Page 57 of Heartbreaker

I’m so empty inside, and I can’t describe it.

Well, I can but I don’t want to.

Because it’s embarrassing to realize…I’m lonely.

I have fame, more money than I ever dreamed of, and am at the pinnacle of my success. And yet, I’ve never been more alone. I don’t even have girlfriends. Not really. There are a couple of other country singers I’m friendly with. Lily Maxwell and SandyMarin are great, and we hang out when we’re in Nashville at the same time, but that’s almost never.

They’re both on tour, and Sandy just got married, so we don’t see much of each other.

Aside from that, I’ve lost touch with everyone from high school, and though I have a couple of cousins, we don’t know each other very well since we didn’t grow up together.

So it’s just me.

Puttering around a big, beautiful house in Tennessee with no one to share it with.

Living out of suitcases and hotel rooms on the road.

Spending time in a remote cabin with the world’s biggest pain in my butt.

I don’t even have anyone I can call to complain about him to.

I miss you, Grandma.

Thinking about her makes me even sadder.

I sink onto the bed and close my eyes, pulling the fleece throw over my lower half. I’m so mentally exhausted. And lonely. And sad. I have the elements of a great life, and when I’m making music, I don’t care about anything else.

It’s just the rest of the time that I get these waves of melancholy, but it’s happening more often lately.

This new level of success I’ve suddenly attained has changed something. I can't quite put my finger on it but I’m less confident and much less content with the status quo, most of it to do with my personal life.

How is it that I don't have a single girlfriend I can call? I guess I could reach out to Sandy but she’s on tour in Australia, and I don’t even know what time it is over there.

I hate feeling sorry for myself, and I know this will pass once I get out on tour, but it’s hard not to feel a little out of sorts with so many changes happening so quickly. With no one I can truly rely on to have my back.

It’s frustrating and…

I must drift off because when I next open my eyes it’s completely dark outside.

Crud.

How long did I sleep?

I reach for my phone and it’s almost ten.

Great. I’ll never get to sleep tonight.

A rumbling in my stomach lets me know that I’m hungry, which means it’s time to face the music.

If nothing else, my bad mood is gone and I’m feeling a bit more philosophical. Being here with Royal has just been a stark reminder of how little else I have in my life besides music, and it’s not his responsibility to pick up the slack for me.

We’re stuck here for at least a few more days, so I need to go out there and apologize for storming off. I’m an adult and shouldn’t have had a meltdown just because he hurt my feelings. I’ve been through a lot worse in this industry. He’s just another difficult musician in a long line of them. He’s not the first, and if he can write me another hit song or two, I won’t need him or anyone else. I’ll be able to write my own damn ticket.

I take a breath to steel my resolve, and my hand freezes on the doorknob.

There’s music coming from the living room and I cock my head, listening.

Is someone playing guitar?

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