In the Lyrics Page 24

  “Goodbye, Colby,” I mumble. I always was an emotional drunk. Making my way out the front door, I lean against the brick wall and wait for my cab to come. I’m not drunk enough to ignore the consequences of drunk driving.

  Instead, I hum a song to myself.

  “I know that song,” the same familiar voice of my past states as he nears me. The dim light of a street light highlights Colby’s face.

  “Colby,” I mumble. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but his name escapes my lips before I can stop it.

  Walking closer to me he begs, “Hensley, don’t do this.” He doesn’t have to say what he doesn’t want me to do. I already know. I can feel it. From the moment I saw his face behind the bar and heard his voice, I could feel myself slipping. “Don’t do it. Please just get in this cab and go back to wherever you came from. Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

  Drunk or not, I can tell he is in pain. It may not be the gut wrenching agony of losing a loved one, but to me the pains are equivalent. Losing him was the worst kind of hurt I’ve ever experienced. But standing here, face to face with the only man I’ve ever loved, the ache in my heart is unimaginable. I want so badly to reach out and touch him, to pull him near and hug him, but I can’t. There’s a boundary I know I can’t cross. Who am I to sulk when I’m the one that inflicted this pain on us both?

  “Colby, I’m sorry.” Leaning up from the wall, I grasp my phone and check the time. The cab should be here any minute. I walk towards the road, leaving him standing near the exit sign of the bar. The lights of a car beam across my body, and the driver puts it into park and then gets out.

  “Excuse me, did either of you call a cab?” he asks.

  I nod, and he comes around to the other side of the car and opens the back door. I climb in without looking back, because I know if I do, if I see his face, I’m liable to throw all reasoning out the window and run back to him. To my safe haven, to the only real place I know I’ll feel at home, in his arms.

  WATCHING HER DRIVE away felt worse than the first time she left me. At least then there was hope I would see her again. I had faith that we could make it through anything, but I’d been wrong. The distance and time proved too big a barrier in our relationship, but the breaking point was that night. Michael was our breaking point, not the miles that hung between us. I’m not putting all of the blame on her. It’s my fault we grew apart too. I’m no saint. As much as I’d like to think I did everything right, I know that’d be a lie. I remember sitting for days waiting for her phone calls, I’d listen to old voice messages over and over just to hear her voice. When she did call, I felt like I could breathe again, but our calls were always cut short. Dusty said I should just give her some time to get acquainted with her new lifestyle, but as time went on, nothing changed. Things only got worse when I flew there and all hell broke loose. That was an eye opener. Realizing I was second and music was her real number one hurt like shit. But I set her up for it. I failed us. If I would have just agreed to sign with Smashtown, I would have been the one to leave. I would have made sure we stayed in contact through everything, and I wouldn’t have let the attention and stardom change me.

  Who knows what I would have done? It’s just easier to play the good guy and throw the blame on her. It’s what I’ve been doing for the past eleven months. But seeing her here, tonight, the look in her eyes, she looked lost, like a woman begging for mercy without words. Holding my fists at my sides, I watch her step inside the cab knowing that I failed her too.

  “Dude, what are you doin’ out here? There are people waiting,” Mitch shouts from inside the open door. He seems irate.

  “I just needed some fresh air. Give me a sec and I’ll be good.”

  Pull yourself together, man. She isn’t the girl you fell in love with.

  Walking back inside, I serve the people standing at the bar and then walk over to where she was sitting. Picking up her trash and bottle, I notice a small paper folded under her empty glass.

  Hensley 865-452-0102

  Looking left then right, no one is paying attention. Did she leave this for me? Why would she do that? Does she still care about me? No, it couldn’t be. I overheard Mitch ask her to play something. Maybe she left it for him. Or maybe she really did leave it for me. Grabbing the napkin, I stuff it into my jeans pocket. Whether it’s for me or not, I don’t want her telephone number circulating the bar. At least that’s what I tell myself.

  My shift comes to an end, so I take it upon myself to drink a much needed beer. Mitch already left for the night and all of the chairs are put up. Except one on the small stage. Grabbing my bottle, I walk through the vacant tables, and climb the stairs. My old guitar is still up here. Mitch bought it from me a while ago, claiming people who weren’t talented needed it for open mic night. The memory makes me laugh out loud. This was my baby, until Hensley came along. But still, grabbing the neck of it, my hands fit perfectly around its body, just like they did around hers.

  Dammit. Why do you keep referring everything to her?

  Sitting down on the chair, I bring the guitar to my lap and strum it. The strings are all worn out and it needs to be tuned, but no one is here to hear me so I play it anyhow. It’s strange how fast I remember the movements of my fingers and the strokes. It’s kinda like riding a bike. You can go decades without doing it, but yet once you climb onto the seat and grip the handles, your feet know just what to do to peddle you forward.

  For a few minutes, I get lost in the sound. My mind eases, and the stresses of today fade. Until I hear the sound of a door creaking. I stop playing and wait, but there’s nothing else. That’s creepy. I know the alarm system isn’t set. I normally do that when I leave, but the closed sign is up and all of the lights are off. I wonder what the heck is going on. Setting the guitar down and securing it to its stand, I stand up and look around the room. It’s empty.

  “Hello…hello, it’s just me.”

  Hensley.

  What is she doing back here, and more importantly how did she get here? Looking out the window, I can still see her parked car. At least she’s not dumb enough to drive drunk.

  I hear the sound of her boots walking on the old wood floors as her shadow appears. Jumping off the stage, I walk closer. “Did you forget something?”

  Have you ever seen one of those sappy romance movies where the woman runs into the man’s arms and kisses him? I only know from being forced by Hensley to watch them with her every Sunday for months on end. The kiss looks so sweet and romantic, but it reminds us that it’s only a movie and things like that don’t actually happen in real life. When was the last time you saw something like that happening? Right, I didn’t think you could think of one. It’s because it’s fake. The movies are fake, the songs that make you think things like those scenes happen, they’re all fake.

  Those kisses don’t really exist…but as Hensley saunters towards me, my heart stops beating. I’m standing in the middle of a rundown bar hoping that the universe is in my favor and she kisses me, like those fake movies. Her face looks like an angel’s for a split second before she trips over the mop resting against a table and falls flat on her ass.

  I stifle a laugh as I bend down. “Are you okay?”

  “My ego isn’t but my butt is.” She smiles bashfully.

  Kneeling in front of her I ask, “What are you doing here?”

  She’s sitting on her ass with her legs sprawled out in front of her. Playing with her fingers like she used to do, she says, “I always said if I ever got the chance to kiss you again I wouldn’t pass it up. I know you asked me not to do this, but I’m drunk and I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Her hand reaches up and grasps me around my neck. Begging myself not to lose my cool, I remember what her touch felt like. The feeling has been burned into my memory. My body stiffens as her lips meet mine. It’s a foreign feeling at first, but then I get used to her tongue roaming my mouth, not missing a lap. Her teeth nip at my bottom lip, just like she used to do. Knowing i
t drives me wild, I inhale her scent, remembering how things used to be between us. My brain must’ve shut off because I know if I was thinking clearly there is no way I’d let her stalk in here and own me like she is in this moment. Thinking with my heart and my cock, I push her backwards so she is lying on the floor. Her hair is sprawled out all around her head, and her mascaraed eyelashes are so long they’re touching her eyebrows. She is breathtakingly beautiful. She’s here, but she’s not mine.

  Emotion floods me as I recall the countless emails she didn’t answer, the messages that were ignored, and the flowers she never said thank you for. Anger replaces my need and desire to be close to her. But she’s right. At least we had one last kiss. Now we can both lay what was us to rest.

  My lips part as I pull away from her embrace. “It’s too late to call a cab, and you’re still too drunk to drive. Give me a few minutes to lock up and I’ll take you home.”

  Disappointment spreads across her flawless face. It’s a shitty feeling knowing I put it there, but it’s an even worse feeling knowing she crushed me without an explanation, a sorry, or a goodbye. She doesn’t protest though, not like the old Hensley would have, the girl with the attitude and foul mouth. Instead this version of herself stands up, dusts her clothes off, and nods with a small smile.

  Walking towards the back office, I set the alarm and grab my jacket. When I come out, she’s still standing in the same place, except her hand is covering her face. I hope to God she isn’t crying. Hearing a woman you love cry is the worst thing in the entire world.

  A woman you love? Holy shit, pull yourself together!

  “Hensley, are you ready?” I try to hide my true feelings and appear as cold and distant as possible.

  Moving her hand away from her face, she looks up and smiles. Long gone is the sad face she wore only moments ago. I wish I could pull myself together and stow my feelings as quickly as she just did.

  “Yes, I’m ready.”

  The drive to her house is a quiet one. There’s so much that could be said, but I don’t make the first move. Why should I? And why do I keep questioning myself and everything I’m feeling right now?

  “I’m glad your mom left the light on. Be careful walking in.”

  Tilting her head to the side she says, “Remember when I left, you said you’d always leave the light on for me?”

  Damn her.

  “So you’d be able to find your way home…”

  Licking her lips, she sighs. “Is your porch light on, Colby?”

  Turning away from her, I look out my window to the porch light shining brightly. I don’t know how to respond. Honestly, I don’t even know if my porch light is on. Brittani says it wastes electricity and since she pays half of the bill, she doesn’t think it needs to be on all the time. Now if she’s not literally asking me, and figuratively asking, the answer would be yes. The light in my heart is on, it’s always on. Even when it dims from the pain of her absence, it’s on – burning, waiting to guide her home.

  “No, Sunshine, it’s not on.” I lie like a damn fool. “You’d better go. I don’t want your mom checking on you and you not being there. She’s been through enough…we all have.”

  Opening her door, she pauses to say something, but decides not to. I watch as she walks up her driveway and up her porch steps. Before I drive off, she turns the porch light off.

  “BRITTANI, WHERE ARE my pants I wore on Saturday?” I shout from the bedroom.

  Turning the corner, she tosses my folded jeans onto the bed in front of me.

  “Thanks. Did you wash them?” I’m curious if she found Hensley’s number in my pocket.

  “I’m not your damn momma, but yes I did.”

  Hmm, it’s unlike her to find something so alarming in my pocket and not say anything. Trying to cover up my tracks, I feed her a small lie, “Oh, shit. Mitch gave me a number to a few artists I’m supposed to call and get booked for a gig. Did you find it in my pocket?”

  “Nope. Sorry, they were all empty. Gotta run. Bye!” Spinning on her heels, she hauls ass out of my bedroom.

  Rushing out the bedroom door, she confirms that it was in there. I’m not a fool, and she’s tried to lie and play me before. I’ve learned all of her deceitful tricks. What the hell would she do with it? As soon as I hear the apartment door shut, I walk out of my room and across the hall to hers – Dusty’s old room.

  Rummaging through her drawers, I come up empty handed and pissed.

  NURSING A HANGOVER isn’t fun. Actually, it’s hell. I mean, why on earth would someone consume something that’s going to make them feel like they have the flu and the biggest migraine of their lives all at once? Running to the bathroom for the third time this morning, I hear the buzzing of my cell phone rattling in my purse.

  Debating not answering it, I know I have some explaining to do to Robert. I just don’t know if I’m ready to yet. He’s probably all types of mad at me for leaving the day of our magazine cover shoot, but this was a family emergency. Closing my eyes, I can picture him standing in his suit looking at his expensive watch and counting down the minutes until I’m back in California.

  Opening my purse, I grab my cell phone, notice that the battery is on nine percent, crawl back to my bed, and plug it in behind the nightstand. There’s a new text message, and the number listed has my parents’ area code.

  “Mitch?” I question myself out loud. Sliding the icon over, the message appears, and my jaw drops to the floor.

  Welcome back, bitch. I don’t know why my boyfriend would have your number stuffed in his pocket, but just so we’re on the same page here, Colby is mine. You left him and I found him. So back off and consider this your only warning.

  Anger explodes in my veins like an erupting volcano. My mind races as my fingers work hard to keep up with it.

  Who is this?

  I finally manage to type and then hit send.

  Several seconds later, the phone chimes in my hand.

  Brittani.

  The bile that I’ve been desperately trying to keep down all morning rises in my throat. Just the sound of saying her name out loud makes me want to puke, but even more so hearing she and Colby are dating. Why on earth would he stoop so low? Did I really leave him that broken that all he thinks he can get with is someone like her? Doesn’t he know I’m here? I still love him. I never stopped. Leaning my head over my mattress, the contents of my stomach empty out onto my wooden floor. Mom will kill me, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Jumping up, I wipe my mouth off, then grab some towels and clean up my mess.

  I guess it’s true that when it rains, it pours. My dad just died, and now I learn that my ex-boyfriend, the only person I’ve ever loved, is dating a tramp. No, Brittani is a hundred times worse than a tramp. She’s so gross my mind can’t even name a word that describes her.

  Walking towards the bathroom, I stuff my puke-stained towels in the trash can and start the shower. Stepping in, the water is scalding, but does nothing to erase the image of him with her as the water beats down on my naked back.

  “Hensley,” my mother’s voice calls from behind the locked bathroom door. “Are you okay? It stinks in your room.”

  “Yeah, Mom. I’m fine,” I shout over the running water.

  “I’m going to run out for a few and stock up on some groceries. Mrs. Blair left some flowers on the porch with a note asking if you’d stop by and see her. I think she’d really appreciate it.”

  Lathering the shampoo in my hair, I yell, “Okay. Be careful.” She doesn’t say anything else, which is good. My head is still throbbing and my stomach is still turning from the news.

  After my shower, I get dressed and decide to leave my phone on the charger. The only person that would need to reach me other than Robert, whom I’m ignoring, is Mom, and as she so nicely guilted me into it, she knows where to find me.

  MY MOM’S CAR is still parked at Mitch’s, so I decide to open the garage and see if old Betsy still runs. It’s only been a little under a year s
ince she’s been driven, so I don’t see why she wouldn’t. She’s never failed me before. Turning her over a couple of times, the engine roars. I stop and fill her gas tank up before heading towards the farm. Keeping my head down as I pump my gas, I try and blend in as much as possible.

  Driving up the steep hill, Whispering Hills is a sight for sore eyes. Everything looks the same except the overgrown grass. Wondering where Logan is these days, I see Mrs. Blair standing on the front porch waving me towards their house instead of the center.

  Stepping out of the car, she greets me with open arms. “It’s so nice to see a friendly face around here.”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Mrs. Blair. How have you been?”

  Shrugging her shoulders she seems saddened by my question. “I’ve been here. But that’s enough about me, please come in. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man, a hard worker, and a great father. Please accept my condolences.” She reaches to grab my hand. “Now I just made a fresh pitcher of sweet tea this morning. I was hoping you’d get my flowers and decide to stop by. Come sit down in here with me.”

  Following her to the small kitchen table, I sit in the chair across from her. “Where’s Logan these days? It’s been a while since I talked to him.”

  “He’s been great. He’s actually teaching riding lessons down at the fairgrounds as we speak, and finishing up his student teaching.” A giant smile spreads across her face and I can tell she is extremely proud of her son.

  “Student teaching? Wow, what an accomplishment. I remember him very rarely attending classes,” I laugh. “I guess he changed, for the better. You should be really proud of him and of what a good job you did raising him.”

  “I really am. He’s grown so much and he’s really accepted his daddy’s new girlfriend. I’m blessed he didn’t let the divorce hinder his college education,” she admits.