Page 4 of Lost Lyrics

“Okay.” I bobbed my head in some way that resembled a nod, then wiped my hand down my face. “We just miss having you around. Miss playing every day. I need to work toward something, not nothing.”

Music was such a big part of who I was. Without it, a huge void lingered in my chest. The unknown bred unwanted stress. I needed deadlines. Goals. Timeframes...to work on a new album.

“I’m not missing LA.” Slip stared across the ocean. “I need this break.”

“I understand that. And want the best for you. But you’ve gotta fucking come back.” My heart hurt without having Slip only a couple miles away.

“I don’t want to risk fucking up.” Apprehension quaked low in Slip’s tone. “My hip is good, but I don’t want to re-injure it. When I’m more confident about being in control around booze and drugs, I’ll let you know. Mads and I need more timetogether.”

“That’s cool.” I pulled the reins back on my tone and dialed down my volume. I didn’t want to upset him. “We all just love you, care about you, and miss you as much as we miss Phil.”

“At least I’m still kicking.” Slip threw me a lop-sided smirk.

I placed my hand across my heart and dipped my chin. “And for that, I will be forever thankful. Don’t ever scare us again.”

“Then don’t pressure me to come back.” He was serious, but so was I. Slip needed a little nudge and a ton of reassurance to let him know how much he meant to me and the guys, if nothing else.

“We’re not The Flintlocks without you.” I meant that with all my heart. “Our fucking lives depend on you.”

He winced, stared toward the sand, then nodded. Puffing air through his nose, he smirked. “So much for no pressure.”

“No. No pressure.” Softening my tone, I winked at him and let the conversation rest. “Not today. It’s Phil’s day.” I picked up the urn, hugged it tight to my chest and headed toward the low rocks that led out into the water. I stared toward the horizon, drew in a deep breath, and took off the lid.

Everything seemed to still.

No sound hit my ears. No wind touched my face. My heart dared not beat.

Images of Phil laughing, dancing, and playing his guitar flickered through my mind. As I stared at the gray ash, a calm washed over me. A lone tear slid down my face, but I smiled.Yeah, this is right. What he wants.

“Goodbye, bro.” I whispered. “For now. Not forever. Love you.”

Everyone gathered around and hugged me. They placed a hand on the urn and said their goodbyes.

After a gentle wave crashed on the shore and slowly retreated, I tipped Phil’s ashes into the water. In slow, languidrolls, they drifted out, past the rocks and into the depths of the deep, blue sea.

I stood huddled next to my friends. Each one of us held a hand over our hearts and watched the serene waves take Phil toward the setting sun.

I said one silent last prayer.Help me get the band back together. Can you do that? Please?

If Sutton was my wife and my band was back together, life would be complete.Perfect.

At least I could do something about one of those things.

And I couldn’t wait.

Chapter 2

TIA

In my storage room at the back of the garage, I opened a plastic tub and took out the top notebook. Holding it to my nose, I inhaled the smell of paper, searching for a lingering scent of him...ofPhil. I smiled at the faint hint of cigarette and pot teasing my nostrils. Memories flooded my mind as I smoothed my hand over the worn edges of the old spiral-bound book. Phil’s messy handwriting was scribbled across the cover. Each page had turned yellow, wrinkled, and faded. But his words marked every leaf. Lyrics. Thoughts. Music.

Three more notebooks peered up at me from their resting place in the box.

I’d read every one when Phil had given them to me...no, thrown them at me...after we’d broken up. I’d tossed them, along with most of my belongings, into storage when I’d moved to Chicago. I’d forgotten I had them until I was unpacking things into my new home I’d bought with Lewis.

When I’d found them, I’d re-read them. I’d laughed. Cried. And at the beach today, I’d had an overwhelming feeling to share them. Maybe Phil was talking to me fromthe other side. Who knew? But the things Phil had written weren’t just about me. There were many songs that were about the guys, too.There were moments of happiness, darkness, and a crazy lot of fun. It was time to hand them on.

Everyone was here, at Lewis’s and my place, after spreading Phil’s ashes. The timing was perfect.

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