Page 87 of Shattered Melodies

And I would fight for him, would bleed for him. Would walk through fire and crawl over broken glass, would move mountains and part oceans. That I would never leave him again. Never let him go, never let him doubt for a single second that he was loved beyond measure, beyond reason.

With those words echoing in my head, I turned the key and started the engine. The old truck roared to life, the familiar rumble settling into my bones like a second heartbeat.

I pulled out of Liam’s driveway, my mind still whirling with thoughts of him. Of us, of what we had once been and what we could be again.

If only I could find a way to make it work. To bridge the gap between our worlds, to bring him back into my life in a way that felt real and lasting and true.

But as I drove down the quiet, tree-lined streets of Oakwood, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it might already be too late. That Liam had moved on, had found someone else to love and cherish and build a life with.

Someone who wasn’t me. Someone who could give him everything I couldn’t, who could be there for him in all the ways that I had failed.

The thought made my chest ache, made my throat tighten with a grief that I couldn’t quite name.

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face as I turned onto the main road. The sun was high in the sky now, the day already warming up to a balmy, mid-summer heat.

I reached out and flipped on the radio, needing something to fill the silence. To drown out the doubts and the fears and the endless, aching longing that threatened to consume me.

And that’s when I heard it. That voice, that soft, soulful croon that seemed to reach right into my chest and squeeze my heart.

Corey King. And as I listened to him sing, as I let the smooth, honeyed tones wash over me like a balm, I felt something settle in my chest. A sense of peace, of rightness that I hadn’t felt in longer than I could remember.

Because even though I didn’t know Corey King, even though I had never met him or seen him perform there was something about his music that felt familiar. Something that reminded me of Liam.

I pulled into the parking lot of the local pawn shop, my hands shaking slightly as I turned off the engine. I had never been inside this place before, had always looked down on the people who frequented it as somehow lesser than myself. But now, I understood. Understood the desperation that could drive a person to give up their most prized possessions, to trade in pieces of their soul for a few measly dollars.

I grabbed the guitar case from the back of the truck and made my way inside, my heart pounding in my chest like a jackhammer.

The guy behind the counter looked up as I approached, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He was a weaselly-looking dude, with greasy hair and a face that seemed permanently set in a sneer.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice dripping with boredom and disdain.

I cleared my throat, trying to summon up some of that easy charm that had always come so naturally to me. “Yeah, I was wondering if you might be interested in buying this guitar. It’s a vintage Gibson, in pretty good condition.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, his expression turning slightly less hostile. “Let me take a look.”

I handed over the case, watching as he opened it up and ran his hands over the smooth, polished wood. He plucked at the strings, his head cocked to the side as he listened to the rich, full-bodied sound.

“Hmm,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “It’s a nice piece. I could probably give you a thousand for it.”

I felt my stomach drop, my heart sinking like a stone. A thousand dollars. It was barely a drop in the bucket compared to what we owed the bank, barely enough to keep us afloat for more than a month or two.

And as I stood there, staring down at the guitar that had been my lifeline for so many years I knew that I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let it go, couldn’t give up that piece of myself for a few measly dollars.

Because this guitar it was more than just an instrument. It was a symbol of everything that I had ever wanted, everything that I had ever dreamed of.

It was the music that flowed through my veins, the passion that burned in my heart. It was the connection that I had always felt to something greater than myself, something that transcended the mundane realities of everyday life.

And I couldn’t let that go. Couldn’t let it slip away, couldn’t let it become just another casualty of a world that seemed determined to chew me up and spit me out.

So I took a deep breath, my hands shaking slightly as I reached out and took the guitar case back from the pawn shop guy.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. “I can’t sell it. It means too much to me.”

The guy shrugged, his expression turning back to one of bored indifference. “Suit yourself, man. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I nodded and then I was walking out of the shop, the guitar case clutched tightly in my hand like a lifeline.

Like a reminder of who I was, of what I stood for. Of the dreams and the passions and the unshakable belief in myself that had always been my guiding light, even in the darkest of times.

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