Page 56 of Forbidden Lyrics

“My sister if I leave. Although, she might actually like being alone,” I point out, thinking aloud. “I’m not sure how much she enjoys me living with her. But she also needs me, no matter how much she hates to admit it. And if I stay, I don’t want to disappoint Hawthorne, or Fen, or Phoenix, or Stoker, or…” I swallow and peek over at Gibbs. “Or you.”

“Why do you think you’d disappoint me?”

“I don’t know? Honestly, you’re still a toss-up. I can’t decide what you want me to do.”

“Why does my opinion matter?”

Because I like you even though you’ve made it abundantly clear that nothing will ever happen between us.

I bite my lip and search for a different excuse. Something that won’t make me feel so pathetic and needy. When I find one, I admit, “I wouldn’t have gotten on that stage if you hadn’t made me. And I don’t want it to feel like I’m using you or the band.”

“You’re not using the band––”

“I know that, but I also remember you mentioning that whenever people find out you’re involved with Broken Vows, they try to take advantage of you.”

“This is different.”

“I know, but it still makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“I asked you to stall, Dove. You weren’t taking advantage of me or the opportunity. You were taking one for the team. And you knocked it out of the park.”

“Still,” I argue. “I think you should have a say in how I move forward with this.”

“Bullshit. You’re a big girl. You can make your own decisions.”

“This is all new to me, and I don’t know what you want me to do,” I admit.

“It shouldn’t matter what I want. What does Dove want?”

You.

I tear my gaze away from him and focus on the tiny flecks of white and gold in the swirling granite. The idea of being close to him but not being able to have him? That sounds like torture. Or is it simply another excuse to not go after what I want? Honestly, I don’t even know anymore. I feel just as lost––just as helpless––as before.

“Can I think about it?” I ask.

“Sure. Just let me know.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “So, tell me. What are you going to do? Are you really going to go?”

He shakes his head and tangles his fingers into his wavy dark hair. “I don’t know. I don’t want to let them down.”

“Neither do I.”

“You won’t,” he tells me, setting his hand on mine. “I promise.”

“And you won’t, either. Even if you don’t go. Even if you tell Fender that he has to deal with the repercussions on his own. That’s on him. Not you.”

“It’s funny how decisive and confident you can be when it’s about others,” he notes, the heat from his hand still warming mine.

With a groan, I pull away from him and rest my head in my hands. “I know. My own life is a mess, yet the outside perspective feels so much easier to grasp. Go figure, right?” I sigh, looking over at him. “Tell me something. Why don’t you want to go? What’s really holding you back?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“My, uh, my dad,” he admits sheepishly.

“Oh.” After being rejected the other night, I didn’t really have a chance to ask him any questions about his father, but now that he’s brought it up, I can’t help my curiosity. I bite my lip to keep from prying, but he senses my interest nonetheless and rolls his eyes. “Spit it out, Dove. Ask your question.”

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