Page 7 of The Favorite Girl

But it rarely did.

“Demi?” Raina’s hand shook mine. Her forehead was slightly creased, and she kept looking between her husband and me.

“Okay. I just… I need to go back and get one thing from the motel before check-out time and housekeeping trashes my things. It’d have to be before the interview.” I knew it was foolish, but it was the one thing that helped me survive.

“Well, how about Jax can swing by and get it tomorrow before work and anything else you’d like from… from the motel.” Raina took a long sip of water before offering a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay.” I nodded as I reached for another spring roll.

“Ladies, I’m off to get some more work done, but let me know if either of you need anything. Goodnight, sweetheart.” Jax stood and planted a kiss on his wife’s face. She smiled up at him and brushed his face with her hand. “Night, Demi.” His lips were pursed but somewhat curved, as if he couldn’t force out the smile he knew Raina would want him to.

“Goodnight.” As he walked, I tilted my head to look at his feet. The thick white sandals literally concealed all sound from his steps. I couldn’t even tell if he was up the stairs or not, but after counting two minutes in my mind, I turned to Raina.

“I don’t think he wants me to stay.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, quickly grabbing my water and chugging it as droplets trickled out of my lips.

Raina rested her chin on her palm and watched me intently.

“No, no, don’t mind Jax. He’s just… He’s a bit of an introvert, and ever since we had Kai, he’s more on edge with anyone we don’t know well.” She paused and passed me a napkin.

“Demi, where did you move from?” She hesitated for a moment. Looking at her, I wiped my face and leaned back in the chair, clutching my overstuffed stomach.

“Um… well, it’s a long story, but Tennessee.” I shuddered at the simple state name.

“Oh wow. What part?” Raina stood and began to clear the table. My stomach started to churn, and I didn’t know if it was from the nerves or the fact that I had inhaled an entire family’s worth of a meal after sustaining myself on Twinkies or fries here and there.

“Nashville.” I reached for the pitcher of water with trembling hands and began to pour more into my empty glass.

Watching the clear liquid slosh into the glass had my heart pounding even harder. There was a day where I was drinking water out of a dropper. Forcing myself to steady my hand, I clutched the glass and took a long sip.

“I love Nashville!” Raina exclaimed, with a pile of dishes stacked in her hands. I quickly stood to help her.

Following behind, we walked into her stunning kitchen. The entire kitchen was a deep navy blue, with gold accessories and meticulously decorated. The stove was immaculate—showing that this family probably never cooked.

“What made you leave Nashville for Charlotte?”

I looked over at Raina as I placed some of the plates down and she began rinsing them.

“I got tired of the music,” I replied without hesitation. It was true, but not in the sense that most people would think.

Raina’s lips twitched as she looked at me curiously. “Really? How does one become tired of music?” She flipped the water off and dried her manicured hands.

“When the noise is used to conceal your thoughts, and you no longer can hear the one voice that will help you survive.” I shuddered as I thought back to the small window that shook and vibrated as music rose from the bars below.

They couldn’t hear our screams, they couldn’t hear our cries… they couldn’t hear the pain in our prayers.

All because the music concealed the truth. Because that’s what music does; it removes us from reality and loses us into the melodies and words that resonate with us, or don’t, but either way, we hope to find some form of truth in the songs.

I never found truth in the often-melodramatic country songs—I hated it all. I hated the optimism, the way the musician would take heartbreak or pain and guarantee a positive outcome. Meanwhile, we were right there, hovered in the dark—shaking, bleeding, aching…

Aching for them to stop singing. So maybe then, someone, anyone, could hear us.

But they never did…

CHAPTER

SIX

“The bathroom is completely stocked and here are a few outfits for you. Pajamas for tonight, and an interview outfit for tomorrow.”

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