Page 32 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

Of course.

“With the huge turn out of the last few weeks and the album coming out, he’s added a shit ton more shows.”

“That’s great.”

“It’s because of you,” he says, his voice gentle.

I scoff. “Hardly. You guys are the talented ones.”

“Yeah, but what you’ve done . . . You gave us great exposure. Got people to give us a chance and build up momentum. I just want you to know how grateful I am—we—are,” he finishes quickly. “Besides, from what I’ve read, you’re pretty damn talented yourself.”

My cheeks and the tips of my ears heat but it’s not the uncomfortable feeling from earlier with Simon. This time it’s like the heat of a warm hug. God, I wish someone would hug me. “Thanks. That, uh, that means a lot to me.”

I can almost hear him smiling through the phone. “It’s the truth.”

“I should go. I have a lot of work to do. Can you give me that list?”

“Sure.”

He rattles off five additional show dates and venues with their times, and I write them all down on the notebook on my desk.

“You should come to the release party. Becks would be thrilled if you came.”

Right, Becks. “I wish I could, but I have a mountain of schoolwork to catch up on before finals.”

“Come on, you can’t take one night off?”

I could. I want to. I want to stare at his face and body and fantasize about that first meeting and how he twirled my hair. How that all stopped in an instant.

“I shouldn’t. But maybe some other time.”

“Promise?”

There it is again. That soothing, familiar feeling spreads throughout every cell in my body. Almost like the altercation withSimon never happened. My heart slows and my knee that’s been bouncing uncontrollably is finally still.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I promise.”

A long silence stretches, and it’s strangely intimate. How it feels like he’s right beside me. How dare he.

“I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Dave.”

“Bye, Izzy.”

There’s a charged pause until finally I place the phone back on the receiver. Before I can fall down a self-obsessive spiral, the phone rings again, and again, and again. And soon enough the office is closing and I have to haul the typewriter all the way back to my campus apartment in order to have my article typed up before the deadline tomorrow.

CHAPTER 11

Five Years Ago

DAVE

It’s dark by the time I open the back door into the kitchen. There’s dirty dishes covering the counters and spilled milk that seems to have dripped onto the floor—hours ago, it seems, from the way it’s congealed on the tile. My nose scrunches at the smell as I decide I’ll try to tackle the mess in the morning. Opening the fridge, I grab a soda then head for the stairs.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

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