Page 32 of The Song We Lost

“You better keep me updated,” I say. “Every appointment. Every weird craving. I expect pictures.”

She smiles faintly. “Deal,” and pulls me into a familiar hug, her hand warm at my back.

“I’m sorry I’m leaving like this.”

“You’re not alone,” she whispers. "You do whatever you need to do and come home."

I hold onto that as long as I can.

chapter 14

luke

. . .

It feels like surfacing from a black ocean. My tongue is thick, my throat burns, and my head feels like it is splitting in half, as light knifes through my eyelids. I groan and roll over and the room tilts violently, my stomach lurching. A hand yanks the curtains open, forcing sunlight to flood the room like punishment.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Noah’s voice finds me, sharp and furious.

Noah? Wait, isn't he supposed to be at the wedding?

I blink hard, trying to focus. Noah stands by the window like he’s been carved out of anger, shoulders tense, eyes red rimmed.

“What day is it?” I rasp.

Noah’s laugh is harsh. “Are you kidding me?”

My head is pounding and it feels like everything is spinning out of control around me, I try to focus on Noah, on something that isn't moving in the room.

I blink and I am in a different room, a different time. A moment I wish I could change, but I don’t know if I still can. The hotel room smells like stale cologne and last night’s sweat and the sharp bite of something I spilled near the desk. My boots are by the door, tipped over like I kicked them off without thinking. There’s a suit jacket slung over the back of a chair I don’t remember wearing. My guitar case sits half-open on thefloor, like I started to pack and forgot how. My phone is on the nightstand, face down.

I stand at the window and look out at the city and try to convince myself I can still fix this if I move fast enough. If I pick the right words. If I say the right sorry, in the right tone. If I stop being the version of myself that keeps doing this.

My manager’s voice is still in my head from earlier, slick and certain.

You can’t leave now.

Not tonight.

Not when the room is finally paying attention.

She's had her time, now it's yours.

He said it like a fact. And then Kacey was there... too close, too eager, had laughed and touched my arm like she had a right to.

“You don’t get it,” she’d said, eyes wide like she couldn’t believe she was inside this moment. “This is yourin. This is the kind of thing people talk about forever. One night can change everything.”

One night.

That phrase should make me sick. Because one night is exactly how this started. One night I chose work over Bailey, and it was so easy to call it temporary. One night I didn’t get on the plane. One night I told myself she’d understand. One night I told myself it was for us. One night turned into a pattern and that pattern turned into a life.

I’m standing here with my suitcase half-packed and my stomach hollowing out, because I can’t remember the last time my wife looked at me like I was safe.

I look at the phone again.

I tell myself I’ll call her after I talk to Noah. After I make Noah understand. After I get Noah on my side, because if Noah is on my side, maybe Bailey will soften.

Maybe she’ll listen.