And I hated myself even more.
Harper had been the only thing to ever come close to topping music, and that’s what had terrified me about her. We started dating the summer before twelfth grade, and when I left, I was too immature to realize what I had when I had it, and too afraid to keep it.
Too afraid that I’d fail at it all.
Before I set fire to us, we’d been on the greatest high of my life. Harper ignited me, she got into my bloodstream and because of her; I was a better person.
For a while, anyway, until I left without saying goodbye.
I could still remember the first time I saw her. She listened to us play during our set at a summer music festival in Lunenburg. From the moment her eyes locked on me, I’d been under her spell.
The rest of the faces in the crowd had fallen away, and I played through the set singing to her—to this gorgeous girl with dark eyes and full lips. I didn’t need to talk to her to know that she was too good for me, or that I needed to have her anyway.
Her looks weren’t the only thing that held my attention; while her beauty drew me to her, it was everything else that held me. She was intelligent, funny, completely endearing, and a little sarcastic. She brought vibrancy and harmony to my life, and I fell for her without realizing it; without fighting it, or even wanting to. I pulled her into my life, and she fit so seamlessly.
But…Harper had her entire future planned out. She was heading to university to get her BA in business, and then she eventually wanted to get married and start a family. Settle down somewhere, stay there.
The last thing I wanted was to sign up for another four years of institutional education, but I didn’t have a choice. My parents were steadfast in their insistence that I needed a diploma to make a career, and even I had to admit that they weren’t completely wrong about that.
My dad figured I’d go to the local community college for skilled trades as he had done, and then end up working for the construction company that he had started when I was a kid. Harper opened me up to the possibility that if I was going to have to stay in school, I could focus on music. Become a teacher.
I liked her plan a hell of a lot better than my father’s, so I went with it. If I couldn’t be a famous musician, I could at least find a career centering around it. Dad couldn’t argue because Mom was thrilled that I’d found a way to infuse music into my career. She knew how much it meant to me; it had meant that much to her.
Harper talked about the future with assurance, like she knew it would all work out for us both—that we’d be happy together, and I knew she was right. We could be happy together, it was impossible not to feel happy in her company, but I knew that only one version of me could fit into those plans. That was the version whowasn’ttouring the world playing music, but here, with her, building a life of domesticated bliss.
With her father in the Royal Canadian Air Force, Harper had moved around a lot growing up. She wanted the opposite of her childhood; she wanted to put down roots and stay there, and touring was the opposite of putting down roots.
Yet…the offer landed in my hands, and I couldn’t stay when so much of the world called out to me. Not to mention, the prospect of rubbing it in my dad’s face that musicwasn’ta waste of time was too strong to ignore. It was thefuck youthat I’d always strived to give him.
He was the reason I signed on the dotted line. The thought of ending up like him—bitter and jaded—made it all too easy to pick up that pen.
Of course, he didn’t exactly take the news well. And fists flew. Then I did.
I’d planned on telling her I was leaving, but thanks to the genetic fuck up in my brain, my busted lip couldn’t get the words out to explain it…why I needed to do what I needed to do. My dad’s words ricocheted around in my head until I’d choked on them.
I tried to write her a letter on the plane, but I couldn’t make the words take shape on paper. All that I got out was a measlyI’m sorry, and I knew it wasn’t enough.
My reasons didn’t matter, not when the result was the same. I left. I was gone. I couldn’t tell her I was suffocating, that I couldn’t breathe here, and leaving was my best chance at liberty. She’d take it as she wasn’t enough, which wasn’t true.Iwasn’t enough.
I knew she’d hate me for leaving, but at the time, I’d wanted her to—needed her to. Harper would find a way to erase the stain I’d inflicted on her heart. She’d find someone better, someone who could put her first in all the ways I couldn’t.
But no matter how hard I tried to drown out that truth, it remained. After I’d thrown myself into music, into all the perks that came with stardom...I realized I couldn’t chase it away. I played the part, anyway, keeping my two best friends fooled because I couldn’t let them see the price I’d really paid for signing on to this life. I didn’t want them to feel guilty about it; it was my choice to leave the way I left, the coward’s way. It was my choice to stay gone, too.
Gramps could always see right through the bullshit. He knew how much I cared about Harper—how much leaving had destroyed me—and he used to call me up once a week, just to tell me what an idiot I was. Not for chasing my dreams, no…Gramps had always believed in my talent as a musician. He scolded me for leaving her behind to do it, for letting music cause a division between the people I cared about and me.
He said it was the mistake of a lifetime, and he wasn’t wrong about that.
Shifting in my first-class seat, I slid my earbuds in, leaned back, closed my eyes. I allowed the onslaught of thoughts and regrets to flow in a steady stream, music playing loudly to drown out any would-be conversationalists around me.
Calum
Looking up at the house with a deep sense of foreboding, I swallowed. Hard.
I was about to knock on a door I had not seen since I’d slammed it behind me nine years ago. I hesitated before it; the heaviness in my chest compressing my lungs before I drew in a forceful breath and pushed on, raising my fist.
The door swung in abruptly before my knuckles had even touched the wood, and my father scowled at me.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, my voice wavering. I cleared my throat, letting my arm fall to my side.
