Page 25 of Forbidden Lyrics

Em’s New Number: It’s not yours.

Me: No offense, sweetheart. But you can’t know that.

Those damn blue bubbles pop up again but disappear as quickly as I lean my back against the rough brick wall outside SeaBird. But I’m not going anywhere until she answers my questions.

Em’s New Number: You can’t tell him.

Me: Seems like you’ve left me no choice.

Em’s New Number: I’m serious, Gibbs. Please. I’m begging you.

A glimpse of the girl I used to know peeks through the message and makes me pause. There’s a vulnerability in her text. One that I know she doesn’t share often. Resting my head against the building, I squeeze my eyes shut before fisting the phone with all of my strength.

Dammit, Em!

More pissed off than I’ve felt in a long-ass time, I type my response.

Me: He deserves to know. Either you do it, or I will. You have two weeks.

Em’s New Number: Don’t tell Dove, either.

Em’s New Number: Please.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, staring at the screen in my other hand. Dove’s name goes in and out of focus as I reread Em’s message a dozen times. A better man would tell her. He’d keep his distance and wouldn’t toy with the lines he’s already drawn in the sand.

But I’m not a good guy.

I guess it’s not in my blood.

Me: I won’t.

I tuck my phone back into the front pocket of my worn jeans and head inside.

Chapter Seven

Dove

“Off to work?” Maddie asks, her shoulder propped against the front door of her apartment. Our apartment.

I grab my purse from the kitchen counter and hook it over my arm. I’ve been going stir crazy since I got home from work yesterday, and I’m already desperate to get out of the house and away from the stifling reality that is my life. It’s lonely. Disconnected. And monotonous.

It doesn’t help that Maddie and I don’t talk. Especially when she’s mad at me for something as stupid as driving to work with her friend’s ex. It’s not like I’ve really talked to him since. But the truth is simple. She doesn’t trust me. She never has.

What’s the saying again? Don’t let the father’s sins fall on the child? Not that she’s ever read the Bible, but it’s clear she has no faith in me, no matter how much I’ve bent over backward to prove that I’m not going to abandon her. That I’m not going to do anything stupid. That I’m not going to stab her in the back like her baby’s father has by leaving her high and dry with a bun in the oven.

Then again, complaining about being cooped up in her apartment because she’s mad at me is a moot point. She’s too sick to go anywhere even if we were on good terms. Heck, the only thing she’s been able to keep down lately is peanut butter sandwiches on Wonder bread. And Reese is too busy hooking up with her roommate to keep me company during my time off, too. Which leaves me irritable, tense, insanely bored, and probably overly critical of Maddie.

I check the time on my phone and grimace when I see that I’ll be an hour early for my shift if I leave right now, but I’m too desperate to care.

“Yes,” I answer her. “I’m off to work.”

She licks her lips. “Anything new? At SeaBird? Anything fun and exciting?”

My gaze narrows. “Not since the last time you asked.”

Which was exactly thirty minutes ago.

“Okay. Well. Have fun.” Pushing herself away from the exit, she strides over to the kitchen and grabs the jar of peanut butter from the cabinet, clearly dismissing me as she returns to her usual, detached self.

---