Page 123 of Reverb
Right now, though? Didn’t want to pour any energy into anger. The stalking and the incident at the night show were both on the list of questions reporters and media personnel were forbidden to ask her. No one madethatmistake anymore—not after the third time the band had walked out of an interview and the journalist had been told they’d never gain another session with the band.
Marcella had practically rubbed her hands with glee each time she’d handed down that edict.
But without the anger there to fuel Mish, most of what dwelled in her was an ache for what could have been. That was the worst kind of mourning—the constant taste of a dream that had died.
Mish paused, that phrase echoing in her head. She didn’t have a notebook like Ray did, but something compelled her to dig out a scrap of paper—an old envelope from a bill—and scribble the line down.
God knew how long it had been since she’d written a song. One line—a trite one at that—didn’t a composition make. But it still felt good to see the words on paper. She touched the ink. Maybe she could puzzle something together, even if it only ever lived in a drawer once she’d finished.
She sat down on the couch—the same one she’d shared with David months and months ago, at the start of this odd, wonderful, and crushing tour—and let more lines flow out of her.
The constant taste of a dying dream
Sadness on tap
How do you mend what will always be gone
Fill a hole that has no bottom
Take my hand and show me the sun
Walk along this path with me
Even in despair I am not alone
With you by my side
Fill the cracks in my soul tonight
Drink to the past and to the future
Be with me now and show me hope
Together we are now
She studied the words, then set the pen aside. Ray’d tell her to leave them. Come back later and take another look. That’s what he did. He’d revise, then bring them to the group and they’d listen. Make suggestions.
This probably wouldn’t get that far. But warmth spread through some of the cold places in her soul—because shecouldtake these to Ray and the band, and they would take her seriously. You needed dreams and thoughts of the future to make the now bearable.
She rubbed at her forehead, the bubbles and burbles of too many emotions making her eyes and head hurt. This needed to end—the sadness and fractured feeling. A tiny part of her said she could call David—but the greater part of her rejected that option. She’d promised herself after watching her mom chase after too many of the wrong guys, that when partners left her, she’d let them go.
If David hadn’t wanted to stick around, she wasn’t going to force him to. The only way relationships ever had a hope of working was when all partners worked together.
Hell, that’s what made Twisted Wishes strong.
Mish closed her eyes and leaned back on her couch. She should get out of the apartment. Go for a walk. Get lost in the streets of the city for a while. Instead, she dozed off—then nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone started ringing.
On the screen was David’s name.
She nearly let it go to voicemail—but that seemed worse than answering. “Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice was soft, but full of all the grit she remembered, as if he were keeping his emotions in check. “If I told you I was an absolute utter fucking fool of a man, could I buy you a beer?”
She was glad he wasn’t in the room, because her heart cracked and those damn tears of hers leaked out of her eyes. She answered him in a calm and steady voice. “I think we could work something out.”
“Mish, baby, I’m an absolute utter fucking fool of a man.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I don’t expect anything. I just want to apologize in person.”
The tears wouldn’t stop. He didn’t expect anything, but this one phone call meant everything. Yes, David still had work she expected him to do, but this was a start. “How about you meet me at that bar you once came to my rescue in?”
