Page 7 of Fractured Rhythm

I’d been drunk at the time—something that had become standard in the last few years. But I didn’t have a problem. At least not as bad as Jamie’s.

I grabbed the ever-present whiskey bottle off the side table and poured a generous amount before taking a healthy swallow. It was five o’clock somewhere.

It was always five o’clock somewhere.

I stared at the blank page again and wondered what Cassie was doing tonight. Would she go back to that dive bar or avoid it because she didn’t want to see me? Had she even been there at all, or had I imagined it?

No. She’d been there. I was positive—well, as positive as one could be while in a drunken haze. I saw her everywhere. I always had. Hell, most of the songs I’d written were about her in some form or another. Not that I’d ever told the guys that.

We’d kept our relationship a secret. Or at least, that’s what I’d assumed, until one day Jamie gave me a black eye and told me to end it. That was right before Cassie went off to college. By that time, the band had started to get noticed and it was easier to break up. I appeased my best friend and put a stop to whatever I had with Cassie before it blew up in my face. Long-distance relationships never worked, and we were both going in very different directions.

It’d been the right thing to do. Even if I’d royally fucked it up in the execution.

Honestly, she should’ve given me a black eye to match the one her brother had given me.

My phone vibrated across the table, and I grabbed it, welcoming any distraction.

Josh:Did you write a song today?

I was tempted to chuck the phone across the room.

Bash:Working on it.

Josh:You bullshitting me?

Bash:I said I was working on it.

Josh:You’ve been saying that for months. Hell, for over a year now.

Bash:And you pestering me isn’t helping.

Josh:It’s the label, man. You signed a contract.

Bash:No shit. I said I was working on it.

Josh:They’re giving you one more month to give us something.

Bash:Tell them to fuck off.

Josh:Get your shit together, man. I know it’s been rough, but we need new material. You have a month or they’ll sue for breach of contract. Pull yourself together and get it done.

Bash:I’d like to see you try to write songs that people want to hear.

Josh:That’s not my job. It’s yours. So do it.

Bash:Fuck off, man. I’m working on it.

Josh:Work faster.

I threw my phone across the room. My aim was shit, and the device bounced off the arm of the couch and landed on the cushion with a dull thud.

There was no satisfaction in that.

I came to New York hoping to finally get my head on straight, hoping the words would flow like they used to, but I was still staring at the same blank page that taunted me in LA.

I pushed the page aside and grabbed my guitar, quickly checking to make sure it was in tune. I closed my eyes and lazily strummed no song in particular, my head resting on the back of the chair. I hoped it would spark something. A new melody. A new riff. Hell, I’d take anything at this point.

Instead of something new, my fingers instinctually started playing our song. The song I wrote for Cassie when we were still in high school. I’d told the guys it was a random love song, but that wasn’t true. I’d always been able to express myself better in lyrics than actual words.

A bittersweet smile graced my lips as I sang the words softly, trying to remember the last time I sang that song only to her. It’d been years. I always wondered if she still had good memories of our time together when she heard the song on the radio. Hell, for all I knew, she avoided my music like the plague.

A few lines of a new song popped in my head. Not enough to appease Josh, but at least it was a start. I grabbed a pen and scribbled down a few lines on the page. I’d always told Cassie that she was my muse.

I really needed to talk to her. To fix my mistakes. Or the words would never come.

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