Page 67 of Heartstring

Part of me understands. I’m glad I was never put in his position because God knows I’d probably have taken the opportunity. But dammit, I wanted him to tell me face to face. I wanted the chance to tell him to do it.

I didn’t want to strike a deal with the devil.

But he left, and I stayed, and that was the end of that.

I shouldn’t be here. If his dad finds out I’m breaking his precious contract, he’ll find a way to sue my ass from here to Mars. My intention is to look at Mik one last time. The first in ten years. And then move on with my life.

Four years ago, I bumped into a young musician who dared me to play with him at an open mic night. It had been six years since I’d done it. That night, I felt alive for the first time in years.

Then Seymour introduced me to his brother, Porter, and I knew my life was about to change.

I never thought I’d have another best friend. Someone I can talk to, tell all my secrets to, and someone who helped me get past the grief without asking for anything in return.

It’s funny how I always thought love was meant to happen the way I met Mik. If there’s such a thing as love at first sight, that was it. The moment he tripped into the music room and nearly landed face-down on his books, I fell for him.

It’s taken me years to consider getting up and moving on. Why do I even resist it? It’s not like he’ll ever come back home, knock on my door, and take me like I’m cool water on a sunny day.

I want to ask Porter out. The longer we’re together, the more I want to give him the remaining pieces of my heart. He knows I might never be able to give him the whole thing, but he deserves better.

So here I am, a thousand miles from the man who’s made his feelings very clear, staring at the man who broke my heart.

I must be a masochist.

My eyes never stray from Mik for the duration of the concert. My trained ear picks up the sound of his guitar from among the other instruments. I can hear his voice singing in perfect harmony with the lead singer.

Hall of Fame is perfection on stage. I can’t even bring myself to hate them right now.

Before the concert is over, I make my way backstage.

Yeah, it’s not enough to see him from a distance. I had to spend extra money to watch him walk from the stage to the dressing rooms.

A few dozen fans gather around. Everyone’s excited to see the band close up.

My hands feel clammy and my heart beats faster.

What if he sees me?

The thought didn’t occur to me when I bought the VIP ticket.

I take a deep breath and wait. In the background, the crowd asks for one more song. Just one more.

As soon as I hear the melody from the guitar, I know the song. I know it because I wrote it.

After signing away all the rights to our cowritten songs, I cried for days. It was a small price to pay to give my dad a chance, but it wasn’t painless.

The anger came later when I realized they never used any of the songs. It’s as if all the music we made together was worthless, and since I couldn’t play it anymore, those songs disappeared like they never existed.

But they’re playing this one. The song I wrote about us, about what we were and what we will never be. A cathartic song written a million years after I last saw him. After I last felt his warm skin beneath my fingers.

I don’t even notice the music stops until a bunch of girls scream at a pitch heard by dogs in Europe. Moments later, the band walks past us. They stop to sign autographs and take photos.

A couple of big dudes try to move them along, but it’s clear the guys will give their fans the time they need.

Mik smiles at everyone like he hasn’t just spent an hour and a half on stage being a rock star.

My eyes are trained on him, trying to absorb every detail I can. I heard the band and his fans call him Thor. It doesn’t suit him, but I can see it. His hair is still as blond as it ever was and his eyes are still the same shade of blue.

Did I expect his eyes to change?