Page 32 of Drive

“He’s not the only prodigy,” Ben whispered. “Some bands are lucky enough to have two.

“You’re humble,” I said with an eye roll.

Ben shook his head. “I have a voice, so I can get away with being a shitty guitarist, but I’m not talking about me. He nodded toward Reid as Rye hit a crescendo that had us all screaming out to him in encouragement. Desperate to get my thoughts down, I looked around the room to see Reid had the only tools I needed.

“Hey, dark horse, can I get that pad and a pen?”

Clearly not a fan of his nickname, he tossed it in my direction. Ten minutes later, I was completely fixed on the insane talent in room six of The Garage. Reid sat next to me as the three of them serenaded the two of us in a melting pot of both original Dead Sergeants and cover songs. With only two guitars and Ben’s voice, I was bleeding the ink dry with unbiased opinion. I was charmed by Ben’s voice. It was pure temptation. He was the perfect front man of a beat-less band. But even with the incredible sound coming from the meshing of Rye’s bold guitar, Adam’s leading bass, and the guttural perfection of Ben’s voice, I knew that something was missing. And that something missing was sitting next to me. I’d curled up on the split plastic couch and completely lost track of time. I looked over to Reid, who was watching the guys thoughtfully, taking mental notes. I was smiling when he glanced my way. He searched for the sincerity and found it. Slowly, he returned it, and for the first time, it finally reached his eyes. The room filled with a fresh kind of air as he beamed on that dingy couch in room six. That smile said it all. Music was where Reid Crowne’s happiness lay, and that smile told me he had already found his something to look forward to.

CHAPTER TEN

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! The low fuel alarm sounded through the speakers, and I jumped in my seat, my eyes refocusing on the road in front of me. I glanced at the odometer and saw I was three hundred miles from the city and hadn’t even noticed the sun had set. Anxious and clueless to where I was, I spotted a road sign that led me to a gas station a few miles later. Pumping gas in a daze, my heart pounded with the beat of distant memories while I stared at the digital tick of the gas prompt. I made quick work of relieving myself in the dingy bathroom and decided to entertain the ache in my stomach. Down the grocery aisle of the small convenience store, I picked up various crap off the shelves as the online radio filtered through the store.

“Of course,” I scoffed before I hung my head, filtering the lyrics that rocked my chest. “And the hits just keep coming. What is it with you, life?” I mumbled as I pulled my phone out of my backpack and scrolled through the messages, looking for only one.

I’m so fucking proud of you. Hurry up. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. See you in a few.

Despite my lack of equilibrium, I smiled. My chest ached as I started to text back. And then the guilt struck. The kind that lets you know you’re acting insane. With an arm full of junk, I readjusted my backpack and chose my words carefully.

I’m driving home. I missed my plane and decided to take a victory lap. I’ll be home tomorrow.

What the hell, babe? Couldn’t catch another? That’s a long drive.

I want to drive. I’ll be home tomorrow.

What’s going on?

Nothing.

Call me right fucking now.

Just let me have this time. Just let me drive.

The dots started working and then disappeared. He was pissed and I knew it, but I couldn’t talk to him. I didn’t want to feel the accusation in his voice. He knew me too well. More angry dots. Finally, he settled on simple, because that was his style unless we were face to face.

Careful. I love you.

He was hurt. I felt it across the miles. The whole thing was ridiculous. I could drop the car off at the nearest airport and be in his arms in a few hours. I still had time. I paced the gas station with Smart Pop, a sour pickle, beef jerky, and my essential bag of donuts. At times, I had no shame when it came to eating my feelings, and ignored the intrusive eyes of the clerk who made a production of bagging all my crap.

Back in the car, I shot off a quick text.

I love you too. Don’t worry.

I plugged in my phone and resumed directions before I flipped through my playlist and hit play.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Never Say Never”

The Fray

2005

“AHHHHHA!” I said as I leapt out of my sister’s closet where my Rolling Stones T-shirt hung. My sister looked over at me with guilty eyes.

“Neil likes them.”

“Half of the population of the globe likes them, get your own.” I threw on the shirt and grabbed the plate from the counter.