Page 45

I pause.
Then underline it.
There’s a knock at the door. I expect Justine. Maybe Elle.
But no one comes in.
Just a soft knock.
Then footsteps walking away.
I close the notebook and lean back.
Not everything needs to be answered right now.
Some things just need to be written down, left alone, and saved for later.
Like grief.
Like healing.
Like whatever the hell this new chapter is turning into.
FOURTEEN
Each day, we get closer to Charleston. Closer to where my heart—well, part of it—no, just a piece of it is. When I boarded this bus, I didn’t think I’d make it past a week, let alone a month or however long we’ve been on the open road. I was ready to give up on everything. Nothing seemed right without Nola by my side, but now I feel different. I’m angrier than heartbroken at this point. Who the fuck shares a life and then one day decides they need space and completely breaks off communication?
Eleanora, that’s who.
Granted, I haven’t called or texted her; she asked for space. I’m honoring her request. Deep down, I’m tempted to forget to call her when I get to South Carolina.
But she knows I wouldn’t do that.
It’s late, the bus humming beneath me as it coasts down the dark highway. As far as I know, everyone else is sleeping or pretending to be, or if I know Hendrix, scrolling on social media and commenting on posts. He likes the attention, and he enjoys watching people get riled up in the comments on whether therealHendrix is replying or if it’s someone else. He’s a lot likeJD. Honestly, they’re two peas in a pod when it comes to their stupid apps.
Above me, the dim overhead light gives enough of a glow for me to see what I’m writing. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve erased song titles, crumpled up overused paper, and restarted. My sister, once again, wants to change up the setlist, after seeing one too many live streams of the same show. People commented that the show was predictable, and some other shit that I never wanted to worry about, but I do. It’s important to me, and to the band, that the reviews of our show are exceptional. We don’t want fans yawning in the audience or leaving early. We want to give them the show they paid for.
So, here I sit, with my pencil in hand, erasing and rewriting titles like the setlist owes me the answers, like it’ll fix everything. Not only in my life, but in the minds of our fans.
It’s probably too late in the tour to add songs we haven’t rehearsed, but I’m tempted. Our entire catalog stares at me, almost mockingly. The songs we haven’t performed for years or never played because they didn’t fit a show, blinking like they’re have a mega-sale and want my attention. My mind plays tricks when I lack sleep, and lord knows sleep has evaded me since Nola walked out of my life.
It's easy to start with all the heartbreak songs. My heart is broken, shattered. Or at least, it was. Slowly, the jagged edges have smoothed out and stitched back into place. Still, pain, longing, and love seep through the holes, looking and waiting for some recognition of her familiar face, scent, and voice.
Only at times, it’s not my thoughts of Nola that seem to close the wounds.
It’s Justine.
Which doesn’t make sense because I’m in love with Nola . . .
Was.
My thoughts have me sitting up straight. I look down at my piece of paper and see that I’ve written Justine’s name down.
Why? What does that mean?
It can’t mean anything and it’s my subconscious playing a dirty little trick on me because I’ve spent a lot of time with her.
That’s it.