Yanking the guitar off the ground and throwing it overmy shoulder, I stop to stare at him dead in his cold, unyielding eyes. “You can fuck right off with that. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need anything from anyone.”
And with that, I take off.
“Where are you going?” he calls out like he’s surprised by my exit.
“Home.”
He glances at the street outside of the alley. “Where are you parked?”
I roll my eyes. “Why? You want to walk me home?”
“Youwalkhome at night like this? You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”
Like he fucking cares?
“Penny!”
Penny. The nickname scratches my brain differently.
“No one calls me that,” I yell, stopping to glare at him.
“I do.”
“Yeah, when we were kids,” I scoff. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
He strides forward until only a few feet separate us again. With the way his eyes dance over the dips of my waist and chest beneath my fitted shirt, I can practically hear him say,I’m well aware. But the momentary curiosity in his gaze from drinking in my body snuffs out, back into cool reservation when he meets my stare again.
“It’s not safe to walk home alone.”
I point to the setting sun. “There’s still light out.”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be on your own. Let me give you a ride.”
Part of me wants to accept it. To get off my feet after a long day of work and avoid the backache I’m going to have from carrying my guitar over one shoulder. To get to spenda little more time with him, because isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? Just a little more time with him?
But the other part of me, the one who saw how he talked to me when he didn’t realize who I was to him, wants nothing to do with him. And the way that he assumed that I played tonight to try to get some sort of connections out of him? Like I’m some sort of leech trying to suck him dry of his hard-earned success?
Ire burns through me at the thought, and I move around him to step out of the alley.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say. “I can take care of myself just fine.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh and starts after me but stops in his tracks as I toss over my shoulder, “You made sure of that.”
3
Aspen
Eleven Years Ago
The unfamiliar bed creaks beneath me as I shift from side to side. She said to make myself comfortable, that this is my new home, but nothing about this feels like home.
Home.
What a foreign thought. A far-off word out of my reach.
It’s still light outside, but I don’t want to venture back downstairs. When I was dropped off, there were a few kids playing in the backyard, but I don’t hear them from my window now. How many kids are there here? I don’t remember if the lady told me.
I shiver under the thin, scratchy blanket even though the room is stuffy. Tears spring to the front of my eyes as I scan the simple, outdated room and find no trace of me. Of what my life previously was.
