I took a deep breath and told her the really ugly part. “He had a drug problem—any drugs really, but mostly opioids. It started before college but it got worse once we were there. By junior year, he was failing out. I was mad. I was too young to know what to do. I should have told our parents or something, but I had this loyalty to him to keep his secrets. He promised me that he’d quit. And then one night at the beginning of March, right before spring break, I opened a bathroom door at a party and caught him crushing pills. We fought. It was late and the party was dwindling. He was so high. It wasn’t even really worth fighting with him. And there was this super high, half-naked girl draped all over him. It was just upsetting and unsettling. I hated him for being an addict. So I stormed out. He needed help but I was too angry to manage him. In the morning, I got a call and then he was dead.”

We were both silent. Sarah left her hand on my thigh, touching me because there was nothing to say. I watched the highway landscape roll by, the extra tall service station signs, the asphalt, the trucks and cars headed in the other direction. It occurred to me that I’d never told this story to anyone. I mean, my friends from college knew Garrett, so there were people who knew what I’d been through and why I was who I was, but I’d never explained this to someone new.

After a while, she said, “And that was it for you. After that, you never played again.”

“There wasn’t music after he was gone.”

“So, you went into production? Did you graduate?”

I shook my head. “No.”

She smiled at me and then conspiratorially whispered, “Don’t tell Horse, but I think he wants to play music again.”

I chortled. “Not in the cards, girly.”

“Don’t girly me. You are writing my songs in your head.”

“Okay,” I said sarcastically and rolled my eyes at her. Then, having spent enough time drowning in my own shit, I said, “You need to learn not to be affected by critics. There are always going to be assholes who put down your music.”

“My, my… what a delightful segue into my problems,” she scoffed.

“I just don’t want to see you drowning your sorrows. Carry your head high and ignore them or don’t fucking read ’em, but you’ve got to find a way to let it roll off your back.”

“I don’t usually drown my sorrows,” she said seriously. “Last night was unusual for me.”

“I figured, but that can change quick.”

She nodded, seeming to understand my concern. Then she said, “The only thing that matters to me is my music. But it’s a lot. I hate that people think they can talk about my looks, ya know. I feel like a fraud up there. Like I’m supposed to be this sexy sexpot and instead I’m this cloddish tomboy.”

“Just between friends, you’re plenty sexy, Sarah.”

She clammed up, going pink in the cheeks again.

“Sorry, I’ll stop saying things like that,” I said.

She smiled, biting her lower lip. “No, no. You keep doing that. I don’t mind.”

How on earth was I going to be friends with this woman?

Tags: Lola West Big Sky Cowboys Romance
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