Page 101 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

As I settle into the gentle swaying movement of the bus in my dark bed, the sound of snores begin to reach me from the bunks and I grin remembering the guys’ argument in Vegas. Snoring was never something that bothered me. Miguel had snored the few times we had been able to spend the night together.

My chest aches at the memory of his skin against mine. His kisses, so tender and innocently hesitant. In the dark with only the light of the passing street lights I can almost see his smiling, happy face before me. But he wasn’t happy with me, or at least thought there was something better out there for him. Somehow, I never seem to be enough for anyone.

Part of me is desperate to believe that he’d be happy for me. He knew this was always what I wanted. To be a real journalist. That he was young and stupid and selfish, thinking his dreams were superior. I suppose all young people think that way. That their dream is the only thing worth pursuing and to hell with everyone else. But then I think, why ismydream more important than any he ever had? The spiral continues and pulls me down until the sound of the road grows louder and louder and louder.

I clamp my hands down over my ears and turn on my side trying to muffle the noise, the thoughts, the heartbreak, all of it.

But that soft and gentle snoring breaks through. Amongst all the noise where my guilt, my fear, my shattered heart lives, it pulls me back like an anchor surfacing from the depths of some endless ocean so I can finally sleep.

I can’t besure whether it’s the lack of that gentle swaying movement or the early morning sunlight filtering in through the bus windows that wakes me. Either way, it takes a few moments to get my bearings and I nearly topple out of the bed and onto the floor.

I glance behind me where the boys’ bunks are. Everything is quiet and they’re likely all still asleep, so I take advantage and quickly get dressed, pulling on a pair of high waist jeans and a T-shirt with the band’s logo that Key gave me last night as a welcome aboard present.

Looking around, I don’t see a coffee machine, and after the night I had, I am in desperate need of caffeine. I grab my bag then peek through the front curtain to find Barney’s gone. Maybe he went to get some coffee too. I step down the bus stairs and out into the frigid damp air and immediately realize I didn’t bring a jacket with me. Spending an entire lifetime living in California and Arizona has not prepared me for dealing with northern winter temperatures.

“Shit,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. Looking around, I try to see if there’s anywhere in my immediate vicinity that could pass for a decent breakfast, when I spot the doors of a gigantic old-fashioned theater. Above me are hundreds of lightbulbs lining a carved wooden sign that reads “The Alabaster.” It’s beautiful. Old and ornate like something out of the silent film era. Below the elaborate sign is a marquee which is . . . blank? How sad.

“Isabella?”

I turn to find Dave standing a few yards away with two coffees and a brown paper bag. All powers of speech leave me as he walks forward wrapped in a leather jacket, his blond hair still abit messed up from sleep the way it was on Christmas morning after we . . .

“Why are you out here without a coat on?”

Blinking, I suddenly remember just how cold it is. “I . . . I might have forgotten to pack one.”

“You—” he starts, then swallows and gestures with one of the coffee cups back to the bus. “Get back inside, then.”

“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Where did you get that coffee? I’m dying for one.”

It’s quite possible that Dave blushes, but that could be the cold. “Oh, no, I—This is for you.”

“What?”

“I mean I got itforyou. I felt bad after how I behaved, and I know how much you need your coffee to survive. I can only imagine that need has multiplied after having to sleep on a fold down kitchen table, through snoring and my shit attitude last night.”

He gives me the coffee with a sheepish grin. My hands close around the warm paper cup, a shiver racing up my arm as my fingertips brush his. Smiling, I pull it toward me. “Thank you, and you weren’t— Last night I was out of line.”

For a long moment we stare at each other until a gust of wind blows and my body contracts from the sheer violence of the cold. Next thing I know, Dave is shoving his coffee into my hand, whipping off his jacket, and draping it over my shoulders.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up and let’s find you a coat,” Dave says with a smile. He takes his coffee back and turns to walk down the street, giving no indication that he’s cold even though he’s wearing a T-shirt with no sleeves.

He must sense I can’t get my legs to move because he looks back over his shoulder. “Come on, Disco Girl.”

Jogging behind him with my coffee cup in tow, we walk downthe empty street until we find a small boutique. A little bell jingles above us as we enter, the saleswoman’s smile brightening when she spots Dave behind me. I mean, it’s not like I can blame her. He’s hot.

Okay, focus.I’m supposed to be looking for a winter jacket. Jacket . . . jacket. There are a few mannequins standing in the center of the store, and one in particular catching my eye. There’s a gorgeous white leather cropped number with fringe detailing that catches my breath. It’s gorgeous. Completely impractical for the purpose I need it for, but I would wear it all the time. If only I was made of money.

“See anything you like?” Dave asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

I twist my lips. “Yes, but . . . not the kind of coat I should be getting.”

His eyes follow my gaze, and he points out the white jacket. “This one?”

When I nod, he glances over his shoulder and waves at the girl behind the counter. “Excuse me, could she try this on?”

My mouth drops open. “Dave, no! I can’t.”

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