Page 103 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

But if Matthias’s chin dropped any lower, he’d be shining his boots with it. And coldhearted bastard or not, I couldn’t just hear something like that and say see ya.

Well, I could, and I had before, but not tonight.

Jesus, who was I becoming?

I took the chair beside him and locked my hands behind my neck. Exhaustion cloaked me, so heavy that I almost couldn’t think through it. I wasn’t sleeping right. I rarely did, but especially since I’d gone to Logan’s. Only training and routine had allowed me to even get through this session.

Plus, a healthy dollop of desperation for a distraction.

“So, I don’t know anything about that shit.”

“Which part?”

“Making babies. How to soothe a pregnant woman.”

“Oh, whew. I mean, I know you’re a recluse and all, but for a minute, I thought I might have to draw you a sketch or something.” He’d no sooner said it that he dropped his guitar. Literally. He rolled back on his wheeled chair, his eyes wide. “Jesus, my fucking mouth. You’re not a recluse. Nothing wrong with being alone. Or liking to be alone. Or valuing your privacy—fuck me running, I need to shut up now. It’s my biggest problem.”

My lips twitched around a smile. “No, your biggest problem is she might not let you be a father to your kid unless you man up and make it right.”

He shut his eyes. “Yeah. Not that I know how.”

“Which part?” I echoed him.

“All of it. The manning. The fathering. I’m just twenty-fucking-three. I can barely pull up my own boxers.” He dug the heel of his hand into his eye. “I need a drink. Want one? Or no, you’re hitting the road—”

“You know I’m a recluse, yet you don’t know I’m also an addict.”

He dropped his hand. “I heard something…” He trailed off.

I cracked my knuckles behind my neck. My head was starting to ache like a bitch. “I want a drink really goddamn bad. But I won’t. Because I want to be able to look at myself tomorrow and not hate myself more. Go ahead though.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Never mind.” He shook his water bottle. “This’ll do.”

Before I could reply, he rubbed his fingers over the corner of his mouth. “I know you were taking off, but maybe you could hang for a bit? Help me work on ‘Remember Me’?”

“You said that song needed Aryn’s input.”

“Yeah, it does. But I may not be getting it. And maybe that’s part of manning up. I don’t know.”

“Me either.” The pleading look in the kid’s all too earnest brown eyes worked its magic on me though, and I let out a breath. “Yeah. I have some time.” He wasn’t the only one wanting to put off the inevitable. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I didn’t leave until long after midnight. A cold rain pelted me as I turned up my collar and stepped off the stoop of Matthias’s Brooklyn walk-up. I preferred to meet new clients on their turf rather than in a studio setting, but those meetings usually didn’t last as long as tonight’s. Nor did my typical client ask me to stay just for the sheer escapism of playing.

And I’d never needed it just as much.

It had been a long fucking time since I’d let my own music out of its trap door vault inside me. I was a conduit. Not a participator in the creation in a tangible way. Oh, it seemed as if I was. I enhanced. I improved. But I wasn’t the heart and soul of the piece. That belonged to the musician.

I didn’t have a soul left. A heart? Unlikely. And the rest of the cage holding me together was in tatters.

I got behind the wheel and just drove. No destination. I didn’t hook in my phone although I hadn’t charged it in hours. I knew it had to be running low since I’d recorded a good bit in Matthias’s makeshift home studio. Listening to the artist when I was alone made a big difference. Space sometimes showed the cracks that closeness did not.

Other times it just emphasized the utter perfection.

I uncapped the bottle of soda I’d had in the cup holder and drank half. Maybe more. I was freaking parched. Then I punched the gas. I didn’t check my cell, didn’t bother selecting a station. The first one that came up on a random scan worked just fine.

When I cranked it, the screaming guitars and thumping bass were enough to drown out my thoughts. The slash of the wipers when it started to sprinkle—then pour—also added to the chaos living inside my brain.

Drown it out. Faster. Louder. Make it all go away.

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