Page 18 of Heart of a Rebel

He pats me on the shoulder, and I nod as he walks away, but the truth is I don’t know if I’ll ever actually see him again. My stare moves to the dog tags in my hand, and I squeeze them tightly. They’re a physical reminder of Sam’s missing presence and it hurts to hold them. But at the same time, they feel like her comforting me.

Maybe Marcus is right. Since I’ve been back, I’ve been sitting in a past that no longer exists. I’ve been avoiding moving on because doing so would mean my father and Sam are really gone. And that’s not something I’ve been ready to face.

But how long can I sit with this pain?

The door to the bar opens and laughs fill the room. Sebastian and Noah walk in with the widest grins, laughing about something. Noah shoves Sebastian’s arm and he stumbles. They’re headed for the stage, where they’ve booked a pretty solid gig playing here a few nights a week as they prepare for their showcase.

Behind them, Eloise has her head down, trailing them. She’s skimming through her phone and frowning at something on the screen.

I’d like to know what it is she’s drowning in that makes her sad all the time. Or why I’m the only one who seems to notice.

Eloise’s eyes lift to mine like she senses something striking her from across the distance of the bar, and I wonder if my demons are that loud. If she can sense them circling around. I wonder if the relief I find in her eyes is something I should allow myself.

A flicker of hope.

Of life.

A flash of light that makes me wonder if there really is something bigger I should be doing with my life.

7

Eloise

Wehaveoneweekuntil the showcase, and everyone in the band has been bickering non-stop. Between the set list, final song adjustments, and attitudes, all of us are tired. But somehow, through all the bullshit, it feels like we’re almost ready.

There’s an energy in the air around the band. Like maybe, something big is about to change. Even in this dump of a bar, an electric current runs through all of us.

I can’t remember the exact moment I fell in love with music, just that it’s always been a part of me. My tastes are a musical garden of genres blending. I could live without many things in life, but not the sound of a drumbeat picking up, or the chords of a guitar intensifying with the chorus, or a voice cracking at the part of the song where the artist breaks with it.

Harmonious imperfections.

I make a mental note to write that down and see if I can build something from it later.

“Let’s take ten,” Sebastian says, hopping off the stage. Feedback cuts through the speakers, but not one person in the bar flinches at the sound.

It’s still the middle of the day, so the only people in here have been drunk since this morning and don’t give a fuck if we’re actually playing music or messing around trying to figure it out.

“Who wants a beer?” Sebastian asks, already headed to the bar. Noah hops down and follows him.

I’m grateful we can at least put our differences aside when we aren’t working through our set. From the outside, it might look like the band is five seconds from breaking up at times, but it’s a rhythm we’re accustomed to.

Rome comes up beside me with his guitar still slung around his shoulder. “One week.”

“One week,” I repeat with a cautious smile.

The guys are already convinced we’re going to get signed after the showcase. I try to be more realistic, but their optimism is contagious.

“Can’t come soon enough.” He drops his chin and shakes his head.

“You going to go see him before we leave?”

Rome looks at me from the tops of his eyes and bites down on the corner of his lip. “I’m good.”

I nod, knowing better than to push further. As far as I know, Rome hasn’t spoken with his father since he started crashing with Sebastian and me a couple of years ago. Even now that he’s unofficially moved into Adrian’s guest room, he’s avoided that part of his life like the plague. But still, I thought maybe he would let him know we’re leaving town if we do so permanently.

“As far as I’m concerned, he can burn in hell.”

I look up, and Rome’s jaw is clenched, but he’s avoiding my gaze as he pulls his guitar off his shoulder. The movement tugs at the bottom hem of his T-shirt, showing off the rugged scar that runs up the length of his side. If not for the tattoo ink he’s started to slowly fill his skin with these past couple of years, it would be more prominent. But like all the other scars on him, he’s finding ways to bury them. Some in healthier ways than others.

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