I sat down on the throne, my heart pounding in my chest as I placed the sticks on the snare. My hands hovered above the kit, trembling slightly, and for a moment, I thought about standing up again. About walking away and pretending I didn’t try. But then something inside me shifted, a small sparkof defiance. I wouldn’t let this thing—this silence, this depression—win.
I hit the snare and the sound cut through the air—sharp and clean and familiar—and for a moment, I forgot everything else. The grief. The guilt. The fear. For that brief moment, it was like I was back in that space where I was free. Where the drums were my voice. My escape. My release.
It wasn’t perfect. It was jagged, like I was fighting against the pattern and against the parts of me that still felt broken, but I kept going. One hit, then another. Slowly, painfully. It was imperfect, but in that moment, it was enough.
I closed my eyes and let the sound fill me like it used to. Like it might eventually heal some of the pieces of me that were still shattered.
FORTY-ONE
Eric
? One Man Band - Old Dominion ?
It’s an in-between night. We’re somewhere on the East Coast en route to Raleigh. I’m sitting on one end of the couch mindlessly scrolling social media while Tyler is reading a book next to me. About ten minutes ago, she shifted herself into a more comfortable position by laying down and stretching her legs out and placing them across my lap. I’m thankful George keeps the AC cranked in here and she’s always wearing either leggings or joggers, because if she were in shorts, I know that I do not possess the mental fortitude necessary to resist touching those goddamn immaculate legs.
She sets her book in her lap and lets out a deep sigh.
“What’s wrong, Sunshine?” I ask, sensing that she’s bored. Not that I can blame her. It takes a long time to get used to being on the road this much. In all honesty, she’s handled the last five months like a champ, but I know how easily the boredom can creep in, even if you’re enjoying yourself.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I feel like maybe I’ve taken this tour too seriously.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well,” she says, sitting up and removing her legs from my lap, crossing them under her. “We’re somehow already nearing the end, and other than the hotel party, I haven’t done anything remotely…I don’t know. Tour-like.”
“Tour-like?” I ask, locking my phone and setting it on the table beside me. She nods. “What would you considertour-likebehavior?”
“I don’t know. Something crazy. Like partying every night or smoking weed or having lots of se—” She stops herself and looks away, her cheeks brightening to a beautiful shade of pink.
“You know I could have helped you with the last part,” I say, propping my elbow on the back of the couch and resting my head on my hand, flashing her my most charming smile when her eyes come back to mine. “We could be having all thesehyou want. But alas…you had to go and set boundaries, and I, as a gentleman, am bound to respect them.”
“That’s true,” she says, tapping a finger on her chin in thought. “Although, that just means I can’t sleep withyou. I suppose I am, technically speaking, free to—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I say. I mean for it to come out as teasing as her threat had been, but it has a more possessive edge that neither of us had been expecting. She grins before biting her lip and looking away again. The idea of Tyler being in another man’s bed is nauseating.
“Oh!” she says, perking up. “I know! I know what I need to do!”
I wait for a follow up, but she doesn’t elaborate. Her brow creases in concentration and she puts her thumb in her mouthand begins biting at her nail. I don’t know where her mind drifted off to, because it’s certainly not here in this RV, but mine is. Mine is very much in this RV. Focused solely on the thumb she has in her mouth. Homed in on her lips pressed gently against the skin around her nail. Her tongue peeking out and pressing against the tip.
Fuckam I glad her legs are no longer in my lap.
“Care to share with the class?” I say, adjusting my position on the couch to hide the hard-on I now have growing in my sweats.
Baseball…baseball…baseball…
I chant it over and over in my mind, trying to get my brain to focus on something else.
“A tattoo,” she says. When she looks at me, she’s smiling so wide a few creases form at the corners of her eyes. “When we get to Raleigh, I’m totally getting a tattoo!”
“Your first tattoo,” I say. “That’s a pretty big deal. What are you going to get?”
“Actually, we should—” she says, cutting herself off and deflating a little. “No, no, never mind. That’d be crazy.”
“I’m sorry, but isn’t that what brought this whole thing on? Your desire to do something crazy?” She nods once. “Alright then, continue.Actually, we should…”
She scrunches her face like she’s just heard someone scrape metal silverware across a porcelain plate and says, “We should get matching ones?”
She’s so fucking adorable, I can’t stand it. I chuckle, running a hand through my hair, watching as her eyes track the movement and she bites the corner of her bottom lip.
