Page 130 of Paint the Town, Dove
He strummed his guitar so peacefully, scribbling song lyrics while humming a melody.I’d never seen someone so organized and chaotic, someone who poured their entire being into a sheet of paper and a set of strings.
His whole heart hid beneath the lyrics of his music, the anger and love he had for his mom bleeding out through each song.
That was how he coped.
Not speaking, never speaking.
Playing, strumming, singing.
I’ve tried asking him about it, her absence in his life – the closure he never got.
He told me it was her choice, that everyone had free will, and he had no choice but to move on.
I couldn’t accept that. I had a fascination with pain, the psychology behind why people committed wrongs to those they loved.
Then I researched eagles.
Did you know that the mothers coax their young out of the nest in order to teach them how to fly?
Fledgling, I think.
I fell down a rabbit hole of articles when I found that out. I guess I found some solace in knowing that maybe… maybe if Clara really did love Ryden, that she did it for a reason.
That she had to do what she had to do because she knew Ryden would never leave this bum town, never leave her side.
That wouldn’t have been a life for him, to care for a woman who couldn’t care for herself. Maybe she knew that. Even being his mother.
Or maybe she just left because she wanted to.
I couldn’t believe that, though.
I couldn’t stomach the thought that someone couldn’t love Ryden.
No. One day, millions of people would.
One day, he’d be the biggest rock star on this planet.
And I’d be right by his side…
Helping him fly.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Scarlett
“What. The. Fuck. Ryden.”
It was lightning, and air, and heroine.
He tasted like the cinnamon hearts he gave me over a decade ago, the candies I learned to love because they were his.
Iwas his.
I’ve always been his.
This wasn’t a book, no matter how capricious.
This was real life.
