Page 43 of I Love You, It’s Ruining My Life

“How?” Nalini asked, and for a moment I worried the topic would make her bolt back to the guest room. But for once, she didn’t seem terrified, though I could still sense a little tension — it was enough for me to recognize she was trying.

“I would’ve made sure people knew I was the main songwriter,” I said. “We were advised not to do it, that we needed to be a united front who did everything together. But with Jack being the frontman, almost all my best work ended up attributed to him, and people acted like I was just there to play bass and do backup vocals.”

“It’s their loss,” Nalini said after a few moments, “I’m sure your older songs were incredible. Your new ones certainly are; the little I’ve heard echoing through the house is already better than when we were teenagers.” She hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Is that part of the reason you’re debating bringing back the band? So you can get the credit you’ve deserved the whole time?”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I admitted, “but I think so. I don’t really care about fame… I want the credit. I want people to see how much work I’ve done, and admit I was the one who did it. I hate that everyone thinks I was there as filler.”

Nalini rested her head back on my shoulder, and thankfully switched the channel away from the movie. Only to end up on a different channel, with another cheesy, terrible Christmas movie on it. I debated asking how many of these channels existed, but I didn’t actually want to know the answer. I already knew it was too many.

“People should know how talented you are,” Nalini finally admitted, “I didn’t realize nobody knew you were the songwriter. And I wish I was surprised Jack seemed to take that credit too.”

“Would you be okay with that?” I asked, watching her anxiously bite her bottom lip as she thought about it.

“I don’t know,” Nalini answered, and I was glad she wasn’t trying to lie to make me feel better. “I think it gives a lot of perspective as to why you’d want to bring the band back. If everyone only saw you as the joke brother who got lucky, you’ve got about as much of a perception problem as I did. And you deserve for people to see the real you. It’s something I understand perfectly.”

Nalini kissed my cheek, and for the first time it felt like she believed there really was a third option outside of the two doomsday scenarios she’d come up with. I wasn’t sure if it was enough to convince her to stay, but as my arms wrapped around her and her head rested against my shoulder, I hoped she would.

Chapter thirty-three

Nalini

Istared at the words I’d typed, unable to believe I’d actually written them.

The End.

I knew the only reason I’d finished this draft so quickly was because I’d taken all of December off, and I knew most of what I’d written was clunky and in desperate need of rewrites. But that didn’t matter. The sense of accomplishment from finishing my first story in fifteen years was so wonderfully overwhelming that I felt like I was floating.

The story felt like an extension of me. The girl who’d had enough, the society who'd put her into so many incorrect boxes they’d only see her as a villain, and having to solve the murder to prove her own innocence. It almost felt too personal, like every hidden part of me had found a home on the pages.

I wanted to edit it. I wanted to make the story shine. But past that? I wasn’t sure if this would go out into the world, or if this was only for me. I knew I could leverage my notoriety to get people to read it, but that was a decision for a different time. For now? I was going to celebrate my writer’s block was well and truly dead.

My fingers ached from my hours at the keys, and yet it was somehow only 10:30 in the morning. Kam was still working; I’d been writing to the faint sound of guitar strumming all morning. But I needed to share my excitement with someone, and by the time I was knocking on his door, I realized interrupting him probably wasn’t my best idea.

Then he opened the door, and I was certain Kam had never looked hotter. His hair was damp from a shower I hadn’t realized he’d taken, a few water droplets falling off the ringlet right over his forehead. His white shirt clung to him, outlining his very defined abs. It wasn’t fair; I knew he didn’t have any major workouts in his daily routine, and somehow he managed to look like an athlete. For the first time ever, I understood what Misty meant when she talked about desire.

That was new. I’d been attracted to people before, but I didn’t even have the words for what I was feeling now. It was the sort of thing I’d always skipped over in romance novels, because I’d never related to it. But Kam made all the romance novels make sense, apparently even the smutty parts.

“You okay?” Kam asked, completely unaware of my internal panic. Which was probably a good thing; I had no idea how to even talk about this with him. Let alone figure out what it meant for me.

“Yeah,” I said, pushing my completely inappropriate thoughts to the deepest, darkest part of my brain where they belonged, “I just finished my first draft, and I needed to tell someone.”

“That’s amazing!” Kam smiled, “Can I read it?”

“Absolutely not!” I immediately squealed, “I said the first draft was done, not that it was good. And before you say anything, first drafts are supposed to be bad. It’s the editing that makes them good, so I’m not putting myself down or giving up; it just needs more work before there are any other eyes on it.”

“Don’t worry, I understand,” Kam nodded. “Your process is your process.”

“What are you working on today?” I asked, glancing at his bed, littered with papers, while his guitar leaned haphazardly against it.

“Honestly? No idea,” he laughed. “I like the melody, but I have nothing in the way of lyrics. Happens sometimes, where I’ll have one and not the other. It’s actually something that happens more often than I’d like.”

“Your process is your process,” I repeated, only for him to groan at his words being used against him. “Play it for me?” I asked, sitting down next to him on the bed. Kam became a completely new person when he started strumming the strings; the weight of our adult years melted off him, making him look a decade younger.

This was the version of Kam the world needed to know. He lived and breathed music in a way others could only dream. I didn’t know how the music world worked, but as he played, it was so obvious he belonged there. That he’d always belonged there, even if others didn’t see it.

The way he smiled at his guitar, the rough callouses that reformed on his fingers, the way his eyebrows scrunched together as he concentrated. This was Kam in his purest form, and I couldn’t believe the world had chosen not to see it. Jack had the charisma, Noah had the talent, but it was Kam who had the passion that had clearly been the backbone of the band.

I wished our little writing bubble could go on forever: him working on his songs while I worked on my novels. But winter break was days away, and the time for me to go back to the classroom was coming faster than I wanted to admit. There was no doubt in my mind Kam would be famous again. Maybe RaineFall wouldn’t come back, but there was no way he’d let all these songs go to waste. He’d follow the melody his life had set out for him. And I’d let him. It no longer felt like the world was punishing me, though there was still an anxiety that came with the thought I couldn’t quite shake.