Page 6 of Verses

By now my anger was flaring again, and I couldn’t help yelling my next words. “Is that what you want to do, Kyle? You want to just fucking quit? Do you think that’s what Liam would have wanted?”

Kyle pressed his forehead into mine, getting uncomfortably close, his words almost like a growl. “No. What Liam would have wanted was to be here making music with us, Hayley. And he’s not.” Backing off, he brought the can to his lips and downed the rest of the beer, crushing the can in his fist and letting out a foamy belch.

Had I not been gritting my teeth and choking down the mean words I wanted to fling at him, I might have laughed, remembering when he and I had been freshmen in high school, drinking Dr. Pepper as fast as we could to see who had the loudest burps.

Those were the good old days.

I also knew if I let myself get nasty, it would end like it always did. Slamming doors. Throwing shit. Saying vicious things we couldn’t take back.

Maybe even going back to abusing the shit that had killed Liam in the first place.

I couldn’t live like that anymore.

I let out a long breath of air and worked hard to make sure my voice was low, calm, and devoid of anger. “Then what do you need? Do you need more time?” Touching his arm as gently as possible, I looked at his face for a sign.

He snatched his arm away from me—but at least he wasn’t yelling. “Time won’t help. Time won’t make us work better together as a band.”

Still fighting against the instinct to snap back, I kept my voice soft. “You can’t be sure of that. Time heals wounds and we can grow and get better.” This I knew from personal experience.

“You know what, Hayley?” Although his tone was still sharp, at least he seemed to be de-escalating a bit. “I don’t know what I did to inspire this level of confidence in me, but it’s misguided. I’m not the guitarist you think I am.”

Oh, shit. This went far deeper than I’d suspected. This was far beyond mourning, grief, or even guilt.

He was filled with self-doubt. Jesus…

He continued. “I’m okay. Decent even. I can play a tune. You’ve heard me play some good stuff. But Liam…he was the true virtuoso. He was what filled our band with promise. And I’ve always known that. He propped me up. He propped us all up and, without him, we’re just a shitty fucking cover band. And we’re never going to be any better than that.”

“I don’t believe that.” We needed work, yeah—no doubt—but we were good.

“Did you not hear how shitty we sounded tonight?”

Just like at practice, his words stung like a slap across my cheek. We were definitely rusty, including me, butshitty?

I’d always been proud of my singing voice and it had been solid and smooth tonight, probably clearer than the last eveningwe’d played with Liam. Maybe Kyle was punching me where he knew it would hurt, hoping I’d feel the same way he did.

I fought back stupid tears from both pain and anger, not wanting Kyle to know he’d once again hurt me. I sometimes wondered if he got off on causing me pain, so I squinted my eyes, trying to stop them from growing watery.

And I lashed out, no longer able to stop myself. “All right, Kyle. You’re right. You’re always right.”

“Can’t you just admit it?” Punctuating his words with his hands, he grabbed me around the shoulders, and it was only seconds before I could feel my flesh bruising underneath the numbness of his fingers.

Wrestling myself free, I growled, “Have a good night.” With that, I turned and stormed toward the front door, wishing my bare feet could make a louder stomp on the thin carpet.

“Come on, Hayley. Don’t be so sensitive.”

“I’m not. I’m just done. Have a good night.” And I walked out into the hallway and down the stairs of the apartment building into the cool night air.

So stupid, considering what I was wearing…but when had I ever thought things through when Kyle was involved? Out into the cold night I went—without a coat or a plan.

CHAPTER 3

Charlotte was a study in contradictions, and my late-night walk was a reminder. Main Street, for example, had a ridiculous amount of bars, probably far more than would be thought proper for a small town.

More surprising…they all stayed in business.

There was only one church on Main at the far east end. Aside from the gas station on that end of town, it was the first thing visitors saw, giving Charlotte a prim and proper façade. To be fair, there were a ridiculous number of churches throughout town, in equal proportion to the bars.

But not on Main Street. Most of them were on 2nd Street…where people driving through town wouldn’t have to be reminded of them until Sunday, when they wanted to see them to wash away their weekly sins.

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