Page 1 of Our Final Encore

Prologue - Opal

Present

My eyes trace over the photo of him. His golden-blonde hair and striking green eyes. The long, dark lashes framing his Jade orbs. The picture is black and white, of course, but my memory fills in the gaps quite easily.

He has the perfect combination of masculine and feminine features, making him uniquely attractive. It’s not fair that one person can be that good looking. I always felt like he hogged all the good looks, not leaving any for the rest of us in this small Texas town.

His photo isn’t on the cover of a celebrity gossip magazine. No, he wouldn’t allow that to happen, despite how many record deal offers he’s received over the years. He’s too prideful to ever sell out like that. He thinks he’s above that.

Hell, maybe I’m just bitter. It’s a good thing not to sell out, of course. Sometimes it’s just hard to believe. Even with the famehe’s gathered by traveling the country in a small, raggedy van and posting videos online, he’s never wavered from his original style.

I shake my head like an etch-a-sketch, trying to erase the memories that begin to creep into the corners of my mind. I can’t go there, not now. Not ever. But especially not now; in the grocery line, waiting as the customer in front of me takes forever to load her food onto the conveyor belt.

Mamaw is waiting for me to bring her these groceries and every passing second I’m becoming more irritated. It has nothing to do with seeing his face on the front page of the local paper. Nope, not at all.

The stack of paper keeps calling out to me, even though I’ve turned my body in the opposite direction. I twist my head around to peek at his photo again. The stoic expression on his chiseled face, his strong hands clasped around the neck of his guitar.

“Next!”

I flick my eyes up to see the cashier impatiently staring at me like I’m from a different planet.

“Sorry,” I quip as I begin piling my groceries up for her to scan.

The beep of the scanner creates a steady rhythm, and I try to focus on it instead of the thumping beat of my heart and the nagging voice in my head.Just buy the stupid paper, what will it hurt?

Me. It’ll hurt me, and I know it.

“75.29,” the cashier announces, not bothering to look up at me.

I rifle through my small purse and then shove my debit card into the reader, waiting for the confirmation sound.

“Actually wait!” Yanking the card back out, I grab the newspaper and slap it down on the conveyor belt. “Can I add this?”

The cashier rolls her eyes like I just ruined her entire day. “Sure.” She lets out a low whistle as she drags it across the scanner. “He’s a good lookin’ one, huh? I remember him.”

My throat closes up, a surge of jealousy zipping through my veins. “Mhm,” I reply.

She looks to be a few years older than me, so I’m guessing she knew him from school. There’s only one high school in town, so it would make sense.

“He was a little strange, but hell, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for it with a face like that.”

I nod, refusing to make eye contact with her again, afraid she might notice the fire burning in them.

“Have a good day,” she utters noncommittally as she hands me the receipt.

I pile all of the bags into my little Honda before backing out of the parking lot and heading home. After putting away all the groceries and kissing my grandmother on the cheek, checking to see if she needs anything, I quietly grab the newspaper and bring it into my room.

Twenty-four and I still live with my grandmother, but I’ll be honest, it beats living alone. Being alone with my thoughts is a dangerous thing. That only leads to memories that are better left locked up in the confines of my brain.

So why on earth am I unhousing those memories now? I don’t know.

I blocked all his social media accounts the day we broke up, unable to stand seeing any more comments from women all over the world, raving about his good looks and his immense talent. Photos of him smiling on stage, doing the one thing that makes him the happiest.

I guess I felt like I owed myself a tiny bit of reprieve from pretending he doesn’t exist for five years. It’s kind of hard to do when his face is on the front of the newspaper, anyway.

Alex Anderson: A hometown sensation gone viral, the headline reads. I flip to page ten, where I find even more photos of him.

Most of them are just him playing the guitar, which doesn't have much effect on me. But there’s one where he’s smiling, maybe even mid-laugh. It brings me back to a time when I remember hearing his laugh every day. Laying in bed together and giggling at stupid jokes that no one else would ever understand.

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