Sure enough, when I drag my ass upstairs later, the bedroom door’s locked. It’s a simple lock. I could probably pop it open with a solid thump. But I don’t want to wake her and fight again.
Too tired to slog my way downstairs, I crash in my childhood bedroom.
There’s something about sleeping in your old twin bed that humbles a man.
I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy, old mattress, wondering what fresh hell tomorrow will bring.
Chapter Forty
Chaser
The thick tension in the house haunts us for a few days.
Tally doesn’t stop by again. I’m not sure if Mallory told him not to or what. I don’t bring him up and neither does she.
My brain cells are starting to fire again, and I pick up my guitar to strum a few notes. I haven’t touched it since we’ve been home. Almost like I’ve been punishing myself.
“That’s pretty.” Mallory’s soft voice draws my attention to the living room entrance where she’s leaning against the wall. “Don’t stop.”
“Something I’ve had in my head.”
“I like it.”
“Come here.”
She approaches slowly. Hesitant. Probably afraid I’ll snap at her.
I hate what I’ve done to us.
When she’s close enough, I reach out and grasp her fingers. She doesn’t yank them back. A good sign, right?
My heart pounds. Not from drugs. Good old-fashioned stage fright. Haven’t felt that in a long time.
Mallory always says she likes my voice. I close my eyes. Take a deep breath.
“When the sun goes down
And the day is done
You’re my salvation
Hurting you is a sin.
This life was easier in my dreams.
I’ll love you ‘til they close my coffin.
Even then you’ll be my salvation.”
That’s as far as I’ve gotten. When I glance up at her, she watching me with glossy eyes.
“Kinda whiny, huh?” I joke.
“Not at all. What else do you have?”
“That’s it.” I pat the cushion next to me.
A jolt of electricity bursts through me when she drops down, and her leg brushes against mine.
“Keep playing,” she encourages.
“This life was easier in my dreams.”
I stop singing, but my fingers keep moving.
Mallory opens her mouth, then closes it.
“You got something for me?” I nudge her with my elbow.
She blushes and shakes her head.
“Come on. It looks like you do.” I stop teasing her and wait to see if she’ll jump in. Finally, she does.
“This glittering road isn’t made of gold.
One more lie that’s been exposed.”
Floored by her voice, I stop playing and stare at her.
“What?” She covers her mouth with her hand, like she wants to stuff the words back in her mouth. “That was silly. Sorry.”
I reach over and pull her fingers away from her lips. “You have a beautiful voice.”
“Stop.”
“How come you never sing in the shower for me?”
She shrugs.
I quickly jot down her two lines. Not that I could ever forget them.
She jumps up off the couch.
“Where you going?”
“I don’t want to bug you.”
“You’re not.” I wave my pen over the notebook. “You’re helping.”
I set the guitar down. “You know what, though? I’d like to get out of the house for a bit.” I stand and stretch.
For a brief second, her hungry gaze dances over me before skittering away.
That’s progress.
I approach her like she’s a skittish kitten about to bolt. “Dad said he taught you to drive stick?”
A soft smile ghosts over her lips. “He was surprisingly patient with me. Although, he did make me stop on the hill—”
“Over and over until you finally did it flawlessly?”
She shakes with laughter. “Yes!”
“Want to show me?”
“No,” she groans.
“Come on. Take me to Record Town.”
“Oh! Okay.”
I follow her outside to the car.
Except for her being in the driver’s seat, things almost feel normal as she reverses out of the driveway.
Just as my father said, she has the cassette case for a Kickstart tape in the middle console. What I’m not expecting is the Vicious Vandals’ one next to it.
“Really?” I hold it up and arch a brow.
Without answering, she punches the eject button on the cassette player. “Yes, but this is the one I’ve been listening to.”
She waves a copy of Throttle Down at me.
I grumble and stare out the window. It’s weird listening to my own stuff. Or having anyone I care about listen to it in front of me. Music’s always been so personal. Strange since the whole goal is to play for larger and larger audiences and sell more albums.
“The production on it was shitty.” We had a crappy company mix the album, and I swear to fuck, half of it sounds like it was recorded under water. Never again.
“I like it.” She pops it back in, and I groan.
All the way into town, she sings along to the radio.
Things aren’t perfect yet. But at least we’re getting closer.
It took more than an afternoon to fuck things up between us.
And it’ll take me more than a few good moments to repair the damage.