sat up and pushed the covers away, finally willing myself to get out of bed. Coffee was the first thing on my agenda once I entered the kitchen. A smile touched my lips when I saw the note Gabe left taped to the microwave for me.
Breakfast is in the oven. You better eat before you start working.
Love you,
Wolf
Short, sweet, and sort of demanding. Just like the guy who wrote it. I pulled the oven door open to find one of his Belgian waffles and crispy bacon sitting on an oven-safe plate. He’d left it on low to keep my food warm.
“What did I do to find you?” I sang. It was a piece of the chorus from one of the songs for the album I’d written.
My phone rang as I sat down at the table. When I looked at the name displayed on the screen, I groaned.
“Good morning, Daddy,” I answered, trying to sound joyful to answer his call.
“It’s been so long since I heard your voice.”
I pulled my phone from my ear to check the number on the display screen again. It read my father’s name.
“Nate, how did you get my father’s phone?”
Nate laughed on the other end. “What? You don’t even want to say hello?”
“Why do you have my father’s phone?”
“He let me borrow it for a few days,” he answered.
“What?” That didn’t make sense.
“Yeah, when I was in New York, I told your parents all about how you’re still ignoring my calls,” Nate explained. “Your father insisted I use his phone to call you.”
