The silence that followed was so complete it made her ears ring.
Raven refilled her wine glass and carried it into the sitting room. Her guitars sat by the wall, case latches gleaming in the late afternoon light filtering through a gap in the curtains.
She should unpack them. Tune them. Start working.
Instead, she sank onto the sofa and stared at the empty fireplace.
The truth was, she didn't know if she could write anymore. Didn't know if she had anything left to say. Everything she'd written for the past five years had been tied up with the band, with Alissa, with a life that no longer existed.
She'd thought, naively, stupidly, that leaving would give her clarity. That distance would help her find her voice again. But sitting here in this aggressively quaint cottage, surrounded by someone else's furniture and someone else's life, she just felt empty.
No parties. No wildness. No women.
That was the rule she'd set for herself. After Alissa, after five years of toxic on-again-off-again drama, after watching their relationship poison the band and her music and everything she'd cared about, she was done. Done with all of it.
She was here to work. To write. To figure out if she even had a solo career or if she was just another washed-up rockstar whose fifteen minutes were up.
Her phone sat dark and silent on the arm of the sofa. She picked it up, turned it over in her hands, then set it down again.
She should unpack. Should eat something. Should probably do something more productive than drinking wine at four in the afternoon.
Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she'd written a song she was proud of.
Six months ago. Maybe seven.
Before Alissa had suggested they "take a break." Before the band had started falling apart. Before everything had turned to shit.
She'd thought coming here would fix it. Thought isolation and peace and quiet would unlock whatever had been locked inside her for months.
But sitting here now, in this silent cottage, with nothing but her thoughts and her guilt and her failures for company, she was beginning to suspect that the problem wasn't the noise or the city or the distractions.
The problem was her.
And she had absolutely no idea how to fix it.
Raven opened her eyes, finished her wine, and stared at her guitar cases across the room.
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she'd start. Tomorrow she'd prove to herself, and to Claire, and to the label, and to everyone who was probably taking bets on how long until she completely flamed out, that she still had it.
Tomorrow.
Tonight, she'd just sit here and try not to think about Vegas weddings or social media or the fact that she'd driven three hours to the middle of nowhere and still couldn't escape herself.
Outside, a bird sang in the garden. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimed the hour.
And Raven sat alone in a cottage full of someone else's furniture, surrounded by guitars she couldn't play and songs she couldn't write, and wondered if this was what rock bottom felt like.
Or if she still had further to fall.
Chapter Two
Annabelle had noticed the new neighbor moving in yesterday afternoon, and honestly, she hadn't been able to think about much else since.
A new friend, and right next door as well. How convenient. Perfect for swapping keys and watering plants when somebody went on holiday, and besides, a bit of company was always nice, wasn’t it?
She'd been up since dawn, but that was because she generally was, and was now humming along to the radio as she creamed butter and sugar, mixed eggs and flour, and then watched her famous lemon biscuits turn golden in the oven. The kitchen smelled delicious, and Annabelle had already eaten two biscuits straight from the cooling rack because really, what was the point of baking if you couldn't quality control your own work?
Now she practically bounced around the kitchen, arranging everything into a wicker basket she'd lined with a cheerful gingham cloth. Lemon biscuits wrapped in parchment and tied with twine, a jar of her homemade strawberry jam, and a small pot of honey from Arty at the pub’s bees.
