You can depend on me.
I fucked up, but I won’t do it again. Not ever.
I’m your rock. You can rely on me.
I promise.
Ya lyublyu tebya. I love you.
Oleg
She didn’t call or text after getting it. Hell, I don’t know if she even read it. Maybe she just threw the thing in the trash. Not because she despises me—I don’t think that’s the case. But because it was too painful for her.
She’s trying to make a clean break.
That’s the biggest weight that hangs over my head as I park in the lot behind Rue’s Lounge. I didn’t come early enough to get my table because I didn’t want to piss Story off. I didn’t want to fluster her before her performance or make her think she had to talk to me.
I slip in now after she’s started her first set. The place is hopping. The Storytellers are rocking the Jane’s Addiction song, “Jane Says.” Story’s hair is back to platinum blonde, and she’s wearing a dark shade of lipstick that makes her eyes pop.
I slip in and stand against the back wall. I hope when she sees me, she doesn’t ask me to leave. I pray she’s read the letter and understands that I have to be here. I have to prove to her I am the man she believed me to be.
Annie, one of the cocktail waitresses, brings me a beer without my asking.
Story slips into one of her original songs and then another. Their performance is flawless, and yet I see the wear of the week on her. She doesn’t smile or bounce as much. She’s just smooth and professional.
And then she sees me. Her gaze lands on me and sticks, but she doesn’t falter singing the words or strumming her chords.
She expected me.
So she read my letter.
She finishes her song and paces the front of the stage. “Hey. I’ve been working on a new song, do you want to hear it?”
I clap my hands as the crowd cheers.
“It’s about this guy. You probably know him. He usually sits right there.” She points at my table where some other assholes are sitting tonight.
I go still.
“I let him into my life recently, and it was good. Really good. But sometimes we run from things in our life that are good. Because having them would give us something worth losing, you know?”
She shoots a pained look my way, and people turn to see who she’s looking at.
There he is. That’s the guy she climbs, I hear the regulars saying.
“But the real heroes are the ones who keep showing up. Even when you push them away. And that’s what Oleg does for me. He’s as solid as they come. And this song is for him.”
Story puts the microphone in the stand and positions herself in front of it, legs wide.
I know you from a distance / I haven’t had a taste.
Didn’t want to let you / cuz I only like the chase.
You are in my sphere / I am in your ear,
Then you take me home, but you won’t come in.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing,
But when I’m with you / when I’m with you-ou.
I don’t need anything. I don’t need anything at all.
I’m up against the wall / your hands tangle in my clothes
I’m kissing, I’m biting, I’m rocked down to my toes
When you show up, you show up strong.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing,
But when I’m with you / when I’m with you-ou.
I don’t need anything. I don’t need anything at all.
Set the house on fire, burn it to the ground.
The cities fall, wreckage all around
When you show up, you show up strong
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing,
but I’m with you / when I’m with you-ou,
I don’t need anything at all.
And I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what we’re doing.
But I don’t need anything. I don’t need anything, but you.
I don’t know when I moved, but when the song ends, I’m standing in front of the stage staring up at my little swallow, drawn like a magnet to her presence. Story slips the guitar strap over her head.
“I don’t need anything, but you.” She sings the last song acapella. And then she drops off the front of the stage into my arms in a honeymoon carry.
The crowd cheers like mad.
Flynn scrambles to turn on his mic as I walk with Story to the back of the room. “That was Story Taylor. I’m Flynn, and we are the Storytellers. We’ll be back after a little break, folks. Thanks for coming out.”
I hum softly—the sound I make only for her. The way I call her name. She tucks her face into my neck and hums back.
“Thanks for coming for me,” she murmurs.