Page 121 of Never Lasting (Never Blue)

“You’re going to school in New York?”

“I think I need to take a semester off, then transfer to NYU. Nina and I are going to get a place, if finances work out.”

“Where do I fit into all these plans?”

“I don’t know, Jude. I miss you, but I don’t know.”

Her reply was so lukewarm, I could have crushed my phone in my bare hand from the frustration of it all.

“Tali, you’re my life. I’ve been clean, baby. I haven’t even had a drop to drink.”

And it had been damn near impossible to resist on tour, but I figured I had one shot with Tali. One chance to get it right. No high was worth blowing that.

“I’m really glad, Jude. But when I close my eyes, I picture her face and hands on you.”

My fingers dug into my scalp in frustration. “The only way we’re going to get better is to be together. I can’t wipe that image away if you won’t let me get close. Come to Swerve when we stop in New York. You can bring Nina or come alone. We could spend the day together, or you can just come to our show. I just need to see you.”

“I want to…”

“Then do it.”

Getting hopeful was dangerous, but I couldn’t help myself.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

That was all I was going to get from her, but it was more than I’d gotten in a long time.

“I’ll leave your pass at Will Call, okay?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m going to go.”

“I love you, Stripes. You know that, right?”

In a voice that was so soft and sad, it sounded foreign, she said, “I know. I love you too.”

Hope. It was dangerous, but I’d always liked living on the edge.

That one answeredphone call hadn’t been some kind of breakthrough. The week between Nashville and New York was filled with unanswered texts and sporadically answered emails. She never said whether she’d decided to see me, but I clung to the scrap of hope she’d thrown at me.

I clung even as our day in New York wore on and I hadn’t heard from Tali. I paced the bus, outside the bus, the festival grounds. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring or send up a smoke signal.

Only silence.

“She’s not coming, huh?” Seven asked. He wasn’t in any way broken up about it.

I stared at my phone. Stared at it and stared at it until it became my enemy, then I smashed it on the ground, pieces of plastic and delicate electronics scattered across the sizzling asphalt.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He slung an arm around my shoulder. “We gotta get up on that stage, show ’em a good time, even if we’re not feeling it.”

“The show must go on,” I said, bitterness dripping from every word.

Before we went on stage, I grabbed a beer from a cooler, downing it in one long swig, then grabbed another to take with me.

Being out there, in front of our audience, filled me with the high I got nowhere else these days. Our fans got my adrenaline pumping, helped me forget it all for a while.

These people wanted the blood from my veins. They loved when I spilled it over them, giving them my all, and then some. They gave me back that elusive, short-lived euphoria I never stopped chasing.

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