Page 86 of Composed
She ignores me. “But, have you tried talking to her? Getting to know the woman she is today?”
“I don’t know how,” I say simply. “I’ve spent ten years imagining who Hendrix Moore would become. What if she doesn’t meet my expectations? Or worse, still. What if she meets every single one?”
“What would be preferable?”
“Fucked if I know.” I scrub a hand down my face and tip my head back, peeking at her through my lashes. “What would you do?”
She spins her wedding ring, her lips twisting. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Helpful.” I laugh. “Thanks for the chat, friend.”
“You’re very welcome.” A flicker of a smile crosses her lips before it disappears.
“You okay?” I ask her, scanning her face.
“Yeah. Just thinking how I ended up with only you guys as friends.” A hollow laugh slips her lip and she closes her eyes. “How sad is my life?”
I reach over and place my hand on top of hers. “Hey, we’re great friends to have. But I happen to know a woman who I’m sure would love to be your friend again.”
“Yeah?” She cracks her eyes open a slither.
“Yeah, just because I don’t know how to talk to her, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
“Are you only asking me so I can do recon for you?”
I faux gasp. “Would I ever do that?”
“Yes,” she deadpans, but her mouth twitches and she squeezes my fingers. “Send me her number,friend.”
Chaptertwenty-seven
Cole • Then
Livin’ on a Prayer – Bon Jovi
Nineteen Years Old
Ithoughtafteralmostfour years together I knew everything there was to know about my girlfriend.
Turns out, there are some secrets she still holds close to her chest.
Like the fact she’s bloody tone-deaf.
I fight the urge to plug my ears as Hendrix grips the microphone tight in her hand and belts along—completely off key and out of time—toLivin’ on a Prayeron the stage at the end of the room.
How someone so musically inclined can have zero vocal talent is beyond me.
Theo dances around her on the stage, her own microphone lax in her hand as she pirouettes.
I turn to Saint, pinning him with a glare as he snickers into his pint glass. Karaoke was his idea. And now I have to live with the knowledge that the love of my life is, in fact, not perfect.
“Did you know she was so bad?” I shout over the racket.
He guffaws. “I had no idea. I just thought she didn’t like singing. Not that shecouldn’t.”
“Fuck me. I think myears are bleeding.”
My eyes widen as Hendrix attempts the D5 and completely misses, a sharp shriek spilling through the microphone instead.
