Page 175 of Paint the Town, Dove
Scarlett had a radar for things like this.
So when I went home that night, found her in one of my old tees with a vengeance for Yasmine in her eyes, I sat her down and said, “This isn’t the end.”
“I already called for journalists with the New Yorker, Times and the Journal. They know about the cheating with Pierce. I’m going to bury that fucking girl in a pile of her own –”
“Dove.” I handed over Tav’s card.
“Arc & Shield Records?” She swiped out her laptop, fingers flying over the keys as she researched Tav and the label. “Huh. Wicked Night and Dopamine Healy, not bad. Still early on but a they’re gaining traction,” she scrolled on, “he seems…”
“Solid?” I said, leaning closer to her, inhaling the scent of vanilla and cinnamon hearts. “Have you been eating…”
“Shut up,” she waved.
I kissed her forehead, smiling at the thought of her loving the candy she once hated. The candy I gave her.
The candy I could afford.
I’d buy her the whole world if I could.
And she’d still eat cinnamon hearts.
“I’ll call up a few of the managing heads tomorrow, let me do some research before we jump the gun on anything.” She shooed me away. “There’s food in the kitchen, are you… okay, Ryden?”
I couldn’t explain it.
Like lightning or something zapped me ramrod straight.
It was that feeling of… belonging.
Knowing you were right where you needed to be. Knowing the course was mapped out right in front of you, the sun was finally clearing.
I took a sip of water from the glass on the console, looking down at my Dove. All legs, red hair tied in a bun, toothpaste stained into my old Metallica tee.
It was the alcohol making me feel like this. It had to be. The overwhelmingurge to kiss her. To claim what was mine.
Something bubbled inside me.
Something changed.
Was this a sign from God? Tav? Arc & Shield?
It wasn’t Scarlett, no.
God gave her to me a long time ago.
“I’m all good, Dove,” I smiled. “If this is legit, we’ve got music to make and hearts to steal.”
She stared at me with hope, not pity. I needed that.
I needed her.
“That we do,” she replied, leaning back into the couch. “So what’s next, then? Start over? Burn the dead?”
I nodded, lips curling up at the thought of the phoenix.
Emory. Scarlett.
Me.
