Struggling for air.
“We’ve spent our whole damn lives working toward this, Em. Our whole lives. And now, everything we’ve wanted is right there, waiting on us to take it. And what? You’re just going to walk away? Give it up? After everything?” His words were a rush of resentment and confusion, as if he’d gotten swept up in my turmoil and didn’t know how to get free of it.
But that was the problem.
We were tied, our success wound up in my decision.
Agony raked my throat, and my voice scraped with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Rich. I don’t know what I want or if I can keep going on like this. I’m so sorry.”
Disbelief pulled through his expression, disgust coming in right behind it. “So, you’re just gonna make that choice for us all?” His green eyes blinked a thousand times, as if he were trying to see me.
As if maybe he no longer recognized me.
It seemed about right because I no longer recognized myself.
“What about Leif and Rhys?” he demanded.
The faces of our drummer and bassist spun through my mind.
My best friends. The two guys who were as close as family and just as important. I was struck with the truth that I was letting every single one of them down.
“They have given their whole fuckin’ lives for this band.” Richard’s voice was low and severe, conveying a message my spirit didn’t want to receive. “What about every fucking mile we spent on the road? Every venue we ever begged to let us play? The nights we went hungry, so goddamn broke we had to choose between food and the gas to get us to the next city so we could play? What about the pact we made that the most important thing to all of us was chasing down a dream? What about that?”
“I don’t know if I can do it,” I whispered, trying to hold myself together and not come apart right there. Trying not to throw the blame at him. To demand that he take some responsibility. But I didn’t know how to form the words. Didn’t know if I could admit what had happened because of it. I was terrified that would be the last fallen brick that sent me crashing.
Richard turned away for a beat, scrubbing his face with his palms and tipping his head to the night sky.
His muscled body vibrated with indignation and ire. Barely constrained. Getting ready to burst.
As if he couldn’t contain it a second longer, he flew back around, fury flooding from his mouth. “You don’t get to do this, Emily. You don’t. This is bullshit. You were all in, just like the rest of us, and you don’t get to walk now.”
“I just . . . I need a little time,” I begged.
Time to figure this out. To fix this. Repair all those broken bits floating free.
“We don’t have any time left. This is our big break. The culmination of years of blood, sweat, and tears. You have cold feet, Em. That’s it. It’s going to be fine.” This time, it was his turn to plead.
Cold feet.
I only wished.
I backed away another step. “I’m not ready. I’m sorry, but I’m not.”
My brother roared, shouting his disgust and disbelief in the empty, stagnant air. He snatched a discarded beer bottle from the ground and threw it against the brick wall. It crashed, shattering into a million pieces, raining to the ground like the dreams I could feel coming apart around us.
“Fuck this bullshit!” He whirled on me and jabbed his index finger in my direction. “And fuck you.”
“Richard,” I said through the lump in my throat.
He backed away, putting up his palms, his mouth twisting in outrage. “No, Em. Don’t try to cover up what you’re doing with a lame apology. It’s not enough.”
Didn’t he get it?
I’d already given more than I could take. For him. To protect him.
He left me standing there, gasping and bent over. He flew up the steps and disappeared inside. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, a wall that went up between us and left me bitterly alone.
Alone and afraid.
My hands found my hair, and I yanked hard, and I screamed as if it might expel the loathing invading every cell. It just echoed back like a vacant, endless silence.
Unable to remain in it, I ran, racing out of the alley as if I might stand the chance of leaving it all behind. Just more crap tossed into the dumpsters.
I doubted I could run that fast, but oh, was I going to try.
I hit the sidewalk, my wedge heels slapping the concrete, the hazy glow of lights coming down through the dense Savannah summer night and infiltrating the air with an eerie glow.
It was just after ten, and the Historic District was alive, roiling with bodies and voices, a bated disorder that clung to the atmosphere.