Chapter Thirty-Three
Three Weeks Later
Jace
While the floor is littered with balled-up wads of rejected paper, the words continue to pour out of me. In front of me, on the table, I’m surrounded by the pieces of paper that have so far made the grade.
As I strum the guitar, I repeat the same line two, then three, then four times until each verse and the chorus are perfect. Every waking hour when I’m not at work has been spent pouring my heart out until my eyes are so full of grit, I can barely close them.
But it feels great. Even when I was writing full-time, I never completed an album in less than six months. At this rate, I’ll have enough for two albums by this time next week.
The best thing is that it keeps my energy focused and off the spiraling depression that sucked me in the first couple of weeks back from the island. I still wake up drenched in sweat with a piercing pain in my chest after dreaming about Zoe. But there’s no point in dwelling over the past. If I could change things, I would. But I can’t. At this point, it would come out like a lie. Especially since I’ve taken back to writing.
I lean back into the kitchen chair, causing the wood to shift under my weight. This time, I’m not sending anything to Fletcher. I’m going to his top competitor. I might not make it, but I’m going to go down swinging. One way or the other.
My new cell phone buzzes. Somehow, in my haste to leave the island, I left my old phone behind and changed numbers when I returned home. Landon. I swipe the screen off. By now, I’m sure Zoe has told them about my drug and alcohol-induced insanity, and I don’t want to hear about how much of a disappointment I am to them. Fuck that.
I arch my eyebrows. Yeah, there’s another song I can pen.
After hitting the live button on my social media account, I sing the newest lines of the song I just completed. The notes pierce the soul, but when I add the words, the crying and broken heart emojis flood the screen.
It’s fascinating to have that immediate reaction from my fans. It’s something that didn’t exist when I was first recording, but I’m determined to use it to my advantage. I’ve already had two lives go semi-viral and gained 200k followers. It’s just me and my guitar.
When I finish, I rest the guitar on my lap and thank those who listened. The stream of roses, hearts, and I love you’s shoot up the comments, reinvigorating my belief that I’m not the schmuck Fletcher claims I am.
Country meets pop.
I love you.
This song is fire.
Will you marry me?
You on stage. Alone. No band. Priceless.
I thank them again and lean back into the chair as I ponder the comments before signing off.
When I thought about performing in the past, it was always with a band. Rock music. But the vibe of these songs fits the storytelling of country or a crossover between country and pop. I envision a sped-up version with electric guitars, drums, and backup singers.
But what if it’s just me. Alone on the stage. With my guitar. Or even a cappella.
A cappella. My heart skips a beat as adrenaline takes over. I jump out of my chair and pace the floor. When I step on a balled-up piece of paper, it crunches under my bare feet. But I’m too excited to register the discomfort.
Bang. Bang. Bang. My heart stops in my chest as the door rattles on the hinges.
“Jace!” My brother’s voice is muffled but loud in the hallway. “Open up!”
Shit. What’s he doing here? Bang. Bang. Bang. I rush to the door. The condo I live in is filled with families and singles who work all different hours of the day. I don’t want anyone complaining about me to management.
I yank the door open. “Get inside.” I glare at him and step out of the way.
The second he’s inside, I shut the door as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Yes, I’m stalling. It’s stupid. But when I was a kid, and he lectured me, I would do whatever it took to deflect his attention in hopes that his irritation would die down.
“Don’t start with that bullshit.” He drops his arms to his sides. “I’ve been trying to call you for weeks. And all I get is placating text messages in return. I’m fine. Sorry, I missed you. I’m busy.” He alters his voice to sound more like me, but it’s a little too falsetto. For some reason, I don’t think he’d appreciate my critique. “What in the fuck is going on?”
“There’s nothing going on.”
He spins in a circle, taking in the room. The curtains are drawn, leaving the space in semi-darkness, but the light above the dining room table is bright and the curtains from the kitchen window are open to bathe the table in more light.
But the floor…. The floor is covered in paper balls and empty food containers. I walk around the room, snatching up the trash. The containers. Not the music. I might need one of those pieces back later.
“Jace, you need help.” His eyes meet mine, and I shake my head. Of course, he thinks I’m using again.
Stop. You’re the one that went along with Fletcher. What else is everyone supposed to believe?
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that before, but you weren’t. You may not see it, but you’re hurting yourself. The people who love you.” He grasps my shoulders. “You have so much you can give the world.”
“Landon.” The corners of my mouth rise upward. “Thank you. I appreciate the validation.” I give him a quick bro hug which he reciprocates. “It’s good to see you.”
I pat his back and rock back onto my heels, putting distance between us again. And I’m not lying. I thought I didn’t want to see him, but I do. I miss him, Carly and Zorya. And Zoe.
My heart catches in my chest. I would give anything to tell her everything I said was a lie, but she’s not going to believe me. I straighten my shoulders. At least not yet. Maybe when she hears my new music, and I get a record deal, I’ll be able to convince her. It’s the only thing keeping me going. “But I’m fine. I don’t need an intervention.”
“Yes, you do.” He waves his hand at the mess. “You’re living like a pig. Are you even taking care of yourself?” He snaps his head around. “Did you lose your job?”
“Stop.” I half chuckle and grasp his upper arms. “Listen. Thank you for caring. I love you for it. But I’m not using or drinking. I’m writing. And I still have my job. This is my day off. I’m doing fine. Yes, I did have one drink back on the island, but it was an isolated incident. I’m back in counseling, and I’m feeling great.” Well, that might be an overstatement of things. I miss Zoe too much to be great.
I step back, giving him room to survey the room. Moments later, his shoulders relax, and he pins me with a stare. It’s not hostile, but it leaves little to the imagination. He’s not leaving without answers. “What happened?”
I inhale and let out a whoosh of air. “You’re not going to believe me.”
“Try me.”
And the story comes out. The allegations. The set up. Everything but Zoe and I being intimate. The story works fine without that detail.
His eyes narrow as anger swipes over his face. “The cocksucker.” His jaw flexes as his teeth gnash together. “I’m going to tell–”
“Don’t.” I grab his biceps and hold him in place. “It won’t do any good. He’s too powerful and has too much money. Besides, Zoe isn’t going to believe me over her father, especially when I agreed to it at the time.”
Heat covers my cheeks. Jesus. He didn’t say anything about her, so why would I bring her up. He was likely referring to Carly or the police. And I automatically went to the person I want to believe me. And there’s no logical reason I’d want that. Besides, she doesn’t want me telling my brother and her mother that I love her. Hell, I didn’t even tell her.
He snatches his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling Carly. She needs to know what happened. When Zoe told her you were using again, Carly told her she was wrong, despite what she saw.” The pulse point at his temple pushes against his skin. “And Carly was right. We both should have believed her. We all know how manipulative Fletcher is.”
My shoulders ache as he calls Carly and fills her in. The quickness with which both accepted my story makes it hard to breathe. If Zoe believed me as easily, maybe it’s not too late for us.