The waitress is a woman who could be anywhere from eighteen to twenty-five, and after staring at her for longer than is likely appropriate, I realize she was an elementary student when I was in high school. Fortunately, she doesn’t recognize me.
I order two gin and tonics.
One and a half are gone by the time Carter slips into the booth ten minutes later.
“Can’t believe I convinced you to join me,” I say.
“I can’t believe you’re hiding back here like some supervillain.”
“It’s best if I remain anonymous.”
“As the guy who oversees your security, I appreciate that, but I’m also seriously pissed you’re here alone. Where’s Annie? Where’s your security team?”
“I left them back home. Told the team I only needed the gate guard.”
Carter rakes a hand through his hair. “Jaxon, you need one of the team with you.”
“Is that really necessary? No one even knows I’m here.”
“Yes. Which is why one of my guys, who’s in town right now, is on his way over.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been here for a week with no problems.”
“He’s coming, Jax.”
We shift to small talk, both half watching the baseball game on the TVs around the restaurant. I’m definitely drinking more than Carter.
I’ve lost count of whether this is my fourth or fifth gin and tonic when a burst of laughter draws my attention to the booth behind me. Something about that laugh yanks every nerve in my body taut. It draws me in, demanding my attention.
Unfortunately, when the women arrived a few minutes ago, I was staring into my glass, entertaining Carter with commentary about the little bubbles floating to the top, so I didn’t see any of them. I try to peek over, but the tall booth blocks my view.
Swirling winds hum your sweet refrain.
I jolt.
Holy shit.
The lyrics.
They’re back. Maybe Andre was right about connecting with my roots.
I grab the pen I always carry and shove my glass aside, hastily scrawling the single line on the napkin. The only line I’ve been excited about writing for the last eighteen months.
“Carter,” one of the women says, and I look at his face just in time to see his eyes widen, flickering over my head.
Wait, why do I recognize that voice?
I look up too, seeing the woman who is now leaning over the tall barrier between our two tables.
I’m caught. Completely captivated. And suddenly, it all makes sense. It’s Izzy. It’s her voice that I hear in my dreams, though the voice that haunts me belongs to the teenage version of the woman staring down at me, her eyes wide as her mouth falls open in an “O.”
“Iz,” I say softly, my eyes searching hers, needing her reaction to help me understand mine. “I…”
“Didn’t realize I’d be here?” Izzy asks, her face changing from shock to anger. “What a surprise. I’m sure if you had, you would’ve run the other direction.”
My heart is hammering, my stomach in knots—and it’s not just from the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed.
I lick my lips, and don’t fail to notice Izzy’s eyes following the movement. “Can we…can we talk for a minute?” I ask, my tone slightly more desperate than I would’ve liked, but fuck. Now that I’m in the same place as Izzy, I can’t believe I wasn’t going to try to reach out to her. To apologize to her for all the unanswered calls and texts when we were kids.
