Page 26 of Forever and Ever

“I’ll make it work. What wouldn’t you do for your dreams?”

Noah’s face softens and he tips his head back, like my statement took him somewhere in his mind. Noah doesn’t talk to me about the band’s rise to fame and what came with it. He doesn’t like to discuss how I met him. How he was fucked out of his head, and then a couple months later walking out of a rehab facility. But I’ve picked up enough to know he gave a lot to get to where he is. And he has to understand I’d do the same.

When he dips his chin to look back at me, his arms fall to his sides and the rigid posture dissipates.

“Just stay with me,” he says, like it took a heck of a lot for him to say it.

“With you?”

He nods.

I take a deep breath and try to hold it, searching for clarity that is definitely escaping me right now. “Is that a good idea?”

Noah’s nod says a lot. It’s quick, uncertain, and feels like there’s a giant weight behind it.

“It’s a big house.” He rakes his hair away from his face. “And it’s two minutes down the road from Adrian’s. Friends do favors for friends, right?”

There are a lot of reasons for me to say no. Like how I know I’ve spent the majority of this tour unintentionally leading Noah on, and how lately it’s become clear he’s been barely hanging on a string. Or how, out of nowhere, these past couple of months my resolve has been slipping with him, and I’m not sure what that means.

But most of all, I’m worried that with him that close, he might finally see through me. And what if once he does, once he truly gets to the heart of me, I finally hear what I’ve been anticipating all along?

It’s not worth it.

“I see you trying to be stubborn,” Noah says, facing off with me.

I shake my head, but he keeps going.

“What wouldn’t you do for your dreams, right?”

He gets me with my own words. “Right.”

“Then that’s it, you’re moving in,” Noah says, but neither of us seem that excited about the prospect.

“For a few months,” I say and he just nods. “Thanks, Noah.”

“Anything for you, gorgeous.” But instead of shooting me the smile I’m used to following that comment, he turns and walks away.

8

Noah

Emptykitchenshelvesstareat me where the bottles of booze once lived. It used to be easier to drown out the demons, and part of me wishes I would have just let them take me years ago instead of insisting on playing this sober game of chicken.

If it wasn’t for my family, I might have let it happen. But even if my mom prays for my soul every Sunday and refuses to speak to me, the memory of her tear-streaked face in the hospital is enough to make me close the cabinet and walk away without considering filling it with whiskey.

It’s enough to stop me from reaching for something worse.

My house feels cold every time I return to it, reminding me just how fucking lonely this lifestyle is. I’m traveling two-thirds of the year with no real roots besides this empty pile of timber. I have no dog greeting me at the door or kids running around waiting for me to get home. There’s no woman in my bed at night. At least, not one there for more than my dick.

The freedom used to have less weight to it. Now it’s just empty space.

Dropping my suitcase in my bedroom, I head to the sink and splash water on my face. If only I could wash away the nightmares with it. But when my eyes meet the reflection in the mirror, they’re there like always, staring back at me. Begging me to quiet them.

Hell catches up with all of us eventually.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings and shocks me out of my thoughts.

I was supposed to have four months away to clear my head. Four months with a couple of states distance between Merry and me, and maybe, just maybe, I’d finally get the fuck over it. But I’d do anything for that girl, even if it means inviting her to stay with me and shaving away the parts of my soul that are left.

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