Mister Dick

“No,” she replied softly.

“Sex would complicate things more. And trust me, it took a hell of a lot to push you away.” I glanced down at the bulge that was saluting Echo like the general he was. “Whatever this is could be important. It could be different, maybe. We gotta take the higher road. Take things slow. I’m not the same guy I was, and I before we get any deeper, I want to find out who the real Echo Mansfield is.”

Her arms were wrapped around her body. A defense mechanism. I took my cue to give her some time to think.

“Look. I’m gonna grab a shower, and then we’ll make something to eat. We’ll talk some more.” I dropped a kiss on the top of her head and then headed for the bedroom.

I stepped into the shower and let the hot water pour over my body for at least twenty minutes. Who knew growing the hell up and making the right decisions would be so hard? I didn’t move. Tried not to think. I closed my eyes and eventually relaxed enough to clean up and grab some clothes. I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, rubbing a towel over my wet hair as I walked into the living area.

Echo stood by the door, but she wasn’t alone.

“Look who found me,” she said slowly. Her younger sister, Lyric, was bundled against the cold, and behind her was a tall mountain of muscle. The dude gave me a nod and disappeared outside.

“Hey, Boyd.” Lyric crossed the room and gave me a big hug. Shy and quiet, the girl was barely twenty, cute as a button with her big round glasses and wide blue eyes. I’d always had a soft spot for her.

“Hey,” I replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “It’s been a while.” I frowned. “What’s going on?”

She stepped back, and awkward silence fell between us. Maybe she still smelled the sex in the room. She cleared her throat and attempted a smile. “We were worried about Echo and finally managed to track down the Uber driver who brought her here.”

“We?” Echo snorted. “You mean you were worried. I doubt anyone else noticed I was gone.”

Her sister rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Echo? Everybody’s been going nuts.” Lyric glared at her sister. “You took off without a word to anyone and just disappeared. You never should have left like that.”

“I shouldn’t do a lot of things.” Echo cleared her throat and then looked at me. I got her meaning and, hiding a scowl, shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. She was dressed in my clothes, with a pair of old boots from the closet on her feet.

“You’re leaving,” I said, taking a step toward her.

“Yes.” One word. Nothing more. And yet the space that surrounded us was filled with words and thoughts and feelings we hadn’t explored.

“You could stay.” I watched her closely. She glanced at her sister as if looking for advice. But Lyric said nothing, and after a few seconds, Echo broke the silence.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You’re still going to hide, then.” I was pissed.

Pissed at her for giving up so easily. Pissed at me for letting her in in the first place. Pissed at her sister for showing up before we’d finished whatever the hell it was we’d started.

Echo picked up her bag, which she must have thrown together when I was in the shower, and grabbed her jacket. She touched the guitar that lay where she’d left it hours earlier. Her long, delicate fingers moved across the fretboard and pick guard. She looked at me then, her eyes unreadable.

I thought she would say something, but she took a step back and headed out into the cold winter air.

Lyric paused and offered a small smile. “She’s complicated, Boyd, and so are you. And your history is ugly.”

“No shit.”

“That’s what scares her. The past.” She reached for the handle. “The thing is, she’s worth the effort. She just doesn’t know it.” She paused. “Don’t give up on her.”

And then I was left alone with nothing but the wind rattling the windows. I had my songs. I could go home and record one hell of an album. I was excited in a way I hadn’t been in a long, long time because the music we’d created was on a level most artists take years to get to. It was Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson. Johnny Cash and June Carter. It was Hank Williams and Stevie Ray Vaughn wrapped up in a glass fucking bubble.

But I didn’t want to do it alone.

The sun broke out just then, blasting its way through the window to light up the room in a swath of fire. It gave me hope. And an idea. A crazy and probably-not-gonna-work idea that fired me up.

Echo wanted to run back to the city and hide.

Didn’t mean I couldn’t follow.

11