I move in with my brother.
One suitcase. One broken heart.
One of Chase’s old hoodies he left on the tour bus.
And a journal full of half-songs, still clinging to a trace of him.
***
June
I spend a lonely Saturday night at Sand Bar, sipping on rum.
Alex walks in with a girl on his arm.
He ditches her halfway through the night and slides onto the stool beside me, all casual charm and old ghosts.
He tells me about Thailand. Blue beaches, quiet nights.
The scorpion on a stick was overrated.
He says he’s doing better. Healing.
Part of me is happy for him. Part of me envies the peace he found.
“You look like you’re waiting for someone to come back,” he says.
I don’t correct him.
Around midnight, I pull out my phone and unfollow Alex on all my socials.
Then I order another drink.
No cherries. Just ice.
***
July
Chase’s social media goes dark. Kenna doesn’t know what to do, so she does nothing.
No sightings. No rumors. No clues.
We try to rehearse without him.
Tag takes over lead and flubs the intro to “Haloed.” Rock throws his sticks at the wall.
Nobody says what we’re all thinking: it doesn’t sound right without him.
At the end of the month, we play a show in upstate New York.
It’s a mess. No unity, no direction, no heart.
The crowd looks smaller.
I sing our old songs with a lump in my throat and my eyes on the wings ofthe stage, hoping he’ll walk out with his guitar slung over his shoulder like none of this ever happened.
And then he’ll kiss me.
