“Yeah,” I admit quietly, smiling down at my napkin. “It was.”
His eyes are pure mischief, but then they soften. “What made you think about the concert night?”
I cover my mouth while chewing my spaghetti, eyes darting toward the ceiling. “Dirty Paws is playing.”
He pauses, and we both listen to the rest of the song, looking at each other with wide and real smiles. It was once one of our favorites. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from getting emotional.
The conversation drifts, and soon we’re laughing about all the stupid, beautiful things we used to do—how we drove four hours for the world’s worst beach day, how he taught me to play guitar just to hear me sing. I wasn’t that good compared to him, but he loved it anyway.
When we finally leave, I’m feeling warm from the drinks. The drive is quiet at first, the low melody of music filling the silence. My window’s cracked, and the cool air slips through, brushing through my hair. Then a song comes on.
One I know immediately.
The soft strum of guitar, the distant echo of drums. It’sthem.His band,Dissonance.
I glance at him, but Jude doesn’t react. He just stares ahead, one hand on the wheel, jaw tight. I reach forward and turn up the volume. His voice fills the car, and it’s low, raw, a little rougher than I remember.
“The sky was burning, yet I was cold,
Buried beneath the cave I made for me.
You were the spark I couldn’t hold,
The light I lost while trying to break free.”
My throat tightens. Every word is him. Every line is the wreckage he’s tried to hide.
“Now I’m clawing through the dark I built,
Hands bleeding for the sun I used to feel.”
He still doesn’t look at me. From the way his fingers tighten on the wheel, from the hollow in his voice that used to carry warmth, I know.
He wrote this aboutus.
I swallow hard and whisper, “This one’s beautiful.”
He gives a faint, humorless huff of breath. “Yeah.”
Silence fills the car. I can’t stop looking at the way thepassing streetlights carve sharp lines across his face, and the flicker in his eyes like he’s retreated deep into his mind. He keeps doing that. Finally, he reaches forward and turns the volume down.
“Did you even…” he starts quietly, glancing at me before looking away again. “Did you ever listen to the stuff we released?”
I stare down at my hands, fingers nervously fidgeting. “Not really,” I admit. “I tried. But hearing your voice...it hurt too much.”
He exhales slowly, leaning back into his seat. The sound is heavy, almost a sigh. “I’m sorry, Em.”
“I know,” I whisper.
And for a moment, neither of us speaks. His hand rests loosely on the wheel, knuckles scarred. I can’t help sneaking glances at him and how tired he looks when he thinks I’m not watching.
I break the silence first. “Tonight was nice.”
He glances over, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. It was.”
I bite my lip, fingers twisting in my lap. “It just...it feels so natural, being around you. It was really weird at first. But now, I kind of feel like I’ve reconnected with a dear friend.”
That makes him laugh softly, eyes still on the road. I want to reach across the console and tell him I still love him. That I’ve never stopped wanting to marry him and cheer him on at every show for the rest of our days. But before I can say anything, his phone buzzes.
