“What are you doing here?” I blink at him. I can hardly believe he’s really here. I don’t have to ask who let him in or told him which room is mine. It must have been Jase, and the thought of Easton asking his friend about me gives me a warm feeling inside.
“One hug in six months is definitely not enough,” he says with that crooked smile that brings out his dimples.
I make a sound that’s half laughter, half sob as Easton pulls me close. He kisses my forehead lightly just for a moment before I bury my face in his chest. He holds me tight, and I hope he never lets me go again.
Before
MAY 28 AT 3:58 PM
mockingbird:
Did you always know you wanted to be a musician?
eastcoleman:
No. As a kid I wanted to be a fireman.
mockingbird:
Sweet. Then how did you figure out that music was right for you?
eastcoleman:
I don’t know. At some point I just figured it out. I think it was one of those days that I couldn’t play because we were on some family outing. Don’t ask me where, probably some relative’s birthday party. I was at a point when every day that I didn’t play or write songs felt wrong, somehow incomplete. It felt like something important was missing.
mockingbird:
Sounds like it was really the right thing for you.
eastcoleman:
I can’t imagine it any other way.
mockingbird:
What about your parents? What did they say about you wanting to be a rock star?
eastcoleman:
Mom dealt with it better than Dad. She would have preferred that I study music and become a music teacher instead of performing myself, but she understood. Dad wanted me to teach just so I’d have a secure job to fall back on, but yeah... In the end I had to make myself happy, not them.
mockingbird:
So teaching was never an option for you?
eastcoleman:
No, never. I didn’t want to watch others living my dream, just because I wasn’t brave enough to take the risk that it wouldn’t work.
mockingbird:
I get it. That’s admirable.
eastcoleman:
What about you, Birdy? What do you want?
mockingbird:
