Page 52 of Fallen Stars

“No.” I shove my chair back farther and rise. “That’s not what this is, was…” I wave a hand in the air. “When I suggested this, it wasn’t because I actually wanted to be…anythingto you. It was to shut my damn father up.” I pull out my wallet, grab a couple twenties, and drop them on the table. “I didn’t want it to begin with. Now…” I pocket my wallet. “This is over. We’re done. No friendship. Nothing.” One step, then another, I walk away. “Fuck off and lose my number.”

Several patrons glance my way as I head for the exit. Not that I give a fuck.

When I step outside, my anger fizzles out and the additional weight I’ve carried for weeks falls away.

The facade is no more. The days of selling my soul to appease my father have come to an end.

In my car, I take out my phone and send Oliver a text.

Hang out?

I crank the engine to life and wait for him to reply. When several minutes pass without a word, I go to his social media page and check the band’s schedule. On the pinned post, it says Hailey’s Fire is playing in Smoky Creek tonight.

I tap the link for the band’s social media profile and open their live stream. My eyes shamelessly roam over Oliver as he plays. Not much sweat dampens his shirt, which means they haven’t been playing long.

Closing the app, I stow my phone and buckle my seat belt. Within seconds, I exit the parking lot and make my way to Opal Trail. The moment I reach the outskirts of town, I shift gears and smash the accelerator. The world passes in a blur of occasional streetlights in the fading sunlight.

I reach Smoky Creek in less than half the time it’d take anyone else. Perks of a fast car on quiet roads.

Easing off the accelerator as I enter town limits, I scan the storefronts for Brickton and Sons Tavern.

I drive by countless shops, restaurants, offices, and standard businesses you’d find in most towns. I pass the occasional person or couple, but for a Friday night, not many people milling about. Smoky Creek is small, like Stone Bay, but there doesn’t seem to be muchlifeto it.

The first true signs of life emerge a couple miles into Smoky Creek. Endless cars fill the street parking along the main road. The farther I drive, the more cars and people I come across. Minutes later, I arrive at the town’s hotspot for the night.

Brickton and Sons Tavern.

Either this is the place to be on weekend nights, or most of the town fills the bar to see Hailey’s Fire play. Less than a quarter of Stone Bay visits Dalton’s when Oliver’s band is on stage. If this crowd is for them…

Warmth fills my chest as I search for a parking spot on the street. Pride and adoration and this prickle of something desirable yet foreign surge in my bloodstream.

Half a mile later, I cut the engine, exit the car, and wander down the sidewalk. Hands in my pockets, I focus on the throng of townsfolk near the bar. Just before the tavern comes into view, the music hits my ears. A smile instantly curves the corners of my mouth and I pick up my pace.

Weaving through the overcrowded tavern, I make it to the bar and order a drink. Frosty glass in hand, I slip between people until I near the makeshift stage at the back wall. I move off to the side, away from the thick of the crowd, and hover in the periphery with my eyes glued to Oliver.

“You’ve been fucking incredible, Smoky Creek,” Hailey says when the song ends.

Whistles and cheers and excited expletives ricochet off the walls at a deafening volume.

“We’re slowing it down for our last song.” Hailey presses a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone in Stone Bay, but this is the first time we’ve played ‘Fallen Stars’ in public.”

She lifts her guitar strap over her head and swaps it for an acoustic on the side of the stage. Oliver rises from his stool behind the drums, runs a hand through his hair, wipes it on his shorts, then picks up the other acoustic guitar. He grabs a barstool, sets it in front of Trip’s microphone near Hailey, then takes a seat.

I sift through countless memories of watching the band play in Oliver’s garage. I search for a time when the two of themplayed acoustic together. But I come up blank. The title of the song doesn’t ring a bell either.

As long as I’ve known Oliver, he has played the guitar as well as the drums. But not once, to my recollection, has he played guitar during show nights.

I down the last of my drink as the first chords of the song fill the air. While Hailey drops her head and focuses on the tune, Oliver leans closer to the microphone and closes his eyes.

“It’s always been us, a sea of blue and green.” A few notes fill the air. “Our silent conversations and blurry fragments of a dream.”

As Oliver plucks the strings of his guitar, I swallow and inch closer to the stage.

“Just out of reach, I wanted to take your hand. But it wasn’t my place to touch you. Not like that.”

Perspiration dampens my skin as I listen to Oliver croon lyrics to hundreds of Smoky Creek residents. Lyrics I know, without a doubt, are about us.

“So I stood by your side with a cheek-burning smile. I played the goof, the fool, while I died a little inside.”

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