Page 79 of Drive

He brushed my hair away from my face. “You remember that seven minutes you saved me? I just wanted to spend them with you, Stella.”

“You can have all of them. I’ll give them all to you, Reid.Stay.”

He closed his eyes as if my words hurt. “Stop.”

“Stop,” I bit out bitterly. “Not going to happen.” I could feel his frustration as his eyes begged me to understand. And I did. But it didn’t mean I had to let him go without a fight.

“Fine, if you won’t stay for me, what about the band?”

“They’ll find someone else. I don’t have it all figured out.”

“But you’ll play again. You aren’t done, right?”

“I don’t know.”

Tears pooled and multiplied. I could see his pain, feel it, and it was my only comfort, because his words only twisted the knife.

“Don’t hate me,” he whispered.

“Just don’t stop playing, Reid. Don’t give up.” I kissed his jaw. “Go home,” I said, standing, and he followed suit, now towering above me. Steadying myself, I found the words and the strength I had left to speak them. “If I’m not what you need, then go find it. I bared myself to you, and you didn’t have the decency to fall in love with me. I probably will hate you. I fell for you, scared, but I did it anyway.” Courage, anger, or one of the half-dozen emotions racing through me pushed the rest out. “But don’t stop playing. Promise me. And make this promise count.”

He stayed mute, and I felt the last rip of my heart as he refused to give me that much.

No longer able to control my sobs, I stumbled out the door and down the stairs toward Lexi, who looked at me wide-eyed before muttering, “Oh shit.” Ben was silent, his eyes filled with anger while he looked over my shoulder.

“Stella,” Reid said from the top of the steps, eyes steel green, face stone as he watched me cry. My breath stuttered as my body shook with silent sobs, pain on display, heart stung and fluttering in my chest in confusion. “I promise.”

A moment passed between us before I nodded. His eyes lingered briefly before he walked back into the apartment and closed the door.

That night I moved into my apartment while Reid Crowne left Austin—leftme.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Normally this is the part where you flip the tape over, or change one burntCDfor another, but technology has managed to make it more convenient for us all to relive our individual soundtracks anywhere, anytime, at our fingertips. All I had to do was press the little right facing triangle on my iPhone to submerge myself back into a life that seemed light years ago.

I had to hand it to technology, though. It played a major role in my success, but it didn’t happen overnight.

It was just like I’d told Reid: it takes years and one minute past desperation.

I waited that one minute.

It wasn’t about theif; it was about thewhen. I collapsed into the lumpy bed at the motel I’d found when exhaustion hit and tears began fusing with the rain-streaked windshield. I stared at the mustard-colored popcorn ceiling with my tweed jacket still on and my life’s tool in my hand. I sometimes wished I had a foggy memory. That I couldn’t remember the details, the dates, the story.

It was both my gift and my curse.

And music was my navigation. I had followed the music my whole life. My guidance, my protection, my ammunition. I followed it to Austin and into the arms of my first love, only to be ripped apart. But music was loyal and stayed with me, my constant, my comfort, and, at times, my enabler.

I rolled over in bed, facing the paneled wood wall. Though I wanted nothing to do with the damn time machine in my hand, I had no choice, because despite our differences about the journey, I remained loyal and took direction. And because I followed, the road narrowed and shed light on memories that just kept circling, begging to be acknowledged long after the last note. I stared at the ticking notifications on the bottom of the screen and ignored them, opting to send a text instead.

In a shitty motel behind a bolt-locked door. Don’t worry. I love you.

The bubbles started and stopped for an eternity. He’d had time to think and he was not a happy man.

Why the fuck aren’t you home?

That’s the thing about intimacy and truly knowing the person you’re with. They always know when something’s off, no matter how casually you try to sweep your unease away. They know. It’s their job, because in the song of your life, they are the ones listening. It’s when they stop that you need to worry. He’d listened to mine. He knew when a beat was missing, or a note was forgotten. He’d memorized my song, and I was his favorite.

I’ll be home tomorrow night. I love you.