Page 104 of Forbidden Lyrics

Him. She can barely say Gibson’s name, let alone hold a real conversation about him. And it hurts. Because I want her approval. I want her to like my not-boyfriend. I want him to be able to come over for Sunday brunch. I want to be able to talk to her without walking on eggshells.

Why does she have to make this so difficult?

Frustrated, I shove my messy hair away from my face and hike the strap of my duffle bag a little higher on my shoulder. “That isn’t fair, and you know it.”

“Dove––”

A quiet knock echoes from the front door.

“I have to go, Mads. I’ll call you, okay? My keys are on the counter in case you need them for anything. And don’t forget your doctor’s appointment next month.”

That same familiar numb expression takes over her gorgeous––albeit exhausted–– features as she pushes herself off the doorjamb and gives me space to pass her. But she doesn’t hug me. She doesn’t say she loves me. She stares blankly as I slip past her––that same disappointment radiating off her in waves.

And it kills me.

“Bye, Mads.”

Digging her teeth into her lower lip, she scans me from head to toe and returns, “Be careful, Dove.”

She gives me her back and disappears into her room, closing the door quietly behind her.

I fight the urge to chase after her and demand she gives me some freaking answers for her behavior before forcing myself to answer the front door. My body feels like it’s been filled with slurry concrete with every step.

“Hey,” I greet Gibson as soon as he comes into view.

“Hey,” he returns tightly, glancing over my shoulder as if searching for something. When he doesn’t find it, he breathes out a sigh and reaches for my duffle bag. “You ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Did you say goodbye to your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Is she okay?” he murmurs, his voice laced with concern. I don’t know why I’m surprised by his thoughtfulness. But it still makes my chest tighten.

Why can’t Maddie give him a chance?

Whatever he did to Em, he’s changed. He’s not that person anymore. He would never hurt me.

I smile and rise onto my tiptoes before pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

“You’re amazing. You know that, right?”

He drops his chin to his chest. “You give me too much credit. Come on.”

* * *

The RV is old. And rundown. But it’s clean, despite being packed to the brim with instruments, musicians, and enough junk food to last us six months even though we’ll only be gone for two. In the back of the vehicle are a pair of bunk beds and a tiny bathroom that feels like a shoebox. A full-sized nook with a mattress sits above the steering wheel, while a small couch and card table are set up in the center of the space. There’s also a tiny kitchen that’s bare-bones at best, but the boys seem content on surviving off junk food and takeout, so it works.

And I kind of love the vibe of it all. The open road. The acoustic guitars resting on the beds. Gibson’s notebook with his chicken scratch handwriting for whenever inspiration strikes.

It’s cozy. Peaceful. And despite the guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders from leaving Mads, I’m excited for the journey that lies ahead.

I can’t believe I’m really going on tour with Broken Vows.

Now that Stoker has relieved Fen of driving duty, we’re back on the open road.

“All right, so I’m thinking we should play some of our new shit,” Fender comments as he cracks his knuckles and flops down on the worn couch next to Gibson. He’s been quiet since we left my apartment, though I don’t know why, and I’m too terrified to ask him if something’s wrong.

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