Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“It’s just taking a hammer to a cabinet.”
“Whatever you say.”
We got busy hauling it all outside after that, each of us quiet as we stepped over Bear, who now slept on my porch. Before I knew it, we were done, standing outside with the warm sun glinting off his golden hair.
“Go out with us tonight,” he said out of the blue.
“What?” Both of us were aware I knew exactly what he said. Still, it was the first word to come out.
“Go out with us tonight. It’s a small bar in a small town. It won’t be too crazy. You’ll like the crew. Meet some friends. If anyone recognizes you, we leave. And if they do, so what? You’re hanging out with friends. We knew each other from you playing where I hung out in college. No one is going to automatically think we’re fucking or that you like guys because you’re out for a night.”
We weren’t fucking, not anymore, but I held that in, shaking my head instead. It wasn’t what I was worried about. Hell, I was so damn tired of that mattering, anyway. I wrung my hands together. A flush of anxious heat crawled up my neck. “You know that’s not my thing.” It was sad, really. I’d never been one to go out, but my need to hibernate and keep myself away from the world was getting worse. I figured it was because on tour I had so little time to myself, it was hard to break out of my protective shell when I didn’t have to.
“Having a beer in a bar? Or talking to people? Come on, these are good guys. Have some fun. I’ve seen you at awards shows, galas, fundraisers, shit a whole hell of a lot bigger than a damn bar.”
I rolled my eyes. “You make me sound like I’m trying to be a recluse. We met in a public venue where I played. It’s not like I never go out.” But I really was trying to be a recluse. The truth was there, hiding in the back of my brain.
“That’s not real, and you know it. You went out, you played, you left. You went out with Brittany. I used to see the photos. We hung out too. I don’t think you’re a recluse, but it’s always one-on-one or music related. Fuck your writing tonight. Fuck the guitar. Fuck Remington. Go out and meet people. Be Remy.” He paused, took a deep breath, then lowered his voice, before almost bashfully saying, “It’ll be fun.”
Goose bumps traveled up and down my arms, the little hairs there rising. Part of me wanted to go, wanted to get to know his friends and for once pretend I wasn’t Remington—the awkward, shy guy who happened to be a good musician. The guy who was homeschooled and didn’t grow up knowing people and having friendships the way Law did. The one who wouldn’t have people dissect who he was onstage compared to who he was in real life and wouldn’t ask about music and being famous.
But that wasn’t me. I wasn’t that guy. I couldn’t change who I was. Not even for him, though I loved that he wanted me there. “Go have fun. Steve has been calling me all day. I need to give him an update and try to get some fucking work done.”
Law looked at me for a minute, just stared. That wasn’t anger I saw in his eyes. It was sadness wrapped up in deep disappointment. I hated letting him down. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow or something. Come on, Bear.”
I stood there until he and his dog disappeared down the road, then went inside, fell to the couch, and pulled out my phone. Though it wasn’t Steve I called.
“Hey, sweets,” Brit said.
“Hi. Just wanted to return your call from earlier.”
“Well, that’s obviously a lie. You sound like you need to talk. Is this about him?”
It was always awkward talking to Brittany about Law. She was the only person who knew what he meant to me, and that made me feel even more sad and alone. It was an accident she even knew about him. In the beginning, I’d gotten sloppy drunk one night, not something I did often, and told her all about him.
“Yes,” I replied, then amended to, “No.” Because it wasn’t, not fully. It was about me. About my hang-ups and quirks. About my insecurities and awkwardness. “He’s meeting friends at a bar tonight. He asked me to go.”
“And of course, you didn’t.”
“Clearly.”
“Why? You’ve gone out with me a hundred times. I know it’s not your favorite thing, but you do it. And this is likely on a much smaller scale.”
The second she said it, the truth slammed into me, stole the breath right out of my lungs—because going out with Law would make me think about what might have been. That maybe I could have spent the last six years with him, and his friends could have been my friends. That Bear could have been our dog, and I wouldn’t have felt so damn empty inside.