To be honest, I never dealt with my shit properly and now it’s haunting me—clawing its way back in. Being back here, thinking about Cara and the way she died, it’s bringing up all the feelings of failure I had after my own accident. I keep thinking about the crash, the headlines—Rising Country Music Star Josh Cote Gets a DUI—ugh. My stomach clenches.
I’m internally berating myself when my phone rings, a shrill sound cutting through the silence. I squint at the screen. A Philadelphia area code.
“Hello,” I grumble, my voice scratchy.
“Josh? It’s Mark. From SoundShift Records.” His voice floats through the line, too casual.
“Hey, Mark. How are you?” I sit up, the room tilting slightly, and force myself to concentrate. I haven’t seen Mark since my DUI, though I’m sure he knows about it. I’m sure Gary told him. I try not to let my embarrassment claw its way to the surface.
“I’m good. Look, I’m in Philly for a few meetings this week. Thought I’d see if we could meet up, chat about what you’re working on.” Mark doesn’t phrase it as a question.
Panic sets in.What am I working on?
I don’t want to be dropped by my label, but I have no idea what I’m doing. All I have done so far is revisit old lyrics and fall back in love with my high school girlfriend. I have absolutely nothing to show for the few weeks that I've been here.
“I’m here until Saturday. You free?”
I blink hard, like that will make everything click.
“When were you thinking?” If I have a few days, I can gather myself and presentsomethingto him.
“Is it too late for you to get up here tonight? Otherwise, tomorrow I’m free after two.” Mark’s voice is distant, like he’s scrolling through his calendar. Philadelphia is over an hour from here so that doesn’t leave me much time.
“Tomorrow is probably better.” I drag my hand down my face.
“Great. I’ll touch base in the morning, and we’ll pick a meeting point. And Josh? Bring something to show me,” Mark says, and then he’s gone.
I drop my phone onto the mattress beside me. It lands with a soft thud but the weight of it feels enormous.
Fuck.
* * *
When Melanie getshome from work, I’m still lying in her bed, curled up in the same position she left me in.
“Josh?” she calls from the entryway.
“In here,” I say without moving.
A moment later, Melanie is leaning in the doorway. Her work shirt is rumpled and untucked, her cheeks flushed from the late June air, and her hair is piled on the top of her head. “Whatcha doing?” she asks gently, eying me carefully.
“Nothing at all. I’ve been here since you left,” I mumble, shifting over. I pat the spot next to me. “Want to lie down with me?”
Melanie smiles. “Sure, let me change.” And then she’s lifting her shirt over her head, standing there in her jeans and her bra, completely uninhibited. The late-day sun shines through the window, streaking across her bare skin. Dust motes dance in the light around her.
My breath hitches and she looks my way, her lips twitching. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she says softly. She throws a loose-fitting pale blue T-shirt over her head and unzips her jeans, stepping out of them. The T-shirt barely covers her ass, and I catch a glimpse of the bare curve of it. I watch her closely as she rummages through her drawer for a pair of gym shorts. When she slips them on, I’m disappointed.
She slides into bed next to me and we’re spooning. I tug her closer, and my hand rests on her hip. She sighs long and low, settling into my embrace. I plant a kiss on the crown of her head. The scent of her shampoo—coconut and vanilla maybe—wraps itself around me.
Everything feels right. For a moment. Until she says, “So, do you want to talk about this morning?”
I swallow hard. “Not really. I have other things on my mind.” I tug her close and press a kiss to the side of her neck.
“Josh,” Melanie drags out my name and rolls over to face me.
I roll on my back and drape a forearm over my eyes with a groan. The corner of the ceiling is cracked, and I focus on that instead of the way Melanie is looking at me.
“Don’t you think we should talk about it?” Melanie presses, leaning over me.
