"Who are you?"
The image in the mirror staring back at me feigns disinterest. Rock
star? Recovering addict? Murderer?
How can you explain to someone what it's like not to care? Not about
yourself or the person standing next to you. I've lost that, the ability to
feel and show affection. I do, however, have a heart. Sometimes, when
I chase the dragon, it thunders through my head like a drum, reminding
me it still beats. It's still there.
Hollow. Empty. Wasted.
My agent says I have one more shot. A single, solitary chance to stay in
the music biz, but there is one massive problem. HER.
***This is a stand-alone book. It is a spin-off from the Ruining Series;
however, you do not have to read the series to read Rhye's story.

We all have a weakness. Something that unleashes our eternal demons
to gnaw away at our morality until it is picked clean from the bone.
Sometimes, it leaves us with nothing. Numb from all emotion. Blind
from what is right in front of you. What happens then? What' s
left?
I tightly close my eyes, blocking out my thoughts and the harsh, neon
light that illuminates the small, dingy bathroom. My teeth sink into my
bottom lip, but any pain I should feel is nonexistent. The annoying
sound of dripping water from the leaky faucet magnifies in my mind.
Each tap of the water against the basin sounds like a small explosion in
my already altered reality. Opening my eyes, I see the stranger staring
back at me.
"Who are you?" I quietly ask him.
The image in the mirror feigns disinterest. Rock star?
Soon-to-be-washed-up-musician would be a more apt description.
Recovering addict? Well, fuck. That went out the window last night.
Murderer? Yeah, that holds true. I didn't pull the trigger or drive the
truck, but the sentiment is the same.
The banging on the bathroom door reverberates through my pounding
head. My teeth ache for my next hit. In fact, my entire body feels beaten
and bruised from within. The internal suffering starts to

commence as the heroin flees my system. My skin crawls with the
sensation of thousands of tiny ants trickling up and down my spine.
Gripping my hands on both sides of the sink, the cold porcelain cools
my skin from the heat that courses through my body. Leaning forward,
I don' t know the brown eyes that stare back at me anymore. Empty.
Lifeless. Hungry. Yeah, the hunger I remember. I've had a serious habit
for the last two years and spent several stints in rehab at the insistence
of my record label. Fuck knows I have no desire to quit most days. It's
the only relief from my own thoughts. Who wants to live this life sober
when the alternative makes you feel abso-fucking-lutely nothing?
"Rhye?" a masculine voice calls to me from outside of the bathroom
door in my hotel room.
Ignoring whoever it is, I continue to glare at my pale reflection. My
greasy dark hair looks like it hasn' t been washed in days, and my
unshaven facial hair looks grizzly. In fact, I look like a Manson reject,
the killer not the singer. I quickly glance over the small ink tear drop in
the shape of a lowercase letter "j" underneath my eye. Once, it was a
remembrance of a broken girl in my life, but now, it serves as a
reminder of why it' s better to not give a damn. Everyone I' ve ever
cared about turned away, chose someone or something else.
For weeks, two to be exact, prior to last night, I had been living clean
and on my own, in Los Angeles. The time before that was months spent
in and out of a rehab facility in Pasadena, California.
"Open the goddamn door, Rhye!" This time, loud banging
accompanies the yelling. "You've got two seconds before I kick it in!"
Cutting my eyes toward the loud commotion, I grit my teeth when I
realize who is causing my brain to implode. The Mavericks manager,
Jimmy Brunson, who also is a major pain in my ass, continues to rattle
the doorknob. Knowing that he means what he says, I hang my head
once more and turn to open it.
Reaching for the door handle, I rotate and pull, catching Jimmy
mid-swing. He halts his hand in the air, and his dark, beady eyes scan
me up, then down with a scathing look. Shocker.
"Really?" he asks, shaking his head. "You promised me no more

shit. Remember?"
My mouth feels as if dozens of fuzzy cotton balls have magically
appeared in it, making it almost impossible to swallow. Without
answering, I step by him in nothing but my tattered boxers, ignoring his
overt huffing.
"Rhye, I should drop you right now," he threatens for the hundredth
time behind me.
"Fucking do it, Jimmy," I answer honestly without looking at him.
Walking directly to my bed, I step over the passed out, naked chick on
the floor. Most of the time, I don't even remember their names or what
the hell happened the night before, and that's fine with me. I bend over
and pick up my t-shirt, pulling it over my head. Looking around, I spot
my jeans and slide them on.
"Why? I'm trying to get you back on that stage. Where, I might add,
you belong. You still have loyal fans that beg for you. You 're a
good-looking kid. Why chance all of that? " Jimmy says, glancing
around the room in disdain.
This time, I do ignore him. How can you explain to someone what it's
like not to care? Not about yourself or the person standing next to you.
I've lost that inside of me, the ability to feel and show affection;
however, I have a heart. Sometimes when I chase the dragon, it
thunders through my head like a drum, reminding me that it still beats.
It's still there. Hollow. Empty. Wasted.
Sitting down on the bed, I continue to drown out whatever Jimmy is
saying as I put on my black Doc Martens. He must be hard up for
money to be checking in on me. The Mavericks have been his big
money maker for a while. Four years ago, we were called "The Mavs"
when he heard us play at an impromptu music showcase. He
encouraged us to change our name to "Mavericks," and within a year
after working our asses off, we were headlining arenas across the
globe, playing some of the biggest music festivals and even winning a
couple Moonman Awards.
A year after that, fame got the best of us, and everything went to shit.
The music doesn't run through my veins like it used to. It doesn't lead
me. It doesn't sing through my blood and bleed out through my

lyrics. It doesn't make me feel anything anymore.
"Rhye, are you listening to me? The record label is giving you one
more chance. One shot to get your act together. "
His words finally penetrate through my haze of thoughts.
"What?" I ask, clearing my impossibly dry throat.
"Boy, are you listening to anything I'm saying?" Walking over to the
mini-fridge, he grabs a bottle of water and tosses it to me.
My hands instinctively reach up to catch the cold plastic. Twisting the
lid off, I tip the water bottle back and chug the cool liquid. My throat,
which is feeling as dry as sandpaper, is finally soothed; however, my
stomach churns with hot coals for my next hit.
"Look at me, Rhye," his voice pleads, so I glance up at him. "I know
you don't care anymore. You're just on this earth to pass time. I see it
every time I look into your eyes, and there is not a damn thing I can do
about it. "
An image flashes in my mind. A girl. Dark hair. Someone that I once
saw the same thing in her sad grey eyes. A deadness. No, a peace, with
death. Whenever. However. Didn't I say the same thing to her long
ago?
"You can recapture what you had. I know that it won't be the same
without Chris, but the Mavericks can have a fresh new beginning," he
states, arms stretched out in front of him.
Standing, I roll my stiff shoulders and silently add, "Don't ever say his
name to me again. I've warned you repeatedly. Next time, I'm going to
knock your fucking head off your shoulders," I threaten, turning to
slide on my watch. I run my tongue over my teeth, trying to stop the
constant itching that coming down is causing. Reaching into my
pockets, I try to remember if I bought anymore smack or if we smoked
it all last night. Unfortunately, I come up with zip. Zero. Nada. Not
even a damn cigarette.
"Damn it, son."
Turning back to look at him, I answer, "I'm not your goddamn
son."
"And thank God for that. I' m going to say this once and be out of your
life. I only ask that you seriously listen to me for two damn

minutes. As your manager for these last four years and the shit I've put
up with, you owe me. "
Glaring at him, I mutter, "Go."
"This is not about you anymore. If you choose to kill yourself, then you
need to know that it's not just you that will lose out. Your mom called
me since she can't reach you. She ran through the money you gave her
again, and this time, you're almost out of money yourself. She hasn't
worked these last several years, and finding a job in this economy is
going to be hard for a woman her age. Like I was trying to say before,
the record label is willing to send you to Nashville to work with a top
song-writer and his crew for your entire next album. They are also
willing to front the money needed for your mom and will give you a
weekly stipend following mandatory drug testing. Just so we are clear,
that is non-negotiable. "
Shit. My mom. I've taken care of her financially since the first record.
We aren't that close, but she's all I've ever had. I bought her a house,
car, and set her up with a bank account. Unfortunately, she likes the slot
machines and keeps running out of dough. Jimmy reaches into his back
pocket, flinging a folded piece of paper on the bed behind me.
"On that is your flight time for this evening to Nashville, Tennessee. It's
also the information for the apartment they have set up for you to use
right next to the recording studio. You need to call the contact person
and let them know where to send the money to your mom. That is, if
you decide that's what you are going to do. I'm not going to warn you
again, but this is your last chance. I've already argued that line one too
many times with you. I'll just leave you with this: Life is plain out shitty
sometimes. It sucks. But Rhye, I promise it's better than being dead.
This is it. Your one shot. Your one chance. Not at singing. Not at
playing. At living." He turns and starts to leave, but he pauses before
turning back.
Jimmy ages before my eyes. Standing before me is a broken, tired, old
man. This is what happens to everything and everyone in my life. It all
goes to shit.
"I'd rather see you on a stage than in a wooden box the next time we
meet." With those last words, he walks out of my hotel room.

His words play over and over in my mind as I look back over my
shoulder to the paper on my bed. I sit back down, hanging my head
between both of my hands. My chest feels heavy, like a seven-hundred
pound bitch of an elephant is sitting on it. Jimmy's words run rampant.
Fuck! I don't care, but something in me won't let me leave my mom like
this.
"Motherfu...," I start to say to the silent room when the body on the
floor groans and then lets out a loud fart. I look down at the once
beautiful brunette and shake my head. This is my life. Hotel rooms and
random hos. It used to sound so cool when I was a teenager. My dream
come true, but now, I look around at the dilapidated, faded brown
interior of the hotel room and the junkie skank passed out on the floor.
Be careful what you wish for because you might get it, just not in the
way you wanted.
Grabbing the paper, I push it into my jeans pocket and stand. I turn
around to grab my duffle bag out of the closet and begin stuffing all my
worldly possessions into it. Walking around the room, I continually
pack everything haphazardly within. Reaching for my hard black guitar
case, I stand with it and one green army duffle bag, representing my
entire life in L.A. I think about calling one of my suppliers, but at the
last minute decide I can find someone in Nashville once I get out of this
drug screening business. What a crock of shit. Half the musicians in
this town are hooked on smack or something else.
Looking around once again, I walk out and close this door for the last
time. I'll either come back to L.A. knowing I can afford something
better, or I won't come back at all. I switch my duffel bag to the same
hand holding the guitar and reach into my pocket for the piece of paper.
Grabbing my phone, I dial the number. When a female answers, I take a
deep breath.
"This is Rhye Clark."

"What amazing things are you going to do today, Syn Landry? "
I' ve asked the same question in the mirror every morning for the last
five years. Reminding myself that nothing is promised and everything
is possible. It's what got me out of this one horse town and, ironically,
the same reason I came running back to it.
As I stare at my image, I note that my yellowish-green eyes are more of
a gold color today, reflecting the sunny-colored blouse I have on. When
I was little, my mama would always call them cat eyes because of the
unusual color and slanted shape. A tiny ping of pain invades my heart
just thinking about her. It's been ten years since she died in a car
accident, but my vivid memories never fade, and well, life goes on
regardless.
Scrunching my nose up at my reflection, I continue to fight with my
unruly curly blonde hair while torturing it with the straightener. The
abrupt sound of clanking pots and pans coming from downstairs
shatters the silence of my thoughts. For the past nineteen years, my dad
has utilized cookware as an alarm clock, employing it to eliminate
slumber instead of scramble eggs. The sound of home. Home. At one
point, I ran from it like the hounds of hades were chasing me. I needed
an escape from every single heart-wrenching reminder of my mother,
from the same agonizing pain of loss that my dad can't get over.
Before the ink was even dry on my high school diploma, I hopped into
Old Blue, a 1973 Ford truck my grandfather gave me, with all the
money that I had saved from working at Macon's Hay & Feed Supply

since I was fifteen. I didn't date during school because, whether on the
farm or at Macon's, I worked from sun up till sun down. I figured out at
an early age that keeping myself busy was the best way to stay out of
trouble. When you live an hour from the nearest mall and movie
theater, kids out in the sticks make their own fun. It usually involves
some type of moonshine that somebody's daddy illegally brewed and
screwing like bunnies in the back seat of some guy's Chevy. If you
were lucky, your date even owned the vehicle, otherwise the front seat
was occupied while you were in the back. In fact, I' m pretty sure I was
the only seventeen year old virgin ever to make it out of Macon
County.
That rainy morning after I flung my graduation cap in the air, I drove
the long, paved road to Nashville, got a job as a waitress, and started
writing lyrics every chance I could get. Night after night, I would take
my guitar to any open stage dive that I could find and play. I literally
strummed my guitar until my fingers bled some days. There were bars
that would have songwriter nights where everyone would sit down and
sing, playing their instruments on the spot. It was Heaven. The open
camaraderie was, and still is, amazing. I wrote my entire first album
that month, sitting in a cigarette smog and surrounded by talented
musicians that most people will never get to hear.
Some music critics have written that I was a lucky lady, and I agree.
Within the first six months, I was discovered, and my first single went
to number one within the next several. This last year, I have had three
top-ten hits, been nominated for a Grammy, and even opened up for
one of country music's finest on her world tour. Fans love my feisty
country twang, which is different than most of country music's
Southern sweeties.
Coming off tour, I was homesick for the very same reasons I left.
Instead of going home to this beautiful piece of land my agent
suggested I purchase outside of Nashville, I high-tailed it to my
childhood house to be with my daddy. I needed some balance in my
life. A dash of reality. When you are on tour, you don't know if you are
coming or going. My mind was overfilled with nonsense, and I was
ready to explode. I needed to slow everything down and remember why
I love being a musician.
I eat, breathe, and live for my music. My daddy used to blast Hank

Williams and George Jones out of his small, transistor radio that he tied
to his green tractor. He would work the farm twenty hours a day,
listening to his favorites. From age five, I was singing "Your Cheatin'
Heart" and "Hey, Good Lookin" from the church pulpit, because it was
my pretend stage while my mama cleaned the church pews every
Saturday with the other good Christian women.
By the time I was eight years old, I was singing specials during Sunday
morning services, and even then, people told my Daddy I would be
famous one day. I don' t think he ever believed it until the first time he
heard me on the radio ten years later.
Who could have imagined the life I would lead these last several years?
Certainly not me, not even in my wildest dreams, but with it, you pay
an unimaginably high price. Every day you lose a little of yourself that
you started out with. For some, I guess it's a blessing, a new lease on
life of sorts. For others, like myself, I don't want the old me to ever
disappear. My morals, my values, my sanity. It's a slippery slope that
leads straight into shallowness. I've watched it happen to others. They
get caught up in the lights and the hoopla, and down they go. Not me.
Not ever.
I' m grateful for so many things that music has brought into my life.
Loyal fans are what keep me going. People who get me, support me,
and understand me. Writing lyrics is the best. Being able to pour my
heart and soul onto paper is flipping amazing. It's saved me from
spending butt-loads in therapy, that's for sure. The one hole in the
bucket would be the whole celebrity issue. I adore my privacy. No, I
crave it, especially regarding my love-life or the lack thereof. The
paparazzi has had a field day at my expense this past year because of
my ex-boyfriend. It seems as though he likes detailing our issues in his
music. I've warned him repeatedly to stop, but the jackass keeps it up.
In the midst of coming home so I can keep it real, I received a call from
my manager that my record label wants me to become a "pop
crossover" artist. Me? Uh, hello? What part of "country bumpkin" do
they not get? I understand the popularity of it. I'm just honest enough to
say that most people listening to pop and rock music are not going to
like

my voice. I mean, I end up repeating myself, over and over, when I
travel above the Mason-Dixon. My Southern drawl turns into a foreign
language up there.
Trina Ray, my music manager, called me yesterday morning to impart
the good news. She also said that I have to meet up with some music
writer and his team to prepare for my next album. When I told her not
just, "no" but, "heck no," she reminded me that I'm owned and operated
by my label. Case closed. They say jump, and I grow frog legs and start
hopping all over God's green earth.
So with a smile in my voice and not on my face, I told her I would be
there first thing tomorrow. Right before she hung up, she did tell me
that I would be sharing time with another artist from Los Angeles.
Great. I'm sure it's some beach-bunny west-coaster trying to fake a
country accent and sing. All types of music artists are flocking to
Nashville for inspiration. There is just something magical in the air
there. Something contagious. Every day, new stars are created, and
number one hits climb charts in all genres of music.
Finishing my hair, I start to pretty up my face and polish off with a dab
of perfume. Walking into my old room, I grab my suitcase from the
closet and begin packing to go "home. " The land I purchased outside
Nashville has a small log cabin that sits right next to a tiny stream;
however, it's still a good hour away from the city, and with traffic,
possibly more. I' ve decided to take advantage of the apartment Trina
mentioned they are providing next to the music studio.
Taking one last look in the mirror, I take a deep breath and turn to go
say goodbye to my dad. I lug my bags down the stairs and sit them on
the floor in the foyer. Walking into the kitchen, I notice that he has
poured us both a cup of coffee.
"Time to go I see," he says, standing against the kitchen cabinets and
taking a sip of his drink.
Reaching for my mug, I test the lukewarm, dark liquid against my lips
before swallowing the strong, bitter java. My dad has got to start
adding more water. Looking up at him, I smile before saying, "Yeah,
they want me back in the studio to work on the new album." I watch for

his reaction. He'll never admit it, but I see the pain of my leaving age
him every single time.
"Well, looks like rain. I could drive you if you want," he replies, his
weary green eyes pleading with me.
"Dad, it's a six hour drive. You've got things to do here. I'm okay," I
add, looking earnestly at him. Sure, I could have flown, but I enjoy
driving. Sometimes, it's the only place I have control over my life.
Placing his cup down, he looks out the window, wanting to say more
but not knowing how. Suddenly, I feel twelve again, a lost little girl
with a broken father, both trying to figure out how to live once more.
Sitting my own cup down on the kitchen counter, I walk towards him
and straight into his open arms. He envelops me in his warmth, and I
feel safe, but I know within that same encounter I've felt smothered at
times. Against his shoulder, I mumble, "Love you, Dad. "
"You too, kid," he quietly adds.
I pull back, giving him a small kiss on his heavily-stubbled cheek and
turn to leave. "I'll call," I say exiting.
Grabbing my stuff in the foyer, I walk down the steps, lugging it to Old
Blue. I sling open the creaky door, toss my bags on the seat, and climb
in. When I crank her up, a puff of black smoke shoots out of the
muffler. It rumbles and shakes, and with a huge smile on my face, I pull
out of my driveway.
Reaching down, I turn on the radio, flipping the channel to the local
country station. Brantley Gilbert's new single flows out of the old
speakers. God, I love him. I belt out the lyrics and sing along. I have no
idea how this whole "pop crossover" business is supposed to work. You
have the very popular Taylor and Kelly. They both are incredibly
awesome at what they do, but it ain't me. I love a bluegrass riff
streaking through my music, and I don't mind singing about the fact
that I'm a little crazy. All true country girls are.
The next song that blares on the radio stops my thoughts cold. Tag
McGraw's latest mega-ballad hit, "It Ain't Over," plays, and that sexy
Southern voice of his smoothly makes promises. "It ain't over when my
heart still longs for you. And it ain't over when I know you feel it too.

I' ve said the words you wanted, even though you left me anyway. So
just know girl, it ain't over with me and you."
"Get over yourself," I loudly yell to no one and switch the radio off.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, my knuckles turn
white, and my teeth grind against one another. I've tried to forgive the
cheating bastard. Sorry Lord, but that is what he is. My grandma
always said, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I'll burn
your house down with you in it. "
Tag and I started out together in Nashville. He had connections while I
had to scramble for every contact I could find. His dad is a famous
guitarist in bluegrass music or "hillbilly rock" as some would say. Tag
would show up at a lot of the same songwriter bars, and instantly, I
couldn't help being attracted to him. Tag is, well, Tag, and probably the
finest guy I've ever seen. Wavy brown hair with blue-green eyes, and
he's tall and built like a well-bred bull. Not overly muscled but all steel
underneath that tanned skin, just enough to make your mouth water. I
like a country boy with a lift on his truck and big ol' tires, and Tag fit
the bill perfectly.
I actually caught him staring at me from across the room several times
with those ocean colored eyes before we actually met. He' s
charismatic, and people take notice when someone like him walks into
the room. Women and men alike gravitate to him, just to be in his
presence. At that time, being inexperienced with males in general, I
tended to keep to myself, remaining as invisible as possible in baggy
t-shirts, jeans, and a cowboy hat with my hair pulled up inside. He told
me later that he saw through it, straight into the heart of his soul mate.
Even now, in my mind, I remember the first night he finally spoke to
me. I can still see the small, smoky bar filled with patrons, their guitars
in one hand and a pen usually in the other, ready to jot down any
inspiration that comes to them. Lyrics, music notes, and sometimes
curse words when you have a brain fart flood the wrinkled notebook
pages. That day, I had my Gibson Hummingbird guitar in my lap that
my dad gave me for graduation. Actually, it was the only one I had at
the time. I have no idea how he paid for it, but I cherish it more than life
itself.

On the bar table in front of me sits my black and white composition
notebook where I write down everything. Big Kenny, one of the local
musicians, has asked for help to come up with some chord changes for
his new song. People brainstorm around the room, shouting out
comments and playing different riffs on their guitars. I strum and
switch up a couple chords to see what works best when I look up to
catch him staring again. Even from across the room, his gaze causes a
tingle to course up my spine, stealing my breath. I bow my head,
secretly peeking up through the brim of my cowboy hat to watch him.
Gripping his guitar in one hand, he strolls over to the side of the bar
that's not ten feet from me and leans his hip against it. Several guys
stop to talk to him, but not once does he take his eyes off me. His shaggy
brown hair escapes out from under his straw cowboy hat. The blue of
his eyes stands out against his tan face, and two matching indentions of
dimples are created on both sides of his mouth when he smiles at my
assessment of him. A grey, raggedy t-shirt flattens over a defined,
god-like chest, and blue jeans cover solid thighs. My gaze travels down
to his well-worn brown cowboy boots. He looks like he just stepped off
the farm which, in my mind, equates to a New York City runway.
My mouth waters, and I squirm in my chair under his direct gaze.
Despite our past run-ins, he' s never attempted to speak to me. Instead,
he' s kept his distance, playing and singing with the crowd, but when I
would catch him sending covert glances my way, a big grin would
emerge on his face.
This time, he smiles that charming smile and proceeds to walk my way
with his Martin guitar. He has an innate swagger that screams, "I know
exactly what I'm doing. " I'm glad someone does because I'm trying to
keep my untouched body from twitching and looking like a cat in heat.
Every drop of liquid dries up within my mouth, and I instantly wish I
had ordered a Sprite as soon as I sat down. He comes to a stop inches
in front of me, still giving me that megawatt smile with gleaming,
pearly white teeth. I get a good whiff of whatever cologne he has on,
and my senses go haywire. He' s got a nice guitar, a nearly perfect
grill, and he smells like something I want to lick. Wait. Did I just think
lick? I giggle at the thought and look down to write it in my notebook.
Maybe a

song about looking good enough to lick?
"Any other guy would probably feel intimated by a beautiful girl
laughing and ignoring him, " he jokingly remarks, laying his guitar
down on the table.
At the sound of his voice, I slowly raise my head, allowing his almost
perfect vision to fill my sight. God, he is crazy good-looking up close.
The Lord knew what he was doing when he created this boy. Guys don'
t make me tongue-tied. I only stay away from them because it' s better
than putting myself in a situation that I can' t talk my way out of, not
that I would want to talk myself out of anything to do with him at this
moment.
" Any other girl might feel a little intimated by a country cutie finally
talking to her, " I reply, grinning back at him.
"Something tells me that's not the case in this situation. Can I? " he
asks, indicating the empty barstool.
He starts to sit, but I slap my hand down on the stool before he can.
Angling his sweet behind away, he looks at me with raised eyebrows.
"What's your intention?" I ask, raising my own eyebrows in question.
" Why? You got a shotgun-toting Daddy if they' re not all respectable?
" he asks, his grin getting bigger by the second.
" Maybe. Or maybe I know how to fill you with buckshot myself. I don't
need my daddy to do my dirty business, " I reply, trying to keep the
smile off my face but failing miserably.
"Fair enough, " he states, leaning down until his nose almost touches
mine. " Well, I' ve had this girl on my mind for weeks now, and I can' t
seem to get her out. So, the way I figure, go up and see if she is feeling
me. I have to admit though, I' ll be completely crushed if she isn't, " he
finishes, raising his hand to hold over his heart.
All the great songs ever written deal with love, either finding that one
person or losing them. Never having experienced much romance
myself, I tend to fake it when writing material, or I stick with longing
because I do know about that. At seventeen, you pretty much long for
everything. For the first time in my life, I know why women lie, cheat,
or even steal for the men they love. Not that I love the handsome devil
in

front of me, but I long for him, and by Jesus, if I did love him, I' d do
whatever it took to keep him.
The words he just spoke finally compute in my frazzled brain. Me?
Wait. What? Before I can answer, he reaches for my hat and lifts it off
in one swoop. My long curly blonde hair drifts around my shoulders.
" Hey! Give me that!" I yell, reaching for my hat that he holds above my
head while trying to hold onto my guitar.
" I knew it!" he says loudly, placing my hat back on my head while
sitting down next to me. "I knew there was pretty underneath that hat. "
I can't help but notice the attention we are drawing, so I go back to
playing on my guitar. He reaches for his off the table and strums a
couple chords.
"You know what else I knew was under that hat? " he asks quietly, not
looking at me.
"What? " I stop to peek at him. The seriousness of his tone sparks chill
bumps that cover my entire overly warm body. Those lovely blue-green
eyes twinkle as he stares at me now. My body reacts to them. To him. To
this moment. Places that have never shown any interest before prove
that they obviously work. I hunch my shoulders slightly, hoping he
doesn' t notice that my personal headlights are on. Dang it! I should
have worn a better bra.
" Sweetness, " he says, grinning again and going back to playing. "Give
me that pen of yours. " Taking my pen out of my hand, he begins to
write in my notebook.
My dry mouth now waters at the sight of him writing in my music
journal. His large hand, so much bigger than mine, has flawless
penmanship, something I' ve always lacked. He pauses, and my heart
skips one, tiny beat. Then, with that grin of his, he goes back to writing.
Is it a note for me? My eyes can hardly tear away from pursuing his
face, but I' m curious to know what he is doing. Finishing, he lays the
pen on top of the paper and immediately starts playing his guitar.
His baritone voice softly sings, "I don't know you, but I think I do. Did
we know each other in a past life a time or two? I come close to you,
and my heart finally starts to beat. It' s what you don' t show that I find
crazy sweet. "

The words are stupid and corny, but I love them. He stops to make a
different chord change and returns to humming and singing while
strumming his guitar. He's amazing. I could sit here for eternity and
watch him.
"You could join in you know?" he says, not looking up while intently
playing. "Make this moment less awkward. "
I look down at my guitar and try to control the goofy smile on my face.
Almost as if we've been performing together for years, I merge our
sound. My country accent coincides perfectly with his. We continue to
play for minutes, singing the same words while expanding our music.
We both strum the final chord, letting it rest in a soft harmony as our
eyes seem glued to one another.
At the sound of applause, we wrench our gazes from each other to see
the entire room is in quiet agreement with our performance. Evidently,
it was that good. We both smile then turn to Big Kenny with apologies.
He shrugs them off, and everyone returns to helping him.
"Whoa, " I say under my breath, hoping he doesn't hear.
" No, let' s don' t slow this down, " he says, reaching over to softly
grasp one of my hands. " What's your name? "
His strong, calloused hand oddly brings me peace. It all feels so right
that I don' t want it to be wrong. I clear my throat to answer, " Syn
Landry. "
He laughs, and the sound is warm and full of life. "Sin, huh? " he asks.
Our hands play with one another, sliding back and forth.
"S-Y-N, " I spell out for him.
" Nice to meet you, Syn. I' m Tag McGraw, " he says. His thick country
accent is such a turn on for me.
"Tag, huh? " I ask, repeating his words back to him.
" It could be worse. It' s a family name. Taggert. I' m definitely grateful
for the shortened Tag. It saved me from getting my ass kicked in
elementary school. Can you imagine?" he jokingly replies, cocking his
head and wiggling his eyebrows.
A soft giggle escapes me, and I snort trying to hold it in. Great, Syn.
Now you sound like a little piglet. I shake my head and add, " I had

my fair share of comments regarding my name, which my grandmother
picked out after reading it in a romance novel. " I have no idea why I
just shared that with him. Dear sweet baby Jesus, really? I pull my
hand away from his, instantly feeling the loss. Placing them back on my
guitar, I replay the song we just created, and minutes later, he joins in.
The sound of a blaring horn ushers me back to the present. I'm sitting in
my truck at an obvious green light. It's been two years since I spoke
with him that first time, but it feels like yesterday. It physically hurts
like knives carving my chest out. Reliving any part of us is like
experiencing it all for the first time; therefore, I still feel the loss of him
like the last time we were together.
We spent months with each other, hour after hour, but never taking it
farther than I was ready to go. He respected that I was waiting, or he
said he did. It's hard because once you've been betrayed by someone
you love, you never know what moments were real, if any of them were
even genuine, or all just lies. The worst part is, I believe that, more
times than not, he was honest.
I swat at the moisture that leaks from my eyes. I don't want to feel this
way anymore. Too many days spent feeling as though I'm the one that
lacks something vital inside when I didn't do anything wrong. Why is
that? Why do I even waste my time allowing him one more second
inside my mind when I obviously never trusted him with my body?
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I'm only nineteen and Tag is
just a painful reminder to take better care of my heart.
As if fate is on my side, my newest single, "What Country Girls Like,"
plays over the radio. We wrote and recorded it all in one day while on
tour. It is flying up all the country charts, and hopefully it will reach
number one so I can tell my record label to stick it where the sun
doesn't shine regarding this "pop crossover" business. I'm not stupid
though. I' ll go take advantage of the writing team and be grateful to be
singing for a living.
Pressing my foot on the gas pedal, I speed down the highway, shouting
my own lyrics at the top of my lungs.

Arriving at Nashville International Airport, I almost fight to find my
way out. The hunger is coursing through my veins, fusing my thoughts
and desires into one. If I let it, my addiction will control my actions,
control me. I've gone there too many times, letting it rule me. Consume
me. A real-life thoughtless zombie.
Breaking free through the airport exit, the chill in the night air doesn't
soothe the heat that overwhelms me. I drop my guitar case and duffle
bag to the pavement. Raising the back of my arm, I wipe the sweat
pouring down my face. I try to slow my breathing. Slowly in, then out.
My hands shake on their own accord, making it almost impossible to
grab my cigarettes and lighter from my leather jacket. After several
tries, I' m finally able to light one and take a deep drag.
I close my tired eyes. The nicotine doesn't satisfy my craving, but it
takes the edge off. It brings it down a level so that I feel in control
again. I take several more puffs, each one returning me closer to my
motherfucking self. Looking around, I finally take in my surroundings
and see a black car waiting where I was told it would be. The driver
stands stoically beside it. I throw my cigarette butt down, grab my stuff
up, and walk towards him. As I approach, he looks directly at me and
asks, "Rhye Clark?"
I nod, confirming who I am. He steps to open the door, and I stumble
in, coming to sit next to my contact at the record label. She' s younger
than she sounded on the phone, mid to late twenties maybe.

Fuck. I can' t remember her name.
"Glad to see you made it, Rhye. I'm Kelly," she says, smiling at me then
looking down to shuffle paperwork in her lap. Her cap of black hair is
shorter than mine. "I really am a huge fan of yours. I can't wait to see
the Mavericks back on stage. "
Again, I nod and try to focus on her face. I'm sweating like a
son-of-a-bitch. I swear, one night after months of going green fucks
you up worse than a month bender, which was my ultimate plan. What
was the chick's name that I left in my room? Lola? Lora? No, Lana.
That's it. Lana had some connections to major players in L.A. She can
get as much pure shit as I need. Well, could have got. Damn, what the
fuck am I doing here? I need to be there.
"You and everybody else, lady," I say out loud, not giving a damn what
she thinks. Turning to look out the window, the night scenery passes us
by in a blur.
"Rhye, pay attention," she says, looking at me with disappointment
laced in her blue eyes. "Okay, here are the terms of your agreement,"
she states beside me. "You will attend all song writing sessions with
Ryan Poole and his team. There will be a mandatory curfew of eleven
o' clock every night when you are not attending these sessions. You
will be required to have mandatory drug testing every Friday morning
at nine o'clock. Once these terms are met every week, a weekly sum
will be deposited into you and your mother's account. Should they not
be met, your contract with Sundial Records will be terminated
immediately. "
Controlling the rage that threatens to boil over inside me takes a
minute. I turn to look at the bitch beside me. "I don't believe I'll be
agreeing to any of those bullshit terms. I will write when I want, with
who I want, and smoke enough blunt or crack to choke a horse if I
want. You can take your terms and stick them up your tight ass," I
finish, waiting for her outburst of admonition. She surprises me though
by leaning towards me until our lips almost touch.
"You will follow these rules," she whispers in a stern tone. Her hand
pats my knee then slowly traces the length of my jeans, straight to my
dick. "Otherwise, you will be lucky to ever work in this business again.
Unless, that is, you want to play back up for somebody else." She

stops her hand short of the prize and finishes. "Once you have another
top record and are playing sold-out shows, then the record label goes
back to not giving a damn what you do, but until then, you will abide by
these terms without question. Do you understand, Rhye?"
"You cu...," I begin, stopping only because her sharp fingernail pierces
my ball sack through my jeans. I gasp at the surprise attack.
"Tsk. tsk, Rhye. I can have the driver pull over and let you out now. I'll
also make sure to inform your mother to not expect any money. I spoke
to her today. What a sweet, charming woman, " she says, sarcasm
bleeding between her words. "I'm sure she'll find gainful employment
before losing everything you've bought for her. Driver, please pull
over."
I know my heavy breathing now has nothing to do with the drugs
leaving my system or where her hand is still strategically placed. I' ve
never wanted to hit a woman until this moment. Yeah, they' ve got me
bent over. They know it. She knows it. Goddammit, I know it. I want to
get out of the car as it stops on the side of the busy highway, jump out
and walk away from it all. Looking down at my knuckles, I read the
letters inked on each one spelling out "NEVER" across them. On that
same wrist it reads, "Forget," inked in matching black. It' s supposed to
mean something, something I've forgotten over the years. Now, to me,
it means to never forget that everyone leaves. Everyone.
Why do I give a flying fuck if my mom has to work or loses everything
I bought her? It's her problem, not mine. I don't care. I don't fucking
care. Yeah, she wasn't there for me growing up because she was a
single mom working two jobs. Nobody asked her to do it. I didn't need
her then. I don't need her now. I don't need or want anyone.
Roughly, I grasp her hand and yank it from my leg. I reach for the door
handle, grasping it tightly and squeezing it. Closing my eyes, I scream
silently within my head and chant, "Get out of the car, Rhye. " God!
Damn! Me! I fling my tense body back against the seat. "Drive," I
whisper through gritted teeth, opening my eyes to look out the window.
Without a word from her, the driver pulls back onto the highway and
proceeds to our destination.
Several minutes later, she finally comments, "Smart decision,

Rhye. Now, where was I? Oh yes, non-negotiable drug testing. You
will have a facilitator living with you. You can call him a 'babysitter' if
you want. Same difference. Again, non-negotiable. We do realize that
you will probably test positive now, so we will test you once we reach
the apartment and expect that nothing else show up in the following
weeks. Speaking of, your apartment is directly beside the recording
studio located on Music Row. Several bars surround the area along
with restaurants. They all have open accounts for you to use," she
states, placing a sheet of paper directly in my lap. "Sign this. It's just
saying that you understand exactly what I have explained to you and
you agree."
I take the pen she offers and sign. Doesn't mean that I'm going to agree
to shit. It just means that I want out of the goddamn car and away from
Satan's whore. Under my breath, I sing the lyrics to "Fade to Black" by
Metallica, keeping rhythm by drumming my fingers on my knee.
Getting off the highway, we drive to Music Row, only to stop in front
of a set of matching brick buildings. One has a huge sign that reads,
"Sundial RC Studios." The driver opens the door, and without waiting,
I grab my stuff, not wasting a second to get the hell out. Satan's mistress
follows but immediately walks ahead of me, indicating I should follow
her into the second building. Once inside, we take the elevator up, and
she stops to knock on the first door on the left. A guy, several years
older than me, opens it.
"What's up, guys?" he says smiling. Stepping back, he motions for us to
enter.
"Hey, Josh. Meet Rhye Clark. Rhye, meet Josh," Satan's spawn says,
returning his smile and walking past him. "Hey, man," he says, offering
his hand.
He looks like that actor Matthew McConaughey. I ignore his
outstretched arm and walk on by. So, this is my warden.
Behind me, he obviously clears his throat and says, "I guess they told
you about me. Rhye, listen. I have no desire to be your shadow. I only
want you to know that I' m here to merely make sure that you don' t go
off the grid. I'm also available should you need to talk." Talk? Did he

just say talk?
"What does 'talk' mean exactly?" I ask, setting my bags down and
turning to look directly at him.
"Guess Kelly didn't tell you everything about me. I'm a certified Life
Coach Therapist. My specialty actually deals with recovering drug
addicts trying to adjust to mainstream again," he explains, placing his
hands directly on his hips while nodding his head.
Fuck. I literally have nothing to say to him. Grabbing my bags back up,
I walk towards the living area. Satan's ho lounges on one of the slate
grey sectional couches. The apartment is the same red brick interior as
the outside. Looking around, I notice a large ass plasma over a fireplace
and several pictures of different shit hanging on the walls.
"Okay, Rhye. Time for truth telling. Josh here is going to go into the
bathroom with you to witness your instant drug screen. Now, before we
deal with any of your shit, just know that we can do it here or at the
hospital. I'm thinking here is a better choice. Less of a wait. So, let's be
a good boy and just do it. I have people to see and places to be."
It doesn't cross my mind to argue. Getting her the hell out of my life
sounds fine by me. Josh grabs a testing cup off the counter and walks
down a hallway and into a room, so I follow. I've had several drug tests
in my lifetime. Rehab counselors are paranoid fuckers which, in all
honesty, they should be. The first time I tried blow was in rehab for my
first court-ordered stay.
"You know the drill, man?" he asks, handing me the cup then placing
rubber gloves on.
"As long as my bone doesn't give you a boner then yeah, we are good,"
I reply, unzipping my jeans and pulling out my dick. Pissing in a cup
while another man stares at every single movement literally makes my
nuts crawl up inside me. It's not a pretty sight, which I guess is a good
thing.
It seems like an eternity before I can piss, but finally, I fill the cup and
hand it over to Deputy Dewey.
"You know what it's going to tell me?" he asks, while sitting it down on
the bathroom counter and beginning to test my urine.
"I' m pretty sure opiates. Probably some cannabinoids. Possibly

amphetamines. If you did an extended drug test, I would definitely add
benzodiazepines and barbiturates," I say, shrugging my shoulders and
smiling at him. "That should be it," I add, pulling my pants up and
zipping them.
"I guess I don't have to tell you that high levels of those drugs
combined would more than likely cause you to not wake up. Ever," he
replies, not looking at me while continuing to test my urine. "You can
wash your hands now. "
"I' m not that lucky," I reply, turning towards the sink and reaching for
the soap dispenser.
"Mmm. Well, I guess you are right," he says, looking down at the
results. "Follow me. "
We walk back into the living area where there is an office off to the side
that I didn't notice before. He goes into it and proceeds to make a copy
of my bottle of piss on a copier machine. Weird fucker. Once he does
that, he signs the paper and brings it over to Satan's bobble head
doll.
"Interesting, but not surprising," she comments, standing up then
walking to the door. "Most of this should be out of your system by next
Friday, Rhye. See you then. "
I' ve never felt better to see anyone go in my entire life. Turning around,
I see Josh staring at me while leaning against the wall. "You know, I
understand the allure that you feel towards drugs, " he says, not moving
while he speaks.
"Is this where you tell me you are not only the hair club president, but a
client too?" I reply sarcastically, watching him watch me.
"Okay, smartass. Your bedroom is the second on the left down the
hallway. I ride my bicycle every morning around six o'clock, and if you
want to join me, I have an extra set of wheels. Don't test me because I
will turn you in if you miss anything mandatory. It's my job, and you're
not worth losing it over," he states, turning to walk down the hallway to
another set of doors and closing them behind him.
Looking around, I have to admit it's nothing fancy but much better
living conditions from what I found myself in before. My stomach
growls, and I realize I haven't eaten all afternoon. Finding the modest

kitchen, I make myself a turkey sandwich and devour it in two seconds
flat. I contemplate eating another but decide not to push my sensitive
stomach.
I grab my duffle bag and guitar case before checking out my bedroom.
I' m sure that Josh has taken the master, which I really couldn' t care
less about. Flipping the light on, I immediately notice the coal gray
curtains covering the large windows with matching bed spread and
pillows on a queen, black metal bed. A small bathroom sets off to the
side with a shower, toilet, and sink. Throwing my bag in the corner, I
set my case down on the matching black dresser and turn to sit on the
edge of the bed. I look down at my trembling hands. Once these were
used to play away my pain. They could take me somewhere else, make
me someone else. Someone important. Someone better.
Falling back on the bed, I stare at the white ceiling. This is a cluster
fuck of epic proportions. I can try and score some smack, get high, and
forget all this bullshit. Shaking my head, I remember who I'll have to
deal with if I do. I'm sure I'll have to go head to head with Satan's
tramp, and I'm staying out of that bitch's way. Closing my eyes, I will
my mind to slow down and quit screaming for my next fix. It reminds
me how good it will feel, "Like the best sex ever, " it commands over
and over, resonating through my head. My body responds, my dick
hardening at the memories of a good high. I'm sure the pussy will be
just as easy to score as the drugs to take care of my hard-on. Maybe
then I can get back to my music. Just one more time. For now. Then, I
can get serious about this shit.
I lean up, determined on my next course of action. Not bothering to
change, I quietly open the door and slowly press it shut behind me. I
walk down the hallway only to look up to find Josh leaning against the
door, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
"See, this is the part where your mind has convinced you that going out
to satisfy your habit is actually the smart thing to do, " he says,
commanding the space around him. "To be honest, you lasted about as
long as I would expect. "
"Fuck you, man," I comment, placing my hands on my hips. "You're
not my boss."

"You are right, Rhye. I' m not; however, I am instructed to contact your
boss should you leave this apartment after curfew which is. ," he
replies, looking down at his watch and then back to me, "Wow, now.
We can have Kelly come back here and officially throw your ass out
before you mess this up. Why deal with the morning after, just get it
over with now. What do you say? Save me and you the headache
tonight instead of
later?"
Rage flames high inside of me, fueling the fire of hate deep within. I
want to hit him, knock that self-righteous look right off his face. My
hands ache with the desire to do it. I step closer when a memory of my
mom coming home from a long, twelve hour waitress shift at the truck
stop to the shitty apartment I grew up in. I remember her brown hair,
streaked with gray, falling from the bun on top of her head, her pressed
uniform from that morning no longer crisp but soiled and wrinkled
from a hard day of slaving over sleazy, fat fucks. Her eyes tired and her
smile strained as she walks through our small apartment to her
bedroom. The crystal clear memory freezes me in place. I open and
close my fists, trying to understand what my mind is showing me.
Damn. If I do this, I end it. All of it. Not just for me. Without another
word, I hang my head and turn away to return to my room. I don't dare
look back at him. Let him think what he wants. Fucker.
I slam the door behind me and throw myself onto the bed. Placing my
fingertips at my temples, I rub, hoping to calm the pounding of need.
Want. Longing. I lay there for hours. No amount of self-soothing calms
the internal pain, and the peace of sleep is evidently denied to the
damned.

My guitar rests on my lap as I sit in a black, thick-cushioned leather
chair in the studio. It's a small room outside of the recording booth with
several large chairs placed around the walls. I arrived yesterday and
met the famous music writer and composer, Ryan Poole, along with his
crew in this very same room. He graciously spent time explaining that
he loves my sound and doesn't want to change a thing. The idea of
moving in a more pop direction isn't to alter the style of my music, just
to work on new techniques and stay current. We discussed ideas for the
new album and decided to begin this morning.
When I walked in early this A.M., Ryan wanted to immediately get
started. He introduced me to Julie and Mel, two of his best music
composers and producers. Julie looks like a real life pixie fairy with her
elfin looks and dark, boy-cut hair. Mel, on the other hand, looks like
every other wannabe country singer in this town with his trucker hat
and handsome looks. After everyone becomes acquainted with one
another, it seems like we are finally ready to get down to business. We
all discuss a couple different ideas before Ryan answers his phone and
has to excuse himself.
Julie smiles at me and ask with a quaint, British accent, "Is there a
certain direction you want to take this next album? "
I instantly realize that she is asking if I know what I want to write
about. What drives me to drink or doesn't, so to speak. "Not sure yet.
My newest single that I want to include on this record is more of a fun,
flirty song. My first record centered on the pain and loss I experienced

growing up. I really would like to change the direction for this one.
Honestly though, I'm not sure where it's going to go until I start," I
answer, looking directly at her.
"Sounds good. Let's get to work then. We'll start out writing what
comes. Then, in about an hour, see where we all end up," she says,
reaching over to open a notebook similar to the one I have beside me.
I place my guitar next to me and reach for my pen to write down my
ideas. Tapping it against the paper, I close my eyes and try to make
sense of the nonsense floating around my brain. My thoughts, however,
go back over last night. I spent it in the apartment they had arranged for
me to use. As expected, it was nice, but not close to the warm, fuzzy
feeling you get from being in your own home. It reminded me too much
of being on tour.
Music tours aren't all they are cracked up to be because of the frequent
change of scenery, especially on a tour bus. That's the hardest part of
being on the road for most people. The view on the outside is
constantly replaced by the landscape of the next town. Living on the
road was fun for about the first two weeks, then I missed the very
things that I was so happy to leave behind when I left home. The same
bed that I had slept in since I was a little girl, my dad making sure I
knew when curfew was for the hundredth time, and the ever constant
reminders of my mom. I missed it all and wanted it back with a
vengeance.
A sad smile spreads across my face. I remember that, for the first time
in my life, I felt like a solitary traveler. The irony was that I was
surrounded by people. My manager, the band, backup singers, and my
driver just on my tour bus. Not to mention, at that same juncture in my
life, I was experiencing the loss of my first love. Tag's betrayal gutted
me. Because of love, he was able to rip out my heart, crush it with only
a thought, gather it up, and burn it to ashes.
Love. A four letter word. So beautiful in its spelling. So simple in its
arrangement. So innocent in its meaning. So fragile in its time. So
devastating in its aftermath.
I don' t want to think about that anymore, the pain that sliced me to

my core. I survived. There were good times, stolen moments when my
world opened up to the possibilities of becoming a woman. Seconds
when I would have given him anything he asked for because I thought
that what I held in my arms was the most precious thing in my life.
The first time we kissed. That night still makes me ache with longing. I
didn't know kisses could be so...sexual. Sure, I had kissed my share of
frogs, and a couple of princes along the way, but nothing close to this.
God, that kiss was earth shattering. Eye-opening.
For some ungodly reason, I had decided not to go out that night, and
instead, I invited him back to my one room apartment above the
bakery. It was the only thing I could afford while still being able to eat,
especially considering I was constantly hungry thanks to the heavenly
smells of freshly baked breads, cakes, and pies drifting from
downstairs. Asking him over was a dangerous move for a young girl
not wanting to tempt fate, but teetering on the edge of desire, hormones
won out. Lust is a living, breathing creature, tempting little girls and
boys with glimpses of pleasure.
For several nights, I had lain in bed, feeling guilty about the thoughts
running through my mind. I dreamed of my hands tickling across his
chest, up over his well-defined shoulders, and back down to drift over
the solid muscles shaped like the letter "V" on his lower abdomen.
When he called that morning to see what my plans were for the
evening, I stammered like a school girl, finally blurting out that I
wanted to stay in and finish some lyrics, knowing he would offer to
come help, and of course, he did.
The knock on the door causes me to raise my head from my
cross-legged position on the bed. Taking a deep breath, I look down at
my tight, white tee and tiny, grey gym shorts that I pray don't look too
obvious. I did leave my curly hair down because I know that's how Tag
likes it. Jumping up, I look around at my sparse living quarters and
sigh. It's too late to worry about that now.
Opening the door, I can't help the smile that covers my face. "Hey, " I
say to him, my grin growing bigger by the second.
"Hey, " he says back, holding a pizza box with a six-pack of soda

on top in one hand and his guitar case in the other. "I come prepared. "
I reach for the food, walking over to sit it on the small table in the
corner. He follows me the few steps in and shuts the door behind him.
He's dressed in his regular jeans, t-shirt, and, tonight, a baseball hat.
Setting his guitar on my bed, I notice him inspecting my current
habitation. I grasp my hands in front of me, rocking back on my heels.
To say that I' m nervous is the understatement of the century. I don' t
know exactly what I expect or if I even expect anything at all.
We've been seeing each other for weeks, and he hasn't even tried to kiss
me. We have discussed my inexperience, only because it was brought
up while writing lyrics one night. He was fascinated that I was a virgin.
Obsessed almost. It' s sweet, but I' m not sure if he realizes that I' ve
done other things. That wasn' t discussed nor did I feel like I had to
divulge that information. I kept myself from getting in trouble at home.
I didn' t, however, act as if I was living in a nunnery. Tag' s held my
hand and rubbed my arms when we' ve sat side by side, but his lips
haven' t ventured in my territory. Maybe he's not that interested in me.
He seems like it, but I' m getting mixed signals here.
"Nice place, " he says, finally looking back at me.
I give a small laugh, "Yeah, I'm into the whole minimalist mentality."
"Really? " his asks, one of his eyebrows arching in question.
"No. Minimalist' is my word for the day. Trying to broaden my
vocabulary. Large words, combined with my country accent, always
throw people off, " I reply, winking at him and biting my bottom lip.
He laughs, the sound stealing the very air I breathe. My body tightens,
and things start waking up. Uh-oh.
"You 're so crazy..., " he says, smiling at me, "but I love that about you.
Let' s eat. I' m starving. " He walks over to the pizza and grabs a slice.
I feel my eyes go big as saucers as I stand not two feet from him, frozen
by his words. Did he just say the "L " word? No, I had to have
misunderstood him. We've only known each other for three weeks. I
need to move my feet before he turns around and finds me stupefied.
Wait. I need two seconds to filter what he just said. It could be that he
just used

it in context of, "I love you like a sister " or "I love cupcakes. " It
doesn't have to mean that he's saying that he's "in love " with me. God,
Syn. Are you crazy?
My thoughts spur me into action. Reaching for my own slice of pizza
and grabbing a can of soda, we both sit around my tiny table.
"So, what did you do today? " he asks while picking his pepperonis off
and eating them separately, one by one.
I tell him about my boring day, well boring because I can't tell him
about the vivid daydreams I' ve had about him. With me. Us. Together.
He tells me about watching his dad film some music interview and
hoping, one day, that it' s him on the other side of the camera. He then
talks about helping his grandfather on his horse farm this afternoon,
something he enjoys.
After we both inhale several slices of pizza, I resume my cross-legged
position in the middle of my bed, grabbing up my guitar. He stands to
open his case and sits back down in the chair with his. If you take away
the breathtaking, sexual tension, it' s a comfortable friendship between
us. We both tune our guitars in silence.
"Want to hear what I've been working on?" he asks, giving me a shy
smile. He strums a couple strings then begins to play, singing in that
sexy voice of his. ". pure and sweet as the sunshine in the summer time.
That' s my girl. Something worth fighting for. " The warmth of his voice
calls to me, whispers to my soul.
I know, in this instant, he will be famous one day. Tag will command
audiences, capturing them with that velvet voice and timid smile of his.
He' s the boy next door that every girl will dream about and every guy
will want to be. A spike of energy courses through my body, again
reminding me that I' ve never felt this way about anyone. It has to
mean something. I' ve never felt that I was " saving" my virginity for
marriage. What does " saving" myself mean anyway? It' s not like I
have a golden patootie, but I' ve always told myself that I would wait
for something extraordinarily special. Is this it? How do you know?
"Earth to, Syn. Come in, Syn," he taunts, trying to get my attention.
"What? " I ask, shaking my head to clear my thoughts.

"You spaced out on me. What do you think of the song? I really like the
chord change in the middle, but I' m not sure whether to go back or not.
What do you think? " he asks, looking back down to play it again.
What do I think? I think he should put those pretty little lips right
against mine. Quit talking. Stop singing. Make music instead of playing
it. Should I make a move? What if he' s not feeling me? What if I have
something black in between my teeth from the pizza? I close my mouth
and run my tongue over my teeth, not feeling anything. God, my breath.
Should I go use my toothbrush? I place my hand in front of my mouth
and blow, discreetly trying to smell if it stinks.
"Syn, look at me, " he says, standing and placing his guitar down then
removing his hat. Taking only one step brings him right next to my bed.
He sits down, the bed dipping underneath his weight and my body
automatically leans toward his. Raising his hand, he reaches for a
strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers. Slowly, he places it
behind my ear. " You scare me. "
His words completely freeze me in place. "What?" I stammer, looking
into his eyes for an answer. I scare him? Wait, one darn second.
What?
He smiles and laughs, looking down and away from me. Glancing back
up, his cheeks are slightly pink and those bright blue-green eyes search
mine. Forget this! As fast as my agile body will move, I rush into him;
my greedy lips literally smack against his. My eyes never close, and I
catch the look of surprise on his face. His lips, so soft, feel like a little
piece Heaven, and once again, strange tingles run hot through me. My
body burns with need, and this alien feeling of longing is painfully
magnified. I brush his mouth with gentle, tiny kisses while he stays
motionless. My hands tightly grasp my bedcovers as I try to make sense
of him. Maybe I misread everything between us? My lips go rigid with
the thought, and I start to tilt away.
" Oh, hell no, girl, " he states, smiling and recapturing my mouth with
his. This time, his tongue moistens the seams of my lips, making it
easier for him to glide between mine, and finally, he kisses me. No
holding back. He devours me, my soul, my hopes, and dreams.
Anything he wants. My body moves uncontrollably against his hard
frame. He

groans, the sound buzzing against my lips, and I can't help the smile
that forms. A soft giggle bursts from my mouth.
He pulls back, grinning, and whispers against me, " You find me
funny?"
I shake my head, but my body betrays me with another chuckle. Dear
God, why am I laughing? In one second, all these feelings of evident
lust turn to complete nervousness.
"I'll give you something to laugh about," he mutters seconds before he
pushes me down, flat on my bed and, without malice, pulls my t-shirt up
to relentlessly tickle the sides of my abdomen. I playfully fight and
scream for him to stop as I wiggle to get away from this torture. His
body looms over me, his knees capturing mine, and finally, he stops
prodding me long enough to pin my hands with his above my head. We
both breathe heavily in the silence that has fallen over the room.
I look up, into the handsome face that stares back down at me. His skin
is so smooth, but he has tiny laugh lines around his eyes. So many
thoughts run through my mind. Minutes ago, I thought I may be ready
for what comes next between two adults in these situations.
Questioning what I' m feeling should be a clear indicator that, maybe, I
need to slow down whatever this is between us to get to know him
better. He slants his head closer to mine, obviously ready for round
two. Now, I see the burning desire that I was worried didn 't exist
before.
At the last second, I turn, and his mouth misses mine to land squarely
on my cheek. I close my eyes, feeling his silky lips skim the side of my
face, each one leaving a spark of lust inside of me.
" Syn? " he whispers, the puff of air washing a wave of warmth across
my skin. " This is what I was worried about. Scaring you off. Not
knowing how to handle you. I want this so damn much, but I don' t want
to rush you. Rush us. Hell, I know I sound like an idiot, but all I see
when I close my eyes is those yellowish eyes of yours. I even smell you
when we 're not together. I want you so bad, Syn. "
Opening my eyes, I turn my head to look back up. I melt at the sight of
him. My body softens underneath the weight of his solid frame, and the
sensation of him laying on top of me dampens everything down low. I
lean up to gently kiss his lips, letting my head fall back on the bed as he

follows me. Our kisses stay "PG-13" as we explore one another, slowly
this time. Minutes pass before he pulls back once again. Leaning over
me, he waits for me to guide us.
Taking a deep breath, I let it all out in a loud swoosh sound, and he
laughs.
"Well, that says a lot, " he states, those eyes of his staring at me too
intensely.
"No, I just want to know you better. I'm sorry if I'm coming off like a
tease. I don' t want that. Everything within me is changing because of
you, and I've never felt like this before. Now who is scaring who? " I
say, smiling up at him, letting him see the passion within my gaze.
He touches his lips lightly against mine, and then, with his own long
sigh, he moves off of me to stand beside the bed. I sit up to stare back at
him. Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, he leans his head back
to look at the ceiling. Glancing back down, he shakes his head and
says, "God, girl. If you only knew. "
At that moment, I notice the entire length of his body seemingly
vibrates. With need? Lust? I can' t help but zero in on the bulge in his
jeans, and I instantly look away, nervous again.
"Look at me, Syn, " his deep voice commands as he places his hands on
his hips. "I've never believed in love at first sight or any of that
bullshit. All I can tell you is that the first moment I saw you, I said to
myself, 'There she is. The one. Underneath all those clothes and hat,
hiding from the world, is my soul mate. Just waiting'. "
Oh, God. Dear, Lord. Did he just say that? My heart gallops within my
chest, thundering loudly through my head. Wanted. That' s what he
makes me feel. It' s wonderful. Amazing. Terrifying. Ok, yeah, I' m
scared to death now.
Running his hand through his hair, he ruffles the soft brown strands. "
Look, I don' t want this anymore than you probably do. I' m only twenty
years old, and you' re younger. I' ve tried, these past couple of weeks,
to slow whatever this is down. These feelings that drive me to drink. But
the thought of you with anyone else but me? I can't stand it. It crushes
me inside, " he says, looking at me while shaking his head.

My mind is in a state of shock. I' m numb. My pulse rockets, and
everything within me riots. Part of me wants to pull him back to me and
finish everything that kiss of his promised, and the other. well, the other
says this is way too fast. It' s way too much, too soon, and that' s the
side that' s winning. He looks at me unsure, almost afraid.
"Say something. Please, " he pleads, dropping his hands by his
sides.
Going up on my knees, I crawl to the edge of the bed and raise my
hands to reach for his. Pulling him to me, I stare up into his eyes. I
swallow and take a deep breath to say, "I..., " I pause, trying to find
the right words. " I' m not ready to share my body yet. I don' t want to
lead you on and promise a time frame that I can' t commit to right now.
But, you make me want to. You make me smile and laugh, as you
already know. You make me feel pretty and special. When I' m not with
you, I dream about you. About us. No one has ever made me feel the
way you do. If you want to see where this goes, I'm game, " I finish,
squeezing the talented, strong hands that I hold preciously between
mine.
Slowly, he leans down, once again capturing my lips. This is a kiss of
promise. It pledges things that even I don't understand, mysteries I've
yet unearthed, but my body responds, kicking into high gear again.
With one last brush of his mouth, he moves back. Still holding my
hands, he pulls me off the bed to stand flush against him. Unlocking our
joined fingers, he slides his arms around my waist, hugging me tight. I
feel his body quiver next to mine.
His lips nibble at my neck for mere seconds before he pulls completely
back and lets me go. Turning, he grabs his hat and slides it on. He
reaches for his guitar and places it back in his case, and even in my
dumbfounded state of mind, I can' t help notice how he roundly fills out
the butt of his jeans. Hot. He turns before I can divert my eyes from his
mesmerizing behind.
"Are you checking out my butt? " he asks, the smile back in his eyes, all
traces of the last half hour under wraps.
"No!" I answer quickly.
"You were totally checking out my ass, " he says laughingly, walking
towards the door. " I bet you are checking it out again, " he

calls, not looking at me then turning before reaching for the door
handle.
I feel the heat of embarrassment climb my chest, straight up to my face.
I was so checking out his butt. I couldn't help it though. It's lovely, and
it' s better than trying to dissect everything he' s said to me and what I'
m feeling.
"Well, it is a nice buttocks, " I add. I'm so busted. Smiling back at him,
I laugh again.
"Night, pretty girl, " he says quietly, opening the door and leaving. The
door closes behind him.
"Night, " I say, staring at the closed door.
I'm sitting in the recording studio, tears rolling down my cheeks. I
tightly lock away the sobs that threaten within my chest. Hours have
passed. I am supposed to be writing songs; instead, I'm caught up in the
memory of the moments that made me love him. That night, after he
left, I lay in bed and feelings began to blossom. Grow. It was that night
that he planted the seeds of love. I want to remember that feeling of
wonder so I can write about awe-inspiring, sweet love instead of the
break-me-into-ten-million-parts love.
"Are you okay, love?" Julie asks, leaning towards me and placing her
hand on my arm.
I swat at my eyes, drying them, and nod at her. She reaches over to grab
a tissue and hands one back.
"Now, put whatever that is in your head on paper. It makes for the best
relatable material," she says, her British accent making me smile.
I begin to write, the words flowing from my head, through my hand,
and onto paper. Nothing seems wrong, and everything seems right. I
can hear the melody playing, see the chords forming deep in my mind,
and the words combining the piece into one. Closing my eyes, I see
myself singing it to him, asking him what he thinks, the way I used to.
"What a fool I am, " I think to myself.
Hearing male voices, I look up.
"Ryan, is he even going to show up? I've heard he couldn't care less at
this point," Mel asks, speaking directly to Ryan who must have walked
in only moments ago. He leans down to quietly respond back to

him.
Hmmm, I wonder who they are discussing. I can't hear what Ryan
answers. Julie turns to them and joins in on the conversation. Picking
up my guitar, I try to put the song on paper into use, ignoring the three
of them. I lose myself in my music, letting it flow from my fingers.
At the sound of the door opening, I glance up. My hands go still, and
my mouth falls wide open. Of course, I know who he is. I've seen tons
of images of him. Internet. MTV. Magazines. For a while, the boy' s
sexy mug was everywhere. Didn't I recently read that he was in some
fancy rehab where all those uppity Hollywood celebs go? I've heard of
milk doing a body good, but drugs? Not so much. Despite the fact that
drugs kill, I can't deny the rush of blood coursing through my body at
my first glimpse of him. Oh, the undeniably sweet song of lust.
Most people would undoubtedly describe him as tall and lanky, but I
immediately notice the hard muscle beneath his lean, almost entirely
tattooed, frame. My eyes travel from his black boots, up over his worn
jeans and white "Mavericks" t-shirt, to a square, scruffy jawline. He
speaks in a deep, low voice to Ryan, and I can't help the electrical
currents that zap my girly parts in response. Shaking my head, I
concentrate on the intricate tats covering part of his neck, cringing as I
imagine the sting of the buzzing needle. Following the inked path, I
notice the small letter "j" underneath his eye. What the heck? I watch
him run a tatted hand through his spikey, dark brown hair, sending it in
all directions.
Finally, he turns to sit down with only a general glance in my direction,
but it only takes a second to peer into his vacant stare and know. I don't
notice the rich color of molasses looking my way. I don't dwell on the
perfect oval shape of them either. My heart stops, choking the blood
flow to my body. I gape into Rhye Clark's dark abyss. An empty,
soulless cavity.
An uncontrollable full-body shiver shakes me to my core, and my
world changes. Instantly. Irrevocably.

"God, why can't Ijust die? " I think to myself, ignoring some chick
that's getting her stare on. I'm not sure what I just told that Ryan dude
other than my name. Everything is jumbled up in my head. Too much
static. I stumble over to sit in one of the black, cushioned chairs,
leaning my head back and closing my eyes.
I had to listen to Josh trying to wake me up all morning. "Rhye, you are
going to be late. Rhye, its eight o'clock. Rhye, it's ten o'clock." I came
up with inventive ways for him to go fuck himself and told him in detail
every time he came into my room. Stupid motherfucker.
This morning, after only sleeping a total of an hour because of
insomnia, I woke up sick to my stomach, and my knees ached like a son
of a bitch. Classic withdrawal symptoms of coming off the "H". It's
their fault in the first place. Even after taking a long, hot shower, I can't
clear my thoughts. The only reason I didn't stay in bed is because of
homicide. I was two seconds from committing it had I not left. Josh
would have been famous though.
Taking in a huge gulp of air, I know that my rolling stomach has to be
empty after having the squirts this morning. Fuck, I blew that bathroom
up. Let Josh deal with that shit. Literally.
"Rhye, I'm not sure if you have met Syn Landry?" Ryan asks.
I shake my head, not really caring if I do either. Begrudgingly, I raise
my head and open my eyes to look at him. The dude, with that long
facial hair of his, red, plaid, button-up shirt, and jean coveralls looks
like he should be playing a banjo in a cabin, deep in the mountains

somewhere. I get it; this is fucking Tennessee, but really?
"Rhye Clark, please meet Syn. She is a Grammy-nominated and very
talented country music artist," he states, looking from her to me.
Fuck me. Country music? Shit. Damn and hell. I groan, publicly
voicing my level of excitement. I hate lame ass country artists. I grew
up in Georgia with a bunch of good ol' boys that listened to that white,
trailer trash music.
I turn to see who he is talking to. My eyes travel over her. Damn, did
my worst nightmare just come to pass? Me being paired up with a
Disney reject? That's what she looks like anyway. One of those
mouse-eared kids that has grown too old for sing-alongs and probably
flaunts her shit all over town. I'm sure her name is really Cynthia, but in
true bad-girl fashion, she changed it to a wannabe slutty name like Cyn.
Any other time, I would be down with accessible ass, but in all honesty,
home girl is not my type, and I' m not into statutory rape.
She can't be older than sixteen. Not to mention, she is too squeaky
clean looking, and damn. Why the fuck is she smiling at me? I bet she
doesn't have a single thought running between those ears of hers. I'm
paying for my sins right here on earth. Sin. Her name. I can' t stop the
laugh that escapes. The irony is not lost on me.
At the look of annoyance on her face, I cover my mouth with my hand
and pretend to cough. Good start, Rhye. Not that I care. It seems I make
friends wherever I go lately. Whatever. I swear, if only someone would
shoot me, or shoot me up, now.
Ryan finally continues, adding, "Currently, we are working on her new
album. Your record label thinks that it may be beneficial for both of
you to share this time together, given that several recent top country,
pop, and rock hits have been duets of mixed genres. I happen to agree.
So, we will be working with you separately, and then, we will have you
try to write a song together, one that could possibly feature you both,
depending on the sound. "
My head is going to implode. I cut my eyes to him, letting him read
exactly what I think of the idea on my face, which he obviously
ignores. I think about giving him my middle finger so that he clearly
gets my drift, but I' m already swimming in deep shit.

"We have been spending the morning free-writing lyrics. What basis
did you come up with, Syn?" Ryan asks, looking over at her.
"Love. That first moment when it happens and the feelings of
unknown. Not knowing where it will take you, but having the strength
just to let it lead," she says, not looking over at me but directly at Ryan.
Her voice annoys me right off the bat. This low-pitched, sugary sweet,
Southern accent. I'm sure it's always peppy. I'm nauseous again. Not
sure if it's from the sound of her voice or withdrawal. Either way, I
want to close my eyes and go to sleep. That's it. That's all. I don't want
to listen to her feelings. Her worst day probably consists of chipping a
nail and not being within a mile of a nail salon to get it fixed. Or horror
of all horrors, having a hair out of place.
"Who gives a fuck?" I say out loud, rolling my eyes away from her.
"Excuse me?" she asks.
Glancing back over, I see the "eat shit" look she is sending my way.
Now, we are talking. It' s better than that stupid ass smile she has been
giving me.
"Let me slow it down for you. I said, 'Who. Gives. A. Fuck.'"
"Obviously not you," she replies, running her eyes over me and
evidently finding me lacking. "More's the pity."
What? I shake my fist up and down, mimicking jacking off, and she just
smiles back. Did she just mouth, "You wish"? I laugh again. I' m pretty
sure she did.
"That's enough you two. I'm not here to play nanny. Rhye, this shit isn't
going on in here. You get me?" Ryan says, glaring daggers directly at
me.
"Whatever, man," I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
"Let's break for lunch. Rhye, since you just joined us, why don't you
work on some lyrics while we are out. Get a feel of where we want to
go with your record," he says, not really giving me a choice.
Not that I could stomach any food, but I'm not ready to write either.
Everyone stands to leave, including smiley herself. I finally get a good
look at her. Long, blonde, wavy hair, jeans, plain t-shirt, hardly no
makeup. If I had to describe her, I would say, " Wholesome. " Makes
me

want to puke. It' s so fake. Ten dollars says she rides cowboys like the
winning bronco rider every night. Probably could make a sinner like
me blush if I was interested. Which I'm not. I'd rather my girl look the
way she acts. What you see is what you get. No lies and no
expectations.
Ryan is the last out of the room, but before he leaves, he turns back to
me. "Dude, I'm serious. I will have no qualms about quitting your
ungrateful ass. Are we straight?" he asks, not waiting for me to reply.
"No drugs. No shit. And leave your opinions about Syn at the door. Put
them in your music for all I care, but keep your fucking mouth shut.
Are we clear?"
I glare at him. Let him think what he wants.
"I expect an answer when asked. Are we clear? " he barks, the anger
causing his face to flame red.
"Crystal," I answer, shrugging my shoulders. Damn, don't have a
coronary.
Nodding, he walks out and slams the door behind him.
What is up with people lately? Everyone is so sensitive. I've always
said that if everyone smoked large amounts of weed, we' d be a more
peaceful planet. Unfortunately, unless we all had medical prescriptions
for it, we'd be a peaceful lot rotting in prison. I'm sure the kumbaya
spirit would wear off pretty quick. Total anarchy. Fuck, yeah.
Resting my head back against the chair, I pray for sleep to come. The
insomnia is wearing thin on my nerves. I feel the black nothingness
within start to eat me from the inside out. All my demons coming out in
full force, seeking to control me. Mentally, I know it is all part of the
process of detoxing, but physically, I can' t control the feelings that
seemingly overwhelm me. My past threatens to destroy me. Jay. JT.
Chris.
Closing my eyes, I try not to think about any of them. They haunt me,
awake or asleep. How do you run from a ghost? You don' t. They never
leave unless I'm high. They can't touch me when I'm nodding on
smack. That's the only safe place where nothing seems to reach me, but
that' s not going to happen right now. Unless, of course, I want out.
Forever. I'm not sure I'm ready for that next step. Yet.
Yawning, I try not to think about any of that. Only sleep. I slow my

breathing and start to count backwards from one hundred. Ninety-nine.
Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven. Ninety-six.
"What else can you do to possibly fuck your life up even more than it
already is? " A familiar voice speaks to me.
I look around to notice that I'm sitting in mine and Chris's old
apartment that we shared in Los Angeles. I've known him since we
were kids. He was several years older than me and the person that got
me interested in music when I was fourteen. He's also the person that
supplied whatever drug I was into at the time. Chris was a guitar
player for the Mavericks, and though he wasn't the best, he got the job
done.
Now, I turn to see him sitting on the couch beside me. Dead. I never
dream of him alive anymore. Usually, he's carrying on a conversation
with me while the bullet wound to his forehead pulsates, blood
bubbling out. When something he says or I say makes him laugh, it
pumps out faster. Ruby thickness.
"Not another fucking dream, " I mutter to myself.
"You lucky, bastard. You still can score drugs and chicks. This is all I
get, " he says, nudging my arm with his.
I close my eyes tight and will myself to wake up. For fuck's sake, wake
the fuck up.
" Chicks don' t dig the hole, man, " he says, laughing at his own
joke.
I open my eyes in time for droplets of blood to splatter across my face
from his gruesome wound. I lean my chin down to wipe it against my
shirt, staining it with smears of crimson.
" Rhye, you' ve got to liven up. Life is way too short. Let me get you a
beer, " he says standing, blood pouring in rivets down his face.
I finally notice the music blaring in the background. Trent Reznor, lead
singer of Nine Inch Nails, sings "Came Back Haunted. " The bass
reverberates through the room, seeming to bounce the pictures
hanging on the walls until I realize that humanlike forms are actually
dancing within them. The pictures move from their exaggerated
gyrations. Faceless heads and arms stretch through the sheetrock,
swaying to the movement.

Fear settles over me, freezing me in place. Chris comes back into the
room, a beer in each hand and dancing along with the music. Streams
of beer suds fly from the cans, landing all over the room as he sings. My
mind threatens to break at the scene unfolding in front of me. Finally,
the music comes to a dramatic end with a thrashing crescendo. He falls
backwards onto the couch, beside me once again.
I look around, thankful to see that the fuckers in the walls have
disappeared. He hands me a can that should be empty but feels full. I
start to take a swallow when, at the last second, a big ass roach bug
crawls out of it and almost into my mouth.
"What the fuck?" I yell, throwing the can down and watching hundreds
of large, brown insects sprinkle out, crawling, and covering the floor.
" You used to be cool man. What happened? " Chris asks, sitting back
and crossing his legs like nothing is wrong.
" I didn' t used to dream of my best friend with a fucking bullet wound
to his forehead or people getting their groove on in the walls, " I say,
leaning forward to place my elbows on my knees and cradling my head
between my hands.
" Why do you dream about me, Rhye? Why do you obsess over
something I did? Something you can't change?" he asks quietly beside
me. " Why? "
Not lifting my head, I answer, " You know why. If I hadn' t bought that
bad shit. If I hadn't had that fucking gun in the first place. If I hadn't
ragged you about that show. If I hadn' t," I choke up, not able to finish
what I' m saying.
"Rhye, wake up man," a voice calls to me.
My eyes flash open, and I lift my hands to protect them from the
brightness of the room. I blink back the sleep and try to focus on who is
in front of me. That song writer guy, Mel I think it is, stands in front of
me holding a Styrofoam container and cup.
"I brought you back something to eat. Thought you could use it, " he
says, placing the food down next to me.
Sitting up, I try to orient myself to my surroundings. The dreams

are almost impossible to deal with. Every emotion that I thought I
couldn't feel anymore comes back in full force. I suffer greatly for my
sins. I've never needed a judge or jury because I crucify myself just
fine.
"Thanks, man," I say, nodding to him. The thought of food turns my
stomach inside out, and I swallow the bile that rises; however, I reach
for the drink and take a sip of the ice cold Sprite.
"Listen, I'm a huge fan of the Mavericks. I'm really excited about
working with you. In fact, I have actually been working on some
material that I would like to share if you are interested? " he asks,
sitting down beside me.
Considering that I couldn't care less right now about writing a single
lyric myself, I answer him with the only possible solution, "Sure. Let
me hear it. "
That arrogant, handsome as sin, jackass!
Even an hour after meeting him, I don't know whether I want to cry or
kick him. My heart is carved into tiny pieces, each one bleeding for a
different reason. I imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to stare
into a dark abyss of nothingness. I'm sure it would be the same sight as
when I glanced into his eyes. Tightly closing mine, I still feel the
overwhelming sense of loss. My stomach clinches in response. God, I
sound crazy even to myself.
I' m thinking way too much. I should be asking him who he thinks he is.
Okay, well, other than obviously who he is. I stare down at the

uneaten salad, stirring the lettuce around my plate and fuming on the
inside. After leaving the studio, I went with Julie to grab something to
eat at the corner deli. I've completely lost my appetite, and I can't think
about anything but him.
"Don't let him get to you. The guy's gone barmy," Julie says, sitting
across the table from me.
I let a low growl escape. Stabbing through a cherry tomato with my
fork, I look up at her. "What's his story? I know I've read something
about drugs and rehab online or in the magazines," I ask, watching her
shrug her shoulders.
"I only know some things. A little over a year ago, his bassist
committed suicide. The story I've heard is that Rhye and Chris were
both heavily addicted to heroin. One night, after botching a big show,
there was this huge row in front of everyone. It continued to escalate at
a party hosted back at their apartment, and here, the story gets a little
pear-shaped. Some say Rhye gave Chris the gun and dared him to pull
the trigger. A little Russian roulette. The other story is that Chris was
upset because Rhye fired him from the band that night and shot himself
in front of him. Either way, the situation is beastly," she replies, taking
a sip of her drink.
"What about for the last year? Has he been playing?" I ask, my
curiosity peaked.
She shakes her head, replying, "As far as I know, no. He's been in and
out of rehab and has a distaste for authority. From my understanding,
this is his record label giving him one last chance before they wash him
out. You're only as good as your latest hit, ducky." Standing, she lays
down money on the table. "Hey, I'll meet you back at the studio. I need
to ring someone. "
"Sure," I say, smiling up at her.
My mind is overloaded with the information she just shared. I can't
imagine witnessing someone killing themselves in front of me. Yeah, it
might even turn me into a drug addict or a crass pig. God, those eyes of
his. Nothingness. Darkness. "Keep your distance, Syn," my mind
screams in response. I've never wanted to fix anyone, and I'm not about
to start now.

"Syn Landry?" A girl of about twelve steps up to my table. I smile and
answer, "Yes?"
"Can I get a picture with you? I love your songs," she says, reaching for
her phone.
"Sure, sweetie," I answer. Standing, I ask a waiter to take our picture.
"My mom and I thought it was you," she states nervously, motioning to
a couple of tables over.
I wrap my arm around her back and smile for the camera. After he
snaps the picture, I turn towards her. "What grade are you in?"
"I' m in seventh grade. My mom took me and my best friend, Becky, to
see you in concert last year. It was awesome. "
"Thank you so much. What's your name?" I ask, smiling at her.
"Kelsey. My mom said not to stay long, so thanks," she says, turning to
walk back to her table.
I look over to see her mother waving to me, and I wave back. This part
of being in the public eye, I can handle. It's having your personal life
plastered all over magazines and online that I can't. People can be
vicious. One minute they love you, and the next, you're chopped liver.
Reaching into my bag, I grab some money and count out the right
change plus tip. I turn to leave the eatery and walk back to the studio.
Today, the sun shines and warms the cool autumn air. The streets are
busy for the music district, many traveling to and from their work
lunches.
My mind shows me a clear picture of Rhye. I can't even describe the
way seeing him for the first time made me feel. Alive. Need. I've only
ever had that instant reaction to Tag, and this time, it's much stronger.
Rhye carries an intense sadness. I'm sure it would break most mere
human beings. Is his internal struggle a reflection of his poor attitude? I
don't know, and I shouldn't care, especially after what he said in the
studio.
I've never had someone speak so roughly to me. I can't even
comprehend what it's like to not care about how you act or what you
say. Everything I do is constantly observed, and there is always
someone just waiting for me to make the wrong move. I feel ashamed
to admit that, in

this instant, I envy that about him. It's a freedom I deny myself.
Crossing the street, I remember hearing his songs for the first time. The
only music I love, other than country, is rock. One time, this guy friend
from high school invited me to a homecoming dance being held in our
old gym. I remember a slow dance where my date and I both loved the
song that was playing. Even to this day, I remember the voice of the
guy singing it captivating me, removing me from that overly-decorated
gym to a place where only he and I existed. When the song was over, I
asked my date if he knew who the singer was. I remember him saying
that it was some new band called the "Mavericks," and the lead vocalist
was Rhye Clark.
As popular as country music is, very few artists attain the god-like
status that rockers do, and that is fine and dandy by me. I don't want the
intense personal surveillance that comes along with it. I'm sure that
Rhye's "I don't give a flip" attitude is a direct response to that
overwhelming responsibility, or it could just be that he's a jackass.
Rhye qualifies in abundance for the title of "rock star". His voice. God
that voice. The deep, raspy tone gives me chill bumps just thinking
about it. It reaches down inside and tugs at every string you possess. He
visually fits the bill. Any girl, no matter the age, would die to even have
him notice her, unlike yours truly that he glanced over and seemingly
forgot about. I'd like to examine every single tattoo he has inked on his
body, ask him why he got them and what they mean, mainly just to hear
him speak. I can't imagine what it would feel like to have him turn that
excruciating pain, that deep loss, into focusing on something or
someone else. My body trembles at the thought, and I have to stop on
the sidewalk to compose myself.
Reaching my destination, I look up at the recording studio in front of
me. Am I ready for round two? Part of me wants to keep on going, but
the other pauses, not knowing if I can handle being in the same room as
him. Not knowing if he plans to look at me with the disdain he
obviously had earlier or ignore me as if I am truly insignificant to him.
I fear both. The unknown causes me to doubt myself, something I've
never experienced. Syn Landry! Get your act together. It' s just a guy. A
walking, talking moron. March yourself right upstairs and let him
know

how little you care. Okay, lie to yourself about how little you care.
I take a deep breath and walk upstairs. Once I open the door to the
room, I immediately notice that Rhye and Mel are the only ones inside.
I think about leaving, at least until Julie returns, but when Mel sees me,
he smiles.
"Did you have a good lunch?" he asks, standing and walking towards
me.
"Yeah. Julie and I ate at the deli," I reply, frozen in place and
concentrating solely on Mel.
"I've been meaning to try it. Hey listen, I need to run downstairs. Would
you let Ryan or Julie know I'll be right back?" he says, reaching the
door.
"Sure," I nod, moving to sit in my chair.
The door shuts with a sense of finality. I'm afraid to turn towards him.
Minutes pass. The silence is deafening, but the tension in the room is at
a fever pitch. I'm scared to turn and see that he doesn't feel it, this
pulsating need that threatens to engulf me. The air thickens, each breath
I take highlighting the rise and fall of my chest, and my body reacts to
the changing climate.
This is craziness. Just look at him, Syn. He's just some rock star crush
that you need to get over, and he probably doesn't even notice you. You
are imagining every bit of this in your head. Look up at him, you idiot.
Get it over with!
Without another thought, I look directly at him, and he's staring right
back at me, those infinite black eyes looking right through me it seems.
A sneer on his face says that he finds something about me very lacking.
Great. Just wonderful. However, I can't look away. As much as it pains
me to see how he obviously dislikes the sight of me, it's still more
painful to turn away from him.
My heart doesn't know whether it wants to run from the room
screaming or to walk right up to him and kiss the ever-living life back
into him. This internal war waging inside of me threatens to change my
very being, tearing down every unwritten rule that governs my mind
and body, granting him access to write my entire future.
He finally blinks his eyes, not realizing that we must have been in a

staring match. Shaking his head, he looks away, only to turn back to
me. He starts to say something but stops.
"Not much creeps me the fuck out, but your staring is starting to," he
states, looking directly at me.
"Yeah, the feeling is mutual," I answer, not taking any offense. I
understand exactly what he is saying.
"Whatever. I' m not interested," he says, this time looking away.
"Again, feeling mutual," I lie. What am I supposed to say?
Now he looks at me, with one eyebrow raised. Call my bluff, buddy.
Then, I'll call yours. This entire situation has gone from heated to
awkward. We have to work together. I can be professional about this.
"Look, I guess we are going to have to work together. I say we get
through this as civilly as possible. Agreed?" For some reason, I lean
towards him and stick my hand out for him to shake. What are you
doing, Syn Landry? Idiot.
He looks at my hand and gives this annoying, sneering laugh. I start to
pull my hand back when, finally, he places his hand out to reach for
mine. Everything seems to move in slow motion. The single touch of
his fingers first touching my hand. His grip overwhelming mine. Tiny
zaps of electrical current crawling up my arm. A pounding needs starts
in my abdomen. I search his eyes, needing to know if he is, in anyway,
connected to what is going on. Instead, I find those dead eyes resting on
me. Nothing. I look down, realizing I'm the only one holding on, and I
let go.
"Anyway," I say, swallowing back this crazy, desperate emotion.
I turn away, reaching for my notebook and pen and praying that the
liquid gathering in my eyes doesn't fall. I don't know why I feel this
way. It' s so confusing, and I feel like absolute horse manure knowing
that it's only me. How could I expect someone like him to take notice of
someone like myself? He dates movie stars for crying out loud.
Experienced women. Probably whores. Dear Lord, I apologize for that
thought. It was ugly.. .but true.
When the door opens and Ryan and his crew enter, I dare to take one
more peek at Rhye. His eyes are still focused on me; however, I can
now plainly see that I'm not the only one confused. For some reason,
my

stupid heart leaps at the realization.
I count the endless minutes until I'm released from this prison. We' ve
been supposedly "writing" all afternoon. Yet, I still have zero on my
page, well, other than the oriental dragon I drew for the hell of it.
Between Ryan giving me slack all afternoon for taking smoke breaks
and having to deal with whatever that shit was that happened with
Smiley, I need a drink. Fuck that, I need a bottle.
Not that I want to admit it, even to myself, but damn if I didn't feel
something when our hands shook this afternoon. At first, I was numb to
everything as normal, but when she pulled back, I felt ...something. It
sounds dumb, but it' s the first time in a while that I' ve felt anything
remotely deep inside for anyone else. I stare at her, wondering what
makes her different.
Around five o' clock, Mel goes out for pizza and beer, returning with
enough for everyone. I try to force one slice down and guzzle several
beers. For some reason, I keep having to stop myself from looking over
at Smiley. She hasn' t said anything else directly to me this afternoon. I
notice her take a slice of pie and opt for a coke instead of beer. The
room seems to get smaller and smaller, closing in on me, and the day
can' t end fast enough.
Several hours later, after more pretending to write and listening to
Ryan and Mel' s ideas, we finally call it a day. I quickly stand and rush
out, not looking to see what she is doing. The idea of returning to the

apartment is about as appealing as staying one more minute in that
studio. Exiting the building, I light one up and hold the smoke in before
blowing it out. My unsteady hands worsened as the day progressed,
now making it difficult to even hold my cigarette. Thankfully, this
should be the hardest day on my body.
Darkness has fallen, and already, the night life is awakening the streets.
The neon lights glow from the signs, announcing the clubs and bars that
line either side. The ones that obviously have a country theme I stay the
hell out of. I see one at the corner that reads "Mike's Bar". Taking a
chance, I put my second cigarette out, and place my hands in my
pockets before entering.
Walking in, I immediately notice the rock band setting up on the small
stage that faces the bar. Just what I was looking for. I move directly to
the far end and sit down on a stool, noting that there isn't a lot of people
in the place. Back in L.A., you can't walk into a bar without at least one
paparazzi bastard taking your picture and hounding you for the night.
Most nights you party in V.I.P., not to be cool but to be left the fuck
alone.
I drum my fingertips on the smooth wooden bar, enjoying the
anonymity that the low light affords me.
"What can I get you to drink?" the bartender asks, looking uninterested
in who I am or maybe he doesn't know.
"Let me get a bottle of Jack and a Coke to go with it."
"No problem," he replies, turning away.
I look towards the stage and the guys setting up to play. They're
probably older than I am now, but I remember when we used to look
like that, excited at the opportunity to get on stage to showcase our
music. Let everything that was going on in our lives disappear and be
gods on that stage. Rule the world with our instruments and feel as if
nothing else matters but the music.
So many memories, that normally I can block out, assault me. I
remember playing at our old spot in Athens, Georgia. Vortex was the
first stage I ever stepped on. The first paying gig I ever had. Smiling, I
think about the couple hundred dollars that we made and how we
thought we were the shit. We had made it, getting paid to play was the
absolute

shit. Being on that stage was all I ever wanted. Well, almost all I ever
wanted. I quickly push my thoughts to think about anything else but
her. Jay. My old girlfriend from high school.
"Here you go, man. I'll just put it on your tab," he smiles, placing a
bottle of liquor, a glass of soda, and a shot glass down in front of me.
Well, I guess he does know who I am, but he seems cool about it. I can
deal with that. Nodding my head, he finally turns to leave. Not
bothering to use the shot glass, I twist the cap off the bottle and down a
fifth of it. The liquid burns on instant contact, hitting my stomach like a
punch in my gut; however, I welcome the pain. Once you experience
the high of drugs, getting drunk is never that appealing, not to mention
it seems to take more and more alcohol to make that happen. Point in
case: Me drinking the entire bottle.
I kill half of the Coke, drowning out the hard liquor taste. Nothing
seems to happen other than the unease of fighting the nausea that
threatens to empty my stomach. Only one answer to that. I pick the
bottle up again and drink. This time, it doesn't burn like a bitch going
down, and my stomach is somewhat numb to the process. Finishing the
last of the soda, I place it back on the bar. The bartender replaces it
without asking.
"Thanks," I mumble.
The band starts to play, getting ready for their set. They begin with a
Pearl Jam song, and within seconds of the lead singer opening his
mouth, I know why. He sounds a lot like Eddie Vedder. I close my
eyes, tracing the individual sounds within the music. The drummer
doesn' t miss a beat, keeping time for his bandmates. The bass player
moves in synchrony with the head guitarist, preempting the melody. A
unit, banded together, creating something so real. So alive. Their own
army. When did I lose my respect for that ability? When did it cease to
matter?
I look around, happy the bar isn't filling up with people and no one
notices who I am. I continue to lose myself listening to these guys. Isn'
t that what it's supposed to be about? Getting lost in the music? Isn't
that what I loved about creating it? Knowing that someone could
escape listening to something I crafted? I lean back against the bar,
bottle in hand and taking a swig every so often. I nod my head in time
with the

beat, one with the band, with the crowd. "Hey, you."
I turn towards the sultry female voice to my right. A tight little blonde
stands there with barely anything covering her. Her big tits push up and
out of the small tank she has on, and I'm not sure if that scrap of blue
jean material can be considered a skirt, but it works for me. Her
enlarged, painted red lips purse up, letting me guess what she is
probably good at. The chin-length, bleached blonde hair falls across
her heavily made up face as her tongue caresses her top lip. She' ll do.
"I know you, right?" she says, winking at me.
Yeah, she knows exactly who I am. In this case, my dick knows her too.
Well, her kind anyway.
"Where's the bathroom?" I say, slightly slurring my words.
Smiling those fake ass lips my way, she purrs, "This way."
She reaches for my hand, and I stumble after her. Letting her guide me
to the back of the bar, she opens a door, pulling me into a small room
with a mirror, sink, and toilet. Pushing me up against the wall, she tries
to kiss me, which I don't allow. I can't be sure if I'm the only dick she's
sucked tonight. Hell no am I letting her touch my lips with that big fish
mouth of hers.
I turn my head, reaching up to grasp her hair and tugging her to her
knees. She yanks my shirt up to kiss the top of my stomach while
unzipping my jeans, pulling them down just enough to free me. My
dick doesn't have one goddamn problem that he might not be the first in
her mouth. I harden to the point of pain, and the small kisses she places
along the rigid line don't do a damn thing to help.
"Suck me off," I command, still gripping her hair and guiding her head
to do as I say.
The feel of her overly wet mouth sucking me down and her tongue
licking the underside plain out does it for me. I'm curious as to how fast
she can get me off. I clocked one chick at two minutes before. This isn'
t going to come close, but her experience is working for her, along with
those tiny moans. She doesn't slow down as she increases the grip of
her mouth, suctioning like a leach on my dick. The sight of those tits
bouncing up and down, along with the introduction of hand action on
my

balls, gets me closer.
Every second of the tension today gathers in my abdomen, building
higher and higher, until.
"Fuck!" I moan seconds before shooting my cum directly in her mouth.
We have a winner! This one is a swallower. Closing my eyes, I let my
head fall back, emptying myself. I feel the relief all the way to the balls
of my feet, lifting myself on them. I stand still for minutes, feeling her
lap up every single drop.
Done with the skank, I pull back, stumbling over to the sink. I turn the
warm water on and directly run my penis under it. I hear her clear her
throat behind me as I pat dry with a paper towel, taking extra care in its
sensitive situation. Glancing into the mirror, I see her licking her lips
and smiling.
"I' m a huge fan, Rhye," she says, reaching into her pocket and
evidently reapplying some type of lip gloss.
I don' t feel the need to answer. This chick knows the score.
"I' m here most nights if you need any more of that," she comments
before turning to walk out of the bathroom.
I shake my head and pull my jeans up to close up shop. The chirping of
my phone, letting me know I have a message, surprises me for a
second. Pulling it out of my pocket, I realize I don't know the number,
but the message infuriates me.
This is Josh... friendly reminder ....You have thirty minutes before
curfew. #Iwillreportyourass
Fucker ends it with a hashtag?! I turn and kick the small aluminum
trash can which crashes with a loud bang against the concrete wall.
Storming out of the bathroom before someone comes to check on the
noise, I hold my head down and look for the exit. This time, I can't help
but notice that the bar is filled to capacity with wall to wall people.
When did that happen? I don't look either way as I walk out, trying not
to be noticed. Fortunately, I' m able to escape without any problems.
The night air is crisp and clean as I stumble back to the apartment. My
mind is not exactly free of my thoughts but not overrun by them either.
The booze helps, but I can still feel everything on the edges, just
waiting. I make it back to the apartment within five minutes, in plenty
of

time for fucking curfew. I stroll through the front door, noting Josh
sitting on one of the barstools.
"Did you have fun tonight?" he asks, clearly fishing.
"Yes, Mother. I did," I reply in my best Norman Bates imitation, not
planning on stopping to chat.
"Anything that's going to show up on the drug test Friday?" he
asks.
I stop, pop my neck muscles, then turn to look at him. "Not unless
you've got one that tests for Jack Daniels. Alcohol isn't illegal." Stupid
motherfucker.
"It's not, but I hope you're not too dumb to realize that it could inhibit
your ability to make the right choices. I'm not your enemy, Rhye. I
don't want to be."
"No, you're just my fucking warden, and you sure as shit ain't my
friend, so by default, that makes you enemy number one. "
He stands, stretching his arms out in front of him while shaking his
head. "Are you honestly going to waste this opportunity? Man, you've
got more God-given talent in your pinkie finger than most people could
ever dream of having. People would kill to be you, but here you are,
squandering it all away. For what, Rhye? You think you're going to
find what you are looking for in the nod or at the bottom of the bottle?
You're not. You'll give it all away for nothing."
The all-consuming rage that sleeps lightly under my skin awakens and
bursts forward. I step directly in his face, ready to take him down. "You
don't know jack shit about me. Where I've been. What I've done." The
anger speeds my heart rate, my breathing turns rapid. I ball my fist up at
my sides, ready for him.
"You're right. I can't imagine the things you've seen and done, but
Rhye, if you can't change them, you have to let them go. They will take
you down, not caring who you take down with them. What do you think
happens if you end it? You think that rights all the wrongs? It doesn't.
You have to find some type of closure that you can live with and then
let all that shit bothering you go. Just let it go, man," he says, not
backing away.
"Hit him. HIT! HIM!" my demons chant, but something else inside

of me halts my actions. FUCK! Does he ever just shut up? Knocking
my shoulder hard into his, I walk by with force, causing him to stumble
and daring him to say something. Any sound he makes and I'll turn
around and mess him up. Damn the consequences. I'll do it if he
remotely breathes in my direction. He gets the hint and doesn't say
anything else as I head back to my bedroom.
Locking the door, I turn to brace myself against the wall. I hang my
head and try to control my breathing, my buzz obliterated. How do you
let go of the kind of the things I live with? That I've seen with my own
two eyes? Two guys are dead, directly from decisions I made. A girl,
once my girl, has no idea that the reason she lost him was because of
me. ME! She has no clue that I set it all in motion, the very thing that
would cause her to try and end her own life.
Jay. Fuck me. Years have passed, but knowing that she chose someone
else still tears my shit up. Not going there. It doesn't matter anymore.
She doesn't matter anymore. Nothing fucking matters anymore. I push
away from the wall and head into my bathroom to take a hot shower,
hoping the water will at least lessen my body' s aches. Knowing it will
never wash away my sins.
The sound of my alarm clock blares loudly, waking me from the
restless sleep that I fought hard all night. I sling my hand over to pound
the snooze button. Every sleepless hour completely wasted thinking
about him. Groaning, I grab my pillow to cover my head, trying not to

remember all the stupid thoughts that went through my crazy head.
Yesterday, Rhye ran from the studio so fast it made my head spin. I
understood the need for escape. What I don't understand is how I could
take half the night worrying about where he was or who he was with.
That doesn't make any sense to me. It shouldn't matter. I need it not to
matter.
I growl, sitting up and tossing my pillow across the room. It's only day
two. Day. Two. How am I supposed to function knowing I just spent
the night worrying about a guy I don't know and have no business
worrying over? Who cares if he is a tortured soul that I feel like I could
be the one to help? You can't change people. Ever.
Stepping out of bed, I walk straight into the shower, hoping to clear my
head. Undressing, I sling my clothes on top of the sink and turn the
water on. I contort my body out of the way of the cold water spray until
the correct temperature doesn't freeze me to death. I pour a small
amount of shampoo in my hand as I lean back to wet my hair and
massage it in.
He is so intense. His presence overwhelms me, calling forth something
so deep within that I wonder if it's normal. It's not like I have someone I
can call to confirm any of this. I didn't have any girl friends in school
because I worked so much. Mostly, I had guy friends, but none that I
would call now. I thought I was in love with Tag. I mean, I had
reservations, which now make me question just how in love with him I
really was, but still.
Is this it? That mystical occurrence that poets gush over and
songwriters rhapsodize about? I know it's lust, at least for me. Not for
Rhye, or so he says. Butthole. Cute butthole, but it's still the same thing.
Why feel the way I do if it all means nothing?
Finishing rinsing my hair, I shut the water off and reach for a towel to
dry my wet body. Looking at the clock, I realize just how late I' m
running. I rush to get ready, haphazardly throwing on my clothes. I
have no time to blow my hair out. Shrugging my shoulders, I grab a
rubber band and pull it on top of my head, leaving it to dry curly on its
own.
By the time I reach the studio, I'm almost an half an hour late, but only
Julie is there.
"I guess we're the only ones, ducky. Ryan and Mel have some

meeting this morning. Mel said he told Rhye not to come in until this
evening so you and I can work alone," she says, smiling as I walk in.
Setting my guitar case down, I flop down into a chair. "Sorry. I'm
usually on time. Rough night. "
"Ahhh," she says, the sound betraying a deeper meaning.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, turning to look innocently at
her.
"You fancy him."
"Who?" I answer innocently. Play dumb, Syn. Play dumb.
"You bloody well know who," she says, her cockney accent more
pronounced today.
I shrug, deciding not to say anything else incriminating.
Staring into my eyes, she sighs before saying, "He will hurt you. He
won't mean to. It's just in his nature. Guard your heart."
There is no use in denying it. We both let her words settle within the
quietness in the room. My heart hurts at what she is saying, but my
head agrees one hundred and ten percent. I know, more than anyone,
that love hurts and those that we love have the massive power to
destroy us. I loved my mother, and that love caused the most internal
pain. I think I loved Tag, but either way, his betrayal cut me to the core.
No, I don't want to love Rhye.
"C'mon you. This is great material. Let's use it for personal gain," she
says with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Start with the title,
'Guard Your Heart'. Write around that."
Grabbing her notebook and a pen, she starts jotting down words, and I
reach for my own pad. The first sentence I write comes straight from
my heart, "I see the pain coming and I can't stop this train wreck of my
heart. You won't ever care, and I'll be the one left at the start."
We work the entire morning, only stopping to get a quick bite of lunch.
Afterwards, Julie and I set up with our guitars, working on the melody
for two of the songs I finished earlier. When the first one seems where
we both want it, I start playing with some different chords for the other,
singing the chorus to myself.
Glancing up, my breath catches, held prisoner within my chest. As I
look into Rhye's eyes, feelings of fear and trepidation beat at my soul,

and unease causes me to stop and stare. He stands on the other side of
the recording studio glass, looking directly at me. I don't move, frozen
within his gaze. What this boy does to me. My body naturally reacts to
his, but it's my emotions that I don't understand. I want to protect him,
shelter him, right every wrong; however, the most confusing aspect is
not only do I want to fix him, but I want to fix myself. I want to be
perfect for him, be what he needs.
Rhye looks away, seemingly unaffected by any of this or by me. I
watch Mel walk up to him and say something. He's in a black,
sleeveless shirt, making it easy to study some of the designs carved
onto his arms. I' ve never been attracted to tattoos, never saw the beauty
or the art, but looking at Rhye's, it's almost like reading his story. I see
an anatomical heart, gouged with knives and needles, maybe depicting
his hurt, his pain. Music notes, freely flowing, clearly indicate his love
for music, but then, a broken microphone maybe tells me that he's lost
his passion.
I follow several colorful designs twisting up his shoulder, traveling the
lines of his neck muscles, and over his beautiful face, stopping to again
note that lower case "j" inked next to his eye like a tear drop. Who
would he mark his face for? A girl? Someone he loved. Someone he
hurt? Someone who hurt him?
He catches me assessing him, and the look in his eyes makes my heart
pound. A small smirk marks his mouth, and I see a spark of something
in those dark brown eyes. Life. Mel, still speaking to him, playfully
tags his arm. Rhye turns back towards him to reply to whatever it is he's
saying, and I look down, trying to control whatever this is inside of me.

"She's not my type," I say, looking back to Mel.
"I' m just pointing out the obvious, brother," he starts, holding his hands
up. "The girl can't keep those big cat eyes of hers off you. She was
staring so hard yesterday that I thought laser beams were going to shoot
out of her eyes. Hell, what am I saying? I'm sure you get that shit all the
time with the ladies. "
Shrugging my shoulders, I look back through the large, clear glass to
watch her. As I was about to walk into the studio this morning, the
image of her made me stop. She looks so damn young. Her hair is
pulled up in one of those bands where all of it looks like it will fall
down at any second. She has on a t-shirt and, I guess, shorts because a
pair of hot tan legs are crossed out in front of her. Innocent. Sweet.
Words I'm not familiar with aptly describe her.
Those strange, yellow eyes look back up to me. Syn. Isn't that her
name? Just how sinful are you, little Syn? Are you like most girls,
wanting the world to think you're one way when, behind closed doors,
you like it down and dirty? I bet that's her deal. I normally wouldn't
give someone like her the time of day. Again, I like the ones who dress
trashy and a little slutty, wearing their pain and pleasure on the outside
and giving their middle finger to society and its dictations.
Maybe if I give her what those eyes evidently are begging for, she can
quit with the whole, "Look at me, I' m so wholesome" act. It' s starting
to aggravate the shit out of me. Well, actually everything is aggravating
the shit out me. Josh tried to wake me at fucking six o' clock

this morning to go ride a bicycle. A fucking bicycle. I threw a lamp at
him, missing, and shattering it against my bedroom wall.
Shaking my head, I see that she is back to writing something down in
that stupid notebook. If I'm lucky, she'll be writing down all of her
nasty little secrets and offer to act them out later. My dick starts to get
its own ideas. Yeah, I can get down with her this one time. Make an
exception.
"Do you want to work on that song from yesterday? I think studio B is
open. We can play with some different beats, see what works," Mel
says, interrupting my thoughts.
"Let's do it," I say, forgetting about Syn for now.
Following Mel into the next studio, we both sit down in front of the
boards. He pulls out his notes from yesterday and hands me a piece of
paper and a pencil. Not sure what he wants me to do with these unless I'
m supposed to look busy.
"Look over these lyrics we talked about. Let's see if you like this new
sound I've been working on. It's a dark, heavy beat, but man does it
have a mean guitar melody that I think would be perfect for you, " he
says, pressing buttons on the sound board.
Music starts to thump through the room. My eyes close on their own
accord, and I let the rhythm take over. For the first time in a long while,
I feel it flow through me, energizing and renewing. My heart beats in
synchrony, my fingers search out the matching chords, playing an
air-guitar as precise as I would play my own.
Without letting it end, Mel loops the song, and it continues to play. The
third time I listen to it, I open my eyes to look down at the lyrics Mel
wrote. I begin to sing, but I don't use his exact written words. I add in
my own, letting them come straight from me. "Without remorse,
without shame, I'm the only one to blame. Take my heart, Take my
soul, but know they come empty, riddled with holes. "
I get lost in the music, escape in the melody, and purge myself within
the lyrics. Something tugs inside of my abdomen, reminding me it's
still there. My soul. It merges with the music, the only time it's free
from the encasing darkness. The only time I've ever felt whole is in my
music. I thought it was lost for good. Sitting in this room, I find it again,

feeling a little peace for the first time in two years.
When the music comes to an end, Mel starts to clap enthusiastically
while whistling, and I remember I'm not alone. I come back to myself
only to find several others' applause joining his. Turning to the
doorway, I see that Ryan, Julie, and Smiley herself have witnessed this
intangible moment, and I hate it.
For seconds, the fiery anger inside me threatens to be unleashed.
Goddamn them all for seeing something so personal and so private that
it physically makes me ache inside to be flayed open; however, I
instantly realize they have no clue that my spirit has been severed from
my music and only now rediscovering it. They can't comprehend what
they've witnessed, and I have no desire to share it. I look down, trying
to control all of these feelings so they don't escape.
"Man. Son, that's not half bad," Ryan says, standing somewhere near
me.
"Not half bad?" that chick Julie asks with her accent. "That was bloody
amazing. I' d buy that iTunes single right this second. "
"Damn, that was bad ass," Mel says, joining in with the others. Once
I've masked all my emotions, I look up to glare at them and shrug. I
can't help that my eyes immediately seek Syn's. Are those unshed
tears? She stands with her hands grasped at her chest, her breathing
rapid. We stare at each other while the others talk over us. She knows
what just happened with me. How can she possibly know? Goddamn it!
How can she know?

He found it.
No wonder he hasn't been playing. He couldn't feel the music. It's a
musician's lifeblood. If you can't connect with the music, it's all a lie,
and the fans can spot that a mile away. And that's not the truly painful
part. If you are a musician, you live and die for your music. It connects
you to life, to people, and for some, yourself. It's like a chef not being
able to taste food. You can cook it, slave over it for hours, but no matter
how delicious it looks, it's tasteless. For a musician, it's losing yourself.
Your soul. And for a precious second, I watched him find his.
Ten minutes ago, Julie and I were working on my music when Ryan
popped his head into the doorway and told us to come with him. We
looked at each other, perplexed at what he wanted, but stood to follow
him. He led us to the room next door, and from the doorway, we
watched, not wanting to interrupt Rhye. Oh my, the raspiness in his
voice, soft and smooth with a thick texture. There is a husky quality
that all great rock singers have, something that calls to its listeners, and
Rhye has it in spades. I watched him, with his eyes closed, as he
swayed his body to the rhythm, a seemingly innate ability to blend into
the music.
I stood motionless, imprisoned by the sound of Rhye singing. It wasn't
his voice that made every fine hair on my body stand straight on end, it
was catching a rare glimpse of the real him. I watched him connect with
his music, and my body quivered with unrequited burning lust. For a
fleeting second, I saw him unearth the man he was meant to be beneath
the black abyss of pain and hurt burying his soul. My insubstantial
world was incinerated, reforming into what he needs. What I now need.
I've fallen for him... into a million pieces. Separately, the pieces don' t
make a lick of sense, but together, all my questions in the universe are
answered. I feel this is where my life has been leading me. To him.
When he was singing, I couldn' t breathe, afraid he would stop, the
moment would be lost forever, and his soul would be restless for
eternity. I know I can' t find him lost like that. I know that he has no
chance to find me when he is so broken.
During the song, when I noticed that he found what was missing,

an immense feeling of completion rocked me to my core. Tears
gathered in my eyes, and I held back, not wanting to share this moment
with the others. Why couldn't Rhye and I have been alone? Even now,
as he stares at me, I don't know what he's thinking. After feeling closer
to him than any other human being in this world, I have no clue. It's
almost too much to bear. His glare turns from questioning to angry, and
it burns into my soul, scalding my insides.
"Syn, did you hear what Ryan just said?" Julie asks, shaking my arm to
get my attention.
"Huh? What?" I ask, noticing the concerned look she gives me.
"You and Rhye are performing tomorrow night at a club down the
street. They normally have musicians play from a mixture of rock, pop,
and country, so it will be a great spot for both of you," she says,
glancing from me to Rhye, who is still glaring my way.
"Yeah," Ryan interrupts. "My meeting this morning was with the music
label. We need Rhye to have some good press. Let his fans know he' s
working on getting a new record out soon. Syn, you are going to
perform your new single that is flying up the charts. Your band
members should all be here by tomorrow morning, and you can
practice with them. Rhye, at this point, we are going to let you sing
something of your choice acoustically. "
I look over at Rhye, watching for his reaction. Is he going to be ready to
play tomorrow? He looks over at Ryan and nods his head in agreement.
He's back to being unreadable, and I don't know if he means it or just
agrees, not having any plans to play.
"Let me meet with my team in my office. You two guys figure out who
is going to perform first, and then, I want you both to make it an early
night," Ryan says, not looking at me but directly at Rhye.
The three of them carry on their conversation as they leave, each telling
us goodnight. Once the door closes, the silence is deafening. I continue
to stand, not knowing whether I should sit or not. My nerves explode
within me, but I'm still sure of one thing. Him. It doesn't mean I expect
him to remotely feel the same. My hands fidget in front of me, and I
lean from one foot to the other.
He sits still, arms crossed, staring up at me. His demeanor stays the

same. cool, calm, and cocky. After several minutes, it doesn' t seem like
he is going to say anything, so I clear my throat.
"I can sing first if you would like," I say, not meaning any of it. What I
want to say is, "Do you feel it? This connection that ties us together.
Does your heart hurt at the sight of me because you want to be with me
instead of apart? Do you think you could love me? Ever? Because I
would wait. Forever. It's not a choice for me anymore. Keep your cool,
Syn," I tell myself. I don't want to seem like the inexperienced nineteen
year old that I am.
He continues to gaze at me with a sneer marking his face. Abruptly, he
stands to his feet, and I automatically jump back, my backside
smacking into the wall. I see his smile at my reaction. He enjoys it.
Devours it. He swaggers towards me, licking his lips. The sight of him
is mesmerizing. Has anything ever been so overtly sexual, or is it just
because it's him, and my body reacts to everything that is Rhye?
Once he reaches me, he crowds my space, aligning our bodies mere
inches from touching. I raise my head to peer into his rich, brown eyes,
loving that he doesn't tower over me. My thoughts are chaotic;
however, my body is oddly calm yet more alive than it's ever been.
There is an electricity between us, currents of energy sparking from me
to him.
"There you are, " I think to myself as I see him when I look into his
eyes now. He is amazingly beautiful. I tightly grasp the sides of my
jean shorts in my hands, physically restraining myself from making
first contact with him. I know whatever this is between us has to
happen on Rhye's time. I watch him lower those pink lips of his closer
to mine, only breaths away.
"Do you like it hard?" he whispers, licking his bottom lip then tugging
it with his teeth.
What? Wait. What? I can't follow his words when everything is
drowned out by his presence. My body is in overdrive, chills marking
my skin from head to toe.
"Do I like what?" I ask, my voice trembles.
"When you get fucked. Do you like it rough? I bet, behind that good
girl act, you like to get down and dirty," he says, placing his hands on
either side of my waist and squeezing gently.

I shiver at his touch, not really understanding what he is saying because
I'm lost in him. He rubs his hands up and across my sides and abdomen,
tickling and touching. Leaning his mouth down, he nibbles on my neck.
Every nip of his sharp teeth is soothed by a lapping of his tongue. I lean
my head back, granting him full access.
I moan, grasping the tops of his arms to steady myself from the
avalanche of lust burying me by the minute. His lips softly move up to
my ear. A tender bite to my sensitive flesh and another groan escapes
me. My nipples harden into little pebbles, and my girly parts blaze with
need, pulsating with every streak of lightning that storms inside of me.
I feel his fingers tracing the waist of my jean shorts, and my body
quivers with want. I'm aware of him unsnapping the top button, moving
his hand lower. The zipper must catch at first because I feel him
strongly tug at it, but only seconds later, the cool air touches my
sensitive skin.
"I'm going to fuck you against this wall. Get you out of my system," he
says, sounding as though he ran miles before covering my mouth with
his.
There is nothing romantic about our first kiss. He attacks my mouth,
the gnashing of his teeth against mine sharp. He shows me no
tenderness, no finesse, as he forces his tongue between my lips. This
epic moment is ruined by his carelessness. As soon as I realize what he
is saying, I try to pull back, only to be trapped by his strength.
Something inside of me cautions not to fight, assuring that he won't
hurt me, at least physically.
His hand reaches around to grasp my butt, squeezing tightly as his other
hand slides up to my neck, holding it forcibly. He presses his ravaging
mouth against mine again, and I deny entry or at least try to.
Yanking away from me, he snarls in my face, "Quit the tease show. I
don't have time for this shit. Are we gonna fuck or what?"
I search for something to say in the midst of everything that is
happening. "I thought...," I begin, completely cut off by his harsh
laugh.
"Yeah, don't think. I'm only in it for the pity fuck," he says.
I can't disguise the look of incredulity in my eyes. His words smack me
in the face, and I try not to let the pain of rejection show. I' m obviously
stranded. On my own. In love. His actions and words speaking

clearly of his indifference. Even now, he stands here unaffected while
my entire world is hanging in the balance.
"C'mon, Syn. Live up to that name of yours. Save the innocent act for
your fucktard cowboys," he says, leaning down to try and kiss me
again.
I move my head away, holding back from slapping the living tar out of
him. Never, not once, was Tag less than a gentleman. Even when he
hurt me with his actions and words, he did it gently. He would have
never spoken to me like this. No one ever has, and by God, no one
should ever be able to.
"Let me go," I say, pushing him away harder, finally budging him
backwards. I don't give him a chance to think for one more second that
treating me this way is acceptable. Slapping at his arm, I yell, "What is
your problem?" I pull my shorts together and button them.
"I don't need this shit," he says, shrugging and turning to walk out of
the room.
"Stop right there!" I yell, my anger finally piquing. He pauses, bowing
his head for second, and turns around. His face is scarlet red, and a
constant tick in his jaw shows me he's pissed. Good! Join the club.
"What was that?" I ask, holding my shaking hands up in question.
He doesn't answer. He stands silent, staring angrily at me.
"Whatever you think about me, know that I' m not that kind of
girl."
A bitter laugh escapes him. "You are all that kind of girl. If you're
wanting someone to beg for it, you've come to the wrong place. I don't
have to. "
"Beg for it?" I ask, repeating his words. Okay, I feel my own face flush
with anger. "I've never wanted you or anyone else to beg for it. I
want...," I start, but can't finish. "Justyou," I ache to tell him but don't.
"You want, what?" he asks, looking surprised at his own question.
"You don't know me. Someone like you never could."
What do you have to lose, Syn? It's not like he seems to care at all. "I
want to know that guy that got lost in his music, but seemed to find
himself at the same time," I say, seeing the look of rage contort his face
at my admission.

"You didn't see shit," he says between clenched teeth. Moving forward,
he holds his index finger directly in my face. "You keep your goddamn
mouth shut. "
Slowly, I reach up and wrap my fist around his pointed finger, gently
bringing it down. Our eyes connect, and I see the surprise at my action;
it clearly confuses him. His facial expression is almost comical. I can't
say what possesses me, my need or perhaps my inner woman, but I
stand on the tips of my toes. My body raises to be almost eye-level to
him, and I slowly press my lips against his.
Our eyes lock in a silent battle when his mouth doesn't automatically
open for me. Shyly, I move my lips, slipping my tongue between his. I
watch his eyes blink, turning those brown orbs from hostile to intense.
His deep moan sends an electric shiver down my body, and finally, his
tongue conquers mine. His taste, which is uniquely him, brands itself in
me. I know I' ll never want another. Closing my eyes, I try to match his
roughness with gentleness, patience to his impatient demeanor, and
love to his indifference.
I shift my body, fitting myself completely against him. Abruptly, I feel
the loss of his lips. I open my eyes to see him pulling away, shaking his
head. He doesn't look at me as he wipes his mouth with the back of his
hand in disgust.
"Stay the fuck away from me," he says angrily before turning to leave,
not caring enough to look back. I jump as he slams the door on the way
out.
Bringing my hand to my chest, it takes a minute to catch my breath.
Everything is happening so fast. I'm dizzy with these immense feelings
of trepidation and excitement, scared almost. How can I feel this way
when he obviously doesn't? Why do my feelings seem to grow despite
his rejection? I glance towards the door. The loss of him already weighs
heavy on my soul.

"She's fucking crazy if she thinks she knows me. What game is she
trying to play?" I mumble to myself, storming out of the building.
Stepping onto the sidewalk, I retrace my steps last night to that bar. I
need a fucking drink. Hell, I need a fucking hit. That is what I need. My
hunger returns with a vicious appetite. I need something to take the
edge
off.
"Hey, Rhye," a voice calls from the other side of the street.
I look up to see a small guy with a camera hanging around his neck. He
swiftly moves it up and obviously clicks away. Not the dickhead
paparazzi. My answer is my middle finger as I keep walking. I really
don't need this now. I'm covered with them in L.A., and these
motherfuckers are leaches.
He must be scouting someone bigger because he doesn't leave his post,
which is fine by me. I slip into the bar which seems even busier tonight.
Keeping my head down low, I make my way back to the same barstool
at the end. The bartender sees me and nods his head from the other side
of the bar.
"Same?" he asks, smiling my way.
I nod, hoping he can hurry the hell up. Turning around, I notice the
same band setting up again. The owner must really like them. From
what I heard last night, they're not half bad.
"Anything else I can get for you? " the bartender asks, laying down a
bottle of Jack and a Coke. He leaves out the shot glass that I didn't use
last night.

For two seconds, I think about asking him, "You seen Molly? " The first
second, the question burns on the tip of my tongue, but by the second, I
think about my mom. Fuck! Shit! Goddamn it! I twist the cap off of my
good, old buddy, Jack Daniels, and chug it back. Forget washing it
down. I savor the burn, praying for a quick buzz.
"Hey," the bartender says, leaning towards me, "The guys in the band
are huge fans. When they heard you were here last night listening to
them, they about lost their shit. Do you care if I call them over? If not,
it's cool man."
'"Do I look like I fucking want to talk it up?" I think to myself, but nod
my head instead. I've got some black head space going on. That means
it could be a shitty night if I don't change it real fast.
"Cool. Thanks, man," he says, walking away.
I swallow back mouthfuls of the booze, the taste wearing away with the
burn, willing my stomach to keep back the rot gut.
Syn. What the fuck? What did she say? Oh yeah, she "saw something in
me." I shake my head thinking about her dumbass comment. She
should be seeing this big dick. That's what she should see. Damn, the
girl looked like she didn't know the score. Is this chick for real? I can
get pussy where and when I want. The only "seeing" a girl will be doing
with me is an up close inspection of my cock. Goddamn it. There is
nothing special about that backwoods, little, country piece of ass.
Those eyes though, the way she stares with them, will freak you the
fuck out. I admit, she's got a tight bod, nice tits, and round ass;
however, I can get that shit anywhere. I don't need her, and I sure as hell
don't need her "seeing" anything in me. Creepy chick.
I drink several more large swigs of the booze. The thought of her
should be dimming instead of building in my head. It's like the more I
drink, the more crystal clear she becomes in my mind. What? The?
Fuck?
"Hey, man. Todd Sellers with the band Dark Nights. Huge fan," a voice
says on my left.
I turn to see the lead singer leaning against the bar next to me. Thank
fuck. Anything but thinking about Syn.
"Thanks. Y'all guys were the shit last night. I really enjoyed what I

heard," I tell him, sitting the bottle of Jack down.
"That's awesome. After the show, Brad, the bartender, said we missed
you, and we were all bummed. I think you missed us covering one of
your songs towards the end. "
"Ah, damn. I must have," I say, really meaning it.
"Yeah, the Mavericks' music always makes it on one of our set lists.
The crowds love it. We can't wait for some of your new shit. Is that why
you are in Nashville?"
Nodding my head, I answer, "Yeah. I'm working on a new record," I
state, suddenly realizing I'm okay to even say those words.
"Fuck yeah, man. Who are you working with? " he asks, seeming more
excited than I am.
"Ryan Poole and his crew."
"You lucky bastard. Everything that guy touches turns to gold. I'd give
my left nut to work with that motherfucker," he says, clapping me on
the shoulder.
Well, when he puts it like that.... I really haven't given a flying fuck
either way. I guess I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. Even my
mom's situation wouldn't have mattered six months ago to me. That's
the fucking truth. Today was the first day, in a long time, that the music
mattered. In the past, it didn't. It was just noise, scribbly lines on a
paper. Being back in the studio today, the music finally made sense
again. I connected with it, and it felt good. Fucking great! The only
thing that ruined it was sharing the moment with her. How dare she
invade my space like that? Stupid.
"How about it?" he asks, grinning at me.
"How about what?" I reply, realizing only now that he was still
speaking to me.
"Come play with us. One song. It would be cool, and the crowd would
love it as much as we would. "
I reply, "Yes," before thinking it through. Why won't she get out of my
head? Goddamn Syn. I stand, only to drink the last drop of my booze.
The thought "liquid courage" comes to mind. I used to say that to Jay
when I would drink several shots before getting on stage to play at
Vortex; however, I haven't needed it in years.

Jay. I wonder what she's doing. If she is still with that Kane
son-of-a-bitch. So much time has passed, but some of it still feels like
yesterday. She and I getting high on Chris's couch. Me taking her to
JT's house. Damn! Fuck and shit! Why the hell do I have to go there?
None of it can be changed. Not a goddamn thing I can do about it. All
three of them connected to me. Two of them dead because of my shit.
"Rhye, man? You okay?" he asks, giving me a strange look.
"Shit. Sorry, just got a little buzz going on. I'm good."
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
No, I'm not sure I want to play tonight. I only figured out today that
music does fucking matter to me and I want to be up on that stage
again, just maybe not now. And I definitely don't want to cover any of
my own shit. Everything is still so fresh. I'm not ready to do that yet.
The problem is that I don't want this dude or his band to think I'm a
pussy. So, I've got to play this cool. Plus, I'm going to have to sing one
way or another tomorrow night. Something tells me Ryan won't let me
back out.
"One song's cool. Lead the way," I say, indicating that I'll follow him to
meet the rest of his band members, who just happen to be sitting at a
booth in the corner. It instantly reminds me of the original Mavericks.
We had our own table and dared anybody to park their asses in it. We
thought we were the shit.
Once we reach them, Todd introduces me to all the guys, and I guess
some of their girls. I nod as he says each of their names and what they
play.
"Fuckin A. I can't believe it's really you," the drummer says at our
introduction.
Todd tells them that I' m in town recording my new album and with
whom, which gets a round of "holy fucks." The next ten minutes are
spent answering questions about making it in the industry and touring.
Of course, afterwards comes the questions on the other bands we've
toured with, who's the craziest of all, etc. I give them what they want to
hear, the truth with a dose of the extreme. It's a fucking madhouse on
tour, but after a while, you become sick of the road, of playing, and of
each other. Up becomes down and vice versa. The only sane ones are
the

married fuckers that travel with their families, not that I want that, but I'
ve seen it keep them grounded long after I laughed at their
pussy-whipped asses.
"What do you want to sing? We can pretty much cover all of your
stuff," Todd asks.
"What other bands do you cover? " I ask, deflecting the question.
Everyone says different band names.
"We pretty much cover all of Pearl Jam's songs because of Todd's
uncanny sounding voice to the legendary Eddie. I think we would all
agree that we are huge Incubus fans, but Todd doesn't have the chops
for it," the bass players says, ragging Todd. "You up for it?"
"Fuck yeah. He's my boy," I reply, smiling over the choice.
"Alright. Let's do 'Dig,'" Todd says. Everybody agrees and starts
heading towards the stage.
Ah shit. Yeah, I know "Dig". It's one badass song; however, it has deep
lyrics. Following the band, they walk up on stage where their
instruments are ready to go. I hear the crowd around us start to notice
me standing off to the side. My name seems to echo through the room,
and everyone suddenly seems to rush the stage, getting as close as
possible.
The lights go up, blindingly bright, and my heart pounds inside my
chest as if I' m sprinting after the dragon. Damn, I wish. My body feels
frozen in place, and I instantly think to myself, "Am I going to be able
to pull this off? How the fuck did I end up going on stage tonight? Oh
yeah, one fucking reason. Her. Syn Landry. "
"How's everybody tonight?" Todd asks, looking out over the people in
the bar.
I squint my eyes through the blinding light to see several girls who are
standing in the front yelling, including giant lips from the other night. I
can' t help but remember that big ass mouth. She smiles up at me and
says something to the ginger standing next to her.
"We've got something extra special for you guys tonight. I'd like to
welcome Rhye Clark, lead singer of the Mavericks, to the stage to help
us sing one of our favorite covers," he says, turning to clap his hands
towards me.
"Fuck it. Let's do this," I say to myself. Taking a deep breath, I

step forward. I grab the microphone stand and look out over the bar.
Once again, the room seems to be at capacity. I'm actually surprised at
the calmness that spreads over me. This feels right. It feels like coming
home.
"I just want to give a big motherfucking thank you to these guys for
letting me sing with them tonight," I say, nodding at each band
member. The respect in each of their eyes reminds me of another time,
a moment that I used to have with the guys in my band. Ever since
Chris died, I've let myself forget why I started singing in the first place.
It's always been about the escape that music gave me but also about the
respect and commitment amongst a group of musicians.
The first guitar chords of "Dig" are played, and I think about the lyrics.
Once I hear a song for the first time and love it, I never, not once, forget
the words. This song is tough to think about, but I can't stop detailing
each line in my mind while I sing it. I grasp the mic stand with both
hands, close my eyes, and let the phrases speak to my soul.
By the time the chorus hits, I open my eyes, feeling completely in-tune
with the music and the band. I can't see most of the crowd because of
the lights blinding me, but I hear their voices joining in unison with
mine. I let the energy of the crowd fill all the emptiness inside, not
worrying about how short-lived it will be.
Grabbing the mic off the stand, I move with the music, letting the lyrics
tell the story. I step to the end of the stage, resting my foot against one
of the speakers. Todd joins in singing on the bridge, our voices melding
and blending. He plays his guitar, and for one moment, I feel my heart
pound intensely, the feeling of belonging not with them but on this
stage, reminds me what I need to fight for. It's worth it, especially when
everything else in my life has gone to shit.
The song ends too fast for me, the sound of the crowd echoing through
the small bar. The guys in the band smile at each other, including me in
their obvious camaraderie. My body is wired, feeling a complete
natural high that overshadows anything man made. I' m light-headed,
not only from the booze but the adrenaline rush streaking through my
body. I try to hold onto this feeling, even if only for seconds, knowing
it never lasts.

"That's what I'm talking about," Todd says, smiling at me while
offering his fist.
"Hell yeah, man," I say, smiling back and pounding my hand to
his.
I turn to the crowd and raise the mic to my mouth. "Damn, that's the shit
right there. Thanks to the kickass guys for letting me join in with
them." I place the microphone back on the stand and turn to walk off
the stage so they can finish their set.
I hear Todd say something about me, and the crowd yells loudly.
Stepping down, I'm bombarded with fans. Talking to everyone is
impossible, and I'm glad when a couple of the bouncers walk over with
the bartender, clearing a path. Big lips and her ginger friend stand to the
side as I try to make my way out.
"Hey, Rhye," Big lips yells. "You want to bring my friend and me
home with you?" She turns her head and French kisses the shit out of
the redhead beside her. Girl on girl action equals a definite hard on. I
grab her arm, she grabs her friend's hand, and they follow me.
I' m attracting way too much attention to stay which sucks because I' d
like to see the guys' set. The bouncers lead me to a side entry, and one
asks if they need to call a car for me. Knowing I'm only a block away, I
start tell him no when I hear the other bouncer mention there is a
massive crowd out front. Evidently, word gets around fast, and people
were coming to see me.
"Man, I'm staying at SR studios, and I walked here earlier." The guy
nods and says his car is parked on the side. Me and my kinky sidekicks
slip through the door and follow him so he can give us a ride. I slide
into the passenger seat while the other two slide in the back. I' m still
running off the fumes from the stage high and a buzz from the alcohol.
Music comes over his car radio, and I keep time with drumming on my
knee. It only takes minutes to arrive at my apartment.
"Thanks, man," I say, sliding out of the car and waiting for my
bedmates to hurry the hell up. What the fuck up is with all the giggling?
I reach for the redhead and pull her under one arm, doing the same with
blonde big lips. Draping both arms around them, we walk into the
building and wait for the elevator.

"I' m your biggest fan," the ginger replies breathlessly, looking up at
me with big, brown, knowing eyes.
"Oh, you're going to be an even bigger fan when you see what you get
to play with tonight," I reply cockily.
Again, a round of giggles irk the hell out of me, but I keep my mouth
shut. Any straight man with a pulse, married or not, never turns down a
threesome. It's not the bust a ball blue that it once was back in the day,
but I never turn down pussy times two, especially with freaks. That's a
guaranteed fucking good time. Literally.
"Reach in my pocket and grab my key," I tell big lips, feeling her hand
slide deep in my jeans and stroke my cock before retrieving the key. No
complaints here, especially from my dick.
She opens the door and starts to slip the key into her own pocket. I
remove my arm from her shoulders and reach for the key. "That's not
yours," I say, winking at her. She's not the first to try, and I'm sure she's
not the last. It doesn't piss me off; it's to be expected of the whores I
fuck.
"It's amazing. I didn't even have to text you tonight," Josh says, coming
around the corner from the kitchen. Stopping, he sees that I' m not
alone. "Figures. "
Ignoring him, I swagger past him, first kissing ginger on her overly red
lips then turning to blondie's much plumper ones. Fuck him and his
curfew while I fuck these two. Opening the door, I lead them in and
close it behind me.
They both walk over to sit on the bed, one unbuttoning her shirt while
the other pulls her t-shirt up and over her head. Ginger leans over
blondie, running her hands up and over her taut stomach, spreading her
hands over laced cover tits. I watch her slip her fingers beneath the
flimsy material, playing with those hard nipples underneath.
Knowing show and tell isn't as fun as fucking doing, I remove my own
shirt and join the fray.

I slip on my tennis shoes, tightly tying my shoelaces. I'm hoping a good
run will clear my head. After another sleepless night of him invading
my thoughts, I'm done, or so I tell myself. Every single time I convince
myself that he's an asshole to the bone, I start thinking about what
causes someone to act like he does, and my bleeding heart makes
excuses for him. Nothing, not even common sense, can change how
much I want Rhye.
Shaking my head, I stand up, adjusting my running shorts and tee. I
don' t grab my arm band because I want and need the silence to clear
my head today. Reaching for my key to the apartment, I slide it into the
small zipper pocket on my shoe.
I open my door and start to step out when the door across from mine
opens. Looking up, I watch two girls in wrinkled clothing and mused
hair stagger outside. The redhead and blonde both yawn from obvious
lack of sleep. A great looking blonde guys walks out after them,
standing in the doorway.
"Sorry ladies, but it's time to go. I want to personally thank you for the
symphony of moans that kept me up all last night. Job well done, " he
says, watching them walk down the hallway and enter the elevator.
What an asshole. Really? His good looks seem to disappear behind his
disrespectful tone and words. I take a step backward, not wanting to
have any interaction with the jackass. The sound must attract attention,
because he turns to look at me. He glances from my stare of disdain
back towards the now empty hallway and begins to speak.

"Wait. No. They weren't with me," he explains, holding up his hands.
"None of my business," I reply, rolling my eyes in disbelief.
"No, really. They're with my roommate, who evidently hates my guts
enough to keep me up all night. I took immense pleasure in waking him
and his guests up early this morning. Needless to say, some had worn
out their welcome. "
"Oh," I mutter, blushing at the mental image of what he just implied.
This is awkward with a capital "A. "
"Hey, you're Syn Landry. Right?" he asks, stepping forward and
closing the door behind him.
"Yes," I reply without thinking. Great, Syn. You still don't know if he' s
some creepo.
"I' m Josh. I worked with a country music band last year, and those
guys really liked you. I guess you can say they introduced me to your
music."
Not that liking my music doesn't make him a weirdo, but I remember
that I am staying in Sundial's private apartment building, which means
he' s more than likely a musician or connected with the music business.
He doesn't remind me of anyone in particular in country music, but he
sure does look like Matthew McConaughey.
"Are you a musician?" I ask, turning to close my door behind me.
"No. I' m a Life Coach Therapist," he says, walking beside me to the
elevator.
"What the heck is a Life Coach Therapist? " I ask, amazed by his
admission.
"Well, I' m like a mentor. I partner with clients who are trying to
mainstream into everyday life after living through a personal struggle. I
use thought-provoking techniques that help them surmount their own
internal demons and help stimulate the creative process that inspires
them to maximize their professional and personal possibilities. "
Once the elevator doors open, we both step forward, and I press for the
bottom floor. "Wow. Interesting," I say, turning my head towards him.
"I've never heard of such. So your client now is a musician?"
He turns his face towards me and shrugs, "Employer

confidentiality."
I nod, totally understanding his position and respecting him for not
saying anything.
"You going for a run? " he asks, smiling at me and changing the
subject.
"Yeah, I didn't sleep well last night."
"Hopefully not from the chorus of beauties from across the hall," he
says, nudging my shoulder with his. I laugh. "No. Thank God."
"So, you want some company?" he asks, smiling when I nod my
head.
We walk out of the building and hit the pavement running. Starting out
at a slow jog, I hear him clear his throat, and I look over at him.
"Can you talk and run?" he asks, smiling again at my nod. "Tell me
about you. Where are you from? "
I find it easy to tell him all about me. We run for over forty minutes,
and the entire time, I speak of my mother dying and growing up with a
father who couldn't let her go. He replies throughout my story,
encouraging me to continue on. I talk about coming to Nashville, and
then I mention meeting Tag. Of course, I don't say his name, just refer
to him as some "guy".
Stopping in the park, we walk to slow our heart rates.
"So, you finally get signed, have your first big hit, and meet the guy of
your dreams. You both go on separate tours but try to make it work.
What then?" he says, stretching his arms above his head.
Walking side by side, I turn to look at him, wondering if I should be
telling everything to this stranger. In this life, you can't trust anyone. If
you do, it ends up sold to the highest bidder, but everything is turned
upside down in my life right now, and I have no one to talk to. I decide
to take a chance.
"He said that he loved me. That I was his soul mate, and he could wait
until I was ready to take our relationship to the next level. We tried to
make it work. Well, I tried to make it work. Have you ever been on
tour?" I ask him, kicking the cement with my tennis shoe.
"Actually, I have. It's world of its own, with rules that make sense

only to you music nomads. "
"Yeah. I figured that out pretty quick. I didn't understand the women,
how available they are for the men. Not that I' m making any excuses
for him, but he and I were, still are, really young. At first, we would
surprise each other at different stops. He would send flowers and gifts,
but nothing compared to holding him. I got caught up in him being my
first love. I was deaf to the warnings, blind to the images right in front
of me online and in the magazines. " I pause, trying to find the words to
say. "When I finally had the courage to ask about them, he looked at me
and said, 'Syn, you don't understand what it's like for a guy on the road.
You and I are meant to be, but this is how it is right now. ' After a few
choice words, we were no more. " I bitterly laugh, saying, "He does
these interviews and says I'm the one. He writes song after song about
me, making our private life very public. If only I could go back in
time... Never..."
"You can't choose who you love," he says, looking at me
sympathetically.
"Tell me about it." I reply, not thinking about Tag but Rhye. I wipe
away the tears that fall down my cheeks.
"Trust me, I understand," he says, smiling at me.
The park is empty this early in the morning. I roll my stiff neck and let
the gentle breeze cool my skin. I can't believe how much I just told
Josh. He really has to be a therapist because it's so easy to talk to him. A
question burns in the back of my mind, and I've already shared this
much, so what the heck?
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he replies.
"Do you think you can change someone? If you love them enough, do
you think you can change who they are?"
He stops walking and turns to look at me. Taking a deep breath, he
says, "Something I've learned, Syn. You can't change people. They
have to want to change themselves, and even then, it's an everyday
fight. That's why I step in and try to guide them to make better
decisions regarding their life. In all honesty, if you love someone, then
you have to accept who they are inside. Their demons become yours. I
say this

because if you are questioning whether or not you can change someone
you love, then maybe you love the idea of them, and not who they truly
are."
"He's in so much pain, and I don't know what to do," I say as sadness
overwhelms me. Raising my hand, I feel the wetness against my
cheeks. Looking into Josh's kind eyes, I plead, "I see him underneath it
all. He acts like he doesn't care, but he does. I know, deep inside of me,
that he does, but I don't know what to do when he seems to not care
what happens. He has had issues with drugs, and I don't know if he is
still using or not. And I don' t think he cares about me, and it doesn' t
seem to make a difference to my heart. I don't know what to do?" I
shrug my shoulders, smiling through my tears.
When I finish, Josh steps forward and envelops me in a big bear hug. I
can' t control the sobs that come one after another as I bury my face into
his shoulder. My entire body shudders from the force of my crying. I
wasn't this upset when I found out about Tag's betrayal.
"Shh," he says, comforting me with soft pats of his hand to my back.
"That's a tough row to hoe. It's going to be hard because he's already
failed you in the trust department. Did he have these problems the first
time you were together?"
I pull back from his embrace, momentarily confused by his words.
Wait. he thinks I' m talking about Tag. "No, this is someone entirely
different," I tell him, shaking my head.
"Oh. Okay. How long have you know this other person? " he asks,
sincerely looking at me.
"Less than a week. Days?" I say, seeing the shocked expression in his
eyes.
He takes a minute before responding. Stepping back, he places both of
his hands on his hips and nods. "Syn, please don't take offense, but how
old are you?"
Crossing my arms, I shrug and reply, "Nineteen."
"Nineteen," he repeats. "Are you sure it's love and not lust? Please hear
me out," he says, reaching to touch my shoulder. "Sometimes we meet
people and have this instant connection. I'm sure, in some cases, it can
turn into love, but that's after getting to know someone so intimately

that you're willing to take on their internal struggles as your own.
Listen, you are very talented, young woman with boundless
opportunities at your fingertips. So many people lose themselves and
forego their future in hopes of changing someone who has no desire to
alter their life. Don't get caught up in following someone you love
straight to your ruin. I see it all the time, and I would hate for that to be
you."
I understand what he is saying. How can I possibly think I even know
Rhye? He even said the same thing yesterday; however, my soul
screams from its very depths that I do.
Turning away from Josh, I begin walking again, hearing him catch up
to me. "I can't explain it. I wish I could. These emotions that I have for
him are so incredibly overwhelming. So real and confusing most of the
time. Look, I know I'm young, but I can't control what I'm feeling.
Then, I meet you, and here I am spilling my guts to a stranger. What a
week," I say, laughing at myself.
"First off, I'm very good at my job as a listener, so don't feel guilty
about that. Second, you can trust me. I know that doesn't mean much in
the business you are in, but I have no interest in repeating anything
you've said to me today. I'd rather have you as a friend," he says as we
walk along the sidewalk.
Glancing up at him, we smile at each other. I feel a kinship with him.
"I'm not sure how your life coaching works, but if you're not busy
tonight, I would love it if you came to hear me sing. It's only a song, but
maybe afterwards I can buy you a Coke and you can tell me your life
story. I would love to have you as a friend. "
Reaching his hand out to me, we shake. "It's a deal, but how about
breakfast first? I'm starving."
I agree, and we stop by a small café a block from our apartment
building for coffee and pastries. We sit outside at the small bistro table
and chairs. At first, Josh tells me about growing up in Texas, and then
we both discover we enjoy people watching as Nashville wakes before
our very eyes. After we finish, we head back to our building and share
the elevator up.
Walking down the hallway, Josh clears his throat before saying,
"Listen, I meant what I said earlier. You can't change someone that

doesn't want to change. Please be very careful who you give that
beautiful heart to. Okay?"
I sadly smile at him. "I wish it was that easy. " He nods and leans down
to give me a quick hug.
"I'm across the hall if you need to talk. Deal?"
"Deal," I say before reaching down to retrieve my key and opening my
door. "See you tonight. "
"I'll be there," he says, turning to unlock his door.
I walk into my apartment to get dressed for rehearsal with the band
today. Josh was exactly what I needed this morning, an ear to listen.
Not that I feel any clearer on what is going on. In fact, he said the
opposite of what I wanted to hear. I need to slow things down and see
where it goes from here. If it can possibly go anywhere.
My fingers strum automatically over the guitar strings. I start every
fucking song that I've ever played, most I even wrote, and nothing
happens. The words are trapped in my throat, refusing to be released. I
can't stand this gut-wrenching pain at remembering the times Chris and
I played them together on stage or killing time on the tour bus. Sitting
side by side, we would try new riffs for wherever we were playing that
night.
My chest aches at these thoughts that come in waves. I had another
nightmare last night. This time, Chris and I were in our old apartment in
L.A. arguing about him going back to rehab. Of course, he had a
bleeding bullet wound to the head the entire time we fought. He called

me a hypocrite for being on the same shit. I was, but not as bad as
Chris. He was so fucked up on a continual basis that he couldn't even
hold his guitar on stage. I had no choice. The only thing I had to
threaten him with was firing him from the band. So, I did.
In my dream, everything that happened in reality was out of sequence.
That night, I had bought some bad shit. Of course, I didn' t know it at
the time. The coroner's report listed all the crazy shit that was evidently
in it. I remember feeling more jacked than I ever have. At one point, I
remember getting my gun because I thought someone was coming to
get me. I laid it down when I felt like I had to puke. Then, sometime
later, Chris had it, threatening to kill himself if I kicked him out of the
band. I told him to do it, knowing he wouldn't have the balls to anyway.
And I was wrong.
The red blood and grey matter from his brain, splattered across my
face. I tasted the faint hint of copper in my mouth, and I fucking lost it.
I' ve never told another person, but I considered grabbing the gun and
doing the same damn thing. Just ending it. Sometimes, I think the only
reason I didn't was because I blissfully passed out, and I hate myself for
it.
Hanging my head down, I start to play once more. I have to do this;
otherwise, I need to find another gun. What else is there? I think about
what asshole Josh said the other day, something about finding a way to
get over it and learn to live with it. Yeah, I get that. I can't continue to
live like this. Everything is coming undone for something I can't
change, something I wish I fucking could.
I finally feel. no, I know, I' m supposed to be singing on a stage. One of
the first songs I wrote with Chris was "Desperate for You". Once we
made it to the big time, we revamped it a little bit and played it in our
set. It never was a big hit, but it made it on our second album. I actually
smile thinking about how Jay, from back in high school, inspired
almost all my shit then. God, she drove me fucking nuts, but I was
desperate for her.
As I sit on my bed, with my guitar in my lap, I clear my throat one more
time and push the words forth from my mouth. "I watch you in silence,
knowing I'll never be what you need. And it kills me not to be

able to follow you, and to see what you see. I try not to come undone,
never to show how I feel. Tomorrow will be another day, and we'll
never be real." I make it to the chorus to sing, "I'm desperate with
wanting, and I'm desperate with need. I'm desperate for you. I'm
desperate for
you."
I extend a couple of chords, closing my eyes to lose myself in my
music. The feeling of completeness in this moment humbles me. I can' t
forgive myself for what happened to Chris, but I can live with it. The
bastard would probably kick my ass if he knew I hadn't kept on playing.
Before drugs, before anything, came the music. That was his motto. It's
my motto now. As much as I want that next hit, that next high, I have to
remember that. For Chris.
My vision swims, and I blink back the liquid forming in my eyes. The
sound of a knock at my door makes me jump, remembering where I' m
at. It can be only one person. Goddamn Josh.
The door swings open, and he leans against the doorjamb. "Am I
interrupting you?" he says, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Yeah, get the fuck out," I say, ignoring him to play my guitar.
"Nah, no can do. The car service called and said they will be downstairs
in an hour to pick you up for your performance tonight. "
"Message delivered. Now get the fuck out."
"You know, I' m supposed to go out with a friend tonight, but I could
cancel and come check your show out instead. Moral support and
all that. "
"You know, you're really not my type. If that's your deal," I say,
looking up to see which way the wind blows with him.
"Trust me, feeling's mutual. I already know your type, and if I were
you, I would make sure to wrap it up extra safe. No, I'm actually trying
to do my job, and if I were you, I would take advantage of the situation.
You and I both know that if you keep living the life that you are, it will
be a short one. If you haven't used since you arrived, then this is a good
time as any to change your life. The question is, 'what do you
want, Rhye?'"
Laying my guitar on the bed, I stand and stretch. "I want to get this
record made and get the hell away from your psychoanalysis bullshit.
Go

babble your shit somewhere else. "
"It's easier to stand with someone than alone, and I don't scare off that
easily. You know where to find me," he says, turning to leave.
Damn, he gets under my skin. I fucking want to choke him out. I mimic
him saying, "It's easier to stand with someone than alone."
Stepping in my bathroom, I start to undress to take a shower when I
notice the scratches down my chest. Kinky bitches. What a wild and
crazy night. It was going pretty well until those two went their own
way, which was down on each other. I like the visual arts. In fact, I'm
all for it, but after about ten minutes, I fell asleep.
I get dressed then place my guitar in its case. Looking down at my
watch, I see that it's time to head downstairs. I don't see Josh as I walk
through the apartment, thank fuck. Grabbing the door handle and
pulling, I glance up to see the door across from me opening at the same
time.
Shit. Fuck. Damn. Syn stands staring across from me. She has on this
white dress that ends about mid-thigh and brown cowboy boots. Her
hair is up in that type of girly hairdo that looks as if it's going to come
undone. Those yellow eyes of hers grow big, and her face pales,
looking like she just saw a ghost. I actually glance behind me to check
for the boogeyman. I turn back to see her now glaring like she's pissed,
and damn if it doesn't make her look sexy. Her chest rises and falls,
emphasizing those great tits of hers in that dress.
After last night, I shouldn't get a hard on this easily. It should take a
little more than some boob action to get me going. This chick is bad for
my health. Fucking bad.
"Are you kidding me?!" she states angrily.
"What now?" I ask.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," she says, turning to close her door. I
can't help but see the shine of tears before she does. What the fuck did I
do now? I can't get anything right with her.
She turns to walk to the elevators. Not knowing if I should leave her
alone in her obvious PMS'ing mood, I think about taking the stairs. I
shake my head and follow her, not having a clue why. When the doors
ping open, we both walk inside, standing side by side. She smells like
cotton candy. My mouth waters at the thought of tasting her. I turn my

head slightly to sniff her again.
"What are you doing?" she asks, turning her head towards me.
"You smell good," I tell her, shrugging my shoulders.
"Oh," she says, looking shocked at my admission.
I'm saved by the elevator doors opening. At first, she doesn't move, still
staring at me, and I can't say what possesses me. It could be those cat
eyes of hers or that pink innocent mouth, but I bring my lips down to
touch hers, capturing them in a light kiss. No tongue action. I guess I
just want to see if she tastes as good as she smells, and holy fuck! She
does. She rocks me to my core, almost as if an electrical current is
running through my body.
Her eyes go wide, and I instantly know she feels it too. I drop my guitar
case, not noticing the doors of the elevator are closing, and place my
hands on both sides of her face. Deepening the kiss, our tongues stroke
one another, and the sound of her tiny moan kicks my libido into top
speed. I feel her arms wrap tightly around my waist and cling to my
back. Everything seems to be going fine until, all of the sudden, I start
having these thoughts. Fuck me...feelings. I push her away from me.
We both stand staring, breathing hard. What the fuck just happened? I
don't understand it, and I am pretty sure I don't want to. This is crazy. I
reach around her to press the button for the elevator to open. The ping
of the doors makes us both jump. I grab my guitar case and follow her
as she walks out. Not saying a word, I watch her press her fingertips
against her lips and smile. Her action causes a lump in my throat.
Fucking madness. I need a cigarette.
The car is waiting for both of us when we walk outside. I watch the
driver open the door for her and then I hand him my guitar case before
following inside. I slide in next to her, our hips touching as we sit side
by side. She looks at me with a small smile on her face. I can tell she
wants to say something but is holding it back. Turning away, I stare out
the window, ignoring her. I think to myself, "What in the hell just
happened? "
Thank God it doesn't take long for us to get to the club. Looking out the
car window, I know which club it is by the sheer number of people
standing to get in. They must have announced who is performing.

The car pulls to a side entrance, and a bouncer opens the door. Syn
doesn't say anything as we both exit and walk into the club. It's a two
story area with open balconies on every wall except on the far left
where the stage is. In the center is a dance floor, covered in people.
Looking around, it seems to have more of a country music vibe than
anything rock, plus some country song is loudly blaring over the
bitchin' sound system.
We are led to a side waiting room that has an open bar in the back along
with tables filled with food. Syn immediately goes to a group of people
that I' m assuming is her band. I walk over to a chair and set my case
down beside me. Opening it, I grab my guitar and start tuning it. My
thoughts are ransacked with images of Syn. I cannot let this little
country chick in my head.
I start to play my song when I hear a loud commotion from the
doorway. Some guy in a straw cowboy hat and his entourage come
strolling through, acting like they own the place. They spread out, most
of them going to the bar except the guy who heads straight for Syn. I
watch him approach her, and Syn shakes her head. He reaches for her
arm, and the band stands in defense. I try to listen to what he is saying.
"I just want to talk, Syn. That's all," he pleads.
"Tag, I have nothing to say to you. Now, get your boys and go on, " Syn
says, placing her hands on her hips.
"You're being ridiculous, Syn. Give me two minutes. That's all," he
says, reaching to grab her hand.
"No! " She shouts back.
Without a thought, I jump up and walk over. "Hey, man. You need to
let her go," I say, looking at his back. He's a big fucker, but I've taken
on bigger.
He releases her and turns towards me. "Who the fuck are you?"
"About to be your fucking problem," I reply, pointing both of my index
fingers in his face.
"Slow it down, guys," Ryan says, appearing to get between us.
I stare into this guy's face, daring him to give me a reason to knock his
lights out. I've been ready to go at it for a while, and this motherfucker
will work just fine.

"Leave my girl alone," he says, tilting his head towards Syn.
"Man, I don't want your girl." Out of the corner of my eye, I can't help
but notice Syn's upset expression. Fuck. She looks hurt and pissed
again. I feel like a douchebag, and I don't know why. Do I feel
something for her? If I don't, then why the hell did I jump into the
situation then? After a minute, he seems to back down.
"Tag McGraw," he says, introducing himself and offers his hand to
shake.
I ignore his hand, but give him my name. "Rhye Clark. " He laughs and
nods his head. "Yeah, I thought that was you once I calmed down. "
"Rhye, let's go over your song," Ryan says, still trying to break up the
tense situation.
"I' m good," I reply as I walk back to my chair. I swear, ever since I met
that chick, it has been nothing but fucking drama. She keeps looking
my way every other second, and I stupidly glance back. Why do I feel
this tightness in my chest at the thought of her hurting over something I
said? Hell, she's probably hurt over that stupid fucker. Who knows with
chicks!
Standing up again, I walk over and ask the bartender for several
different shots of liquor. Mixing doesn't make me sick but ups my buzz.
Once he lines five up, I drink them all down and return to my seat. I
hold my guitar and pick over the strings.
Only minutes later, Ryan calls me to the stage. Holding my guitar in
one and grabbing a wooden stool in the other, I carry them on stage.
The crowd is massive for a club this size, and they go wild as I walk up
front and center stage. Once I adjust the microphone, I sit down,
holding my guitar.
Smiling, I lean forward and ask, "What's up good people?" The yells
and screams are deafening. "Guess you all heard I' ve been hanging
around Nashville writing my new album with some pretty fucking cool
people?" I say, feeding off the energy. "Since I'm stag tonight, I thought
I would come out here on stage and sing one of my first songs that I
ever wrote for you acoustically." The crowd goes wild when they hear
the first couple strains of music. I lean into the microphone to sing
while

playing the guitar and keeping beat with my foot on the stage.
Half way through, I look over to the side of the stage and see Syn
watching me. Tears fall down her face as I sing the last line staring right
back at her. "I'm desperate with wanting, and I'm desperate with need.
I'm desperate for you. I'm desperate for you." At the end, I don't move,
even will all the applause. I can't help watching her watch me. Why
does she even care? She doesn't even know me. Most days, I don't even
know me.
Rhye Clark is making me cry again. The guy slices me to shreds one
minute and makes me feel complete and whole the next. It's like
emotional whiplash. I felt him again during his song. It's so amazing to
click with someone on that soul-bonding level. It's like holding a piece
of someone's heart, if only for a minute. He sang that last verse looking
straight at me, and I felt him see me, the girl that believes in true love.
That same girl that is saving herself for something so special that it
means waiting for it.
Finally, he turns back to the roaring crowd, leaving me alone once
again. I wipe the tears from my eyes, knowing I'm up next to perform. I
hate that I even have to follow that performance since it was so
awesome.
"Do you care about him?"
I turn to see Tag standing behind me as I wipe my cheeks dry. "Does it
matter?" I ask him. He pleads with those sea blue-green eyes,

but it does not faze me like it used to.
"Syn, of course it matters, baby. You are the only thing that truly
matters to me. Haven't I proven that to you already?" he says, stepping
closer towards me.
"Quit doing that, Tag. It's annoying, and I hate having our private life
played out in your music. I'm done," I say, turning to walk away.
"Someone like him will never be faithful to you. He doesn't deserve
you. He doesn't deserve what you will give him."
I stop at his words and turn back to him. "Someone like you was not
faithful to me. And you're right, he probably doesn't deserve me, but it's
none of your business what I decide to give him. You had me. I was
yours, and you lost me. Deal with it. "
"Syn, I wasn't ready," he says, stepping up to me and grasping my arms
tightly in his hands. "I've told you this. I met you too early in my life.
You're not supposed to meet your soul mate at seventeen and twenty.
Hell, I didn't even know what to do with you. I wanted to lock you in a
closet until I was ready for a serious relationship. Not literally, but
figuratively speaking. "
I glance up into his painful expression. "Damn you. I didn't know what
I was doing either. All I needed." I swallow back more tears, "All I
wanted was honesty. I can't keep doing this. I don't love you, Tag. I
wish, most days, that I never laid eyes on you. "
"God, baby. Please don't say that," he begs, dropping to his knees and
wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. "I know we are meant to be
together. I've known it from the moment we first met. Admit it, Syn.
You felt it too," he says, looking up into my eyes.
"I felt everything, Tag. And the day I learned I couldn't trust you killed
so much of that love. Leave me alone. Just stop. I don't want to hate you
forever," I say, leaning my hand down to caress his smooth cheek.
"You have to let me go. If we are meant to be together then it will
happen someday. If not, it wasn't meant to be." I know as I say the
words to him that none of it is fate because there is not a shadow of
doubt what I feel about Rhye; however, I need Tag to leave. The gleam
in his eyes scares me, not that he'll hurt me, but he could ruin
everything with Rhye. Destroy any chance I might have with him.

He squeezes my waist one more time in a quick hug before rising.
Turning his face, I see him wipe his shirt sleeve across his eyes. I
cannot take pleasure in his pain. I now know what it is like to want
someone you can't have, feeling as if you have met the one person that
creates gravity in your life and they don't want to be tethered to you.
"I can't stop loving you. If that is what you're asking, I just can't do it.
Not now. Not ever," he says, before turning to walk away.
I shake my head, not having a clue what I'm supposed to do. After he
leaves, my band walks forward to join me. They must have been
standing back to give us some privacy. I turn back towards the stage to
notice Rhye standing off to the side in the shadows. He looks
questioningly at me, but before I can approach him, Ryan introduces
me on stage.
He shakes his head and walks away. God, it's hard dealing with men or,
most days, boys. That's what they are. Twenty year old fools. And I' m
the biggest fool of them all for loving them both in my own way. Not
having time to dwell too much on it all, I walk out on stage.
I smile and wave at the crowd. Once I reach the center, I grab the
microphone off the stand. "Hey, y'all. Who's ready to party with me
tonight?" The fans cheer, and I try to look out to see if Josh made it, but
the stage lights blind me. "Alright, who knows what country girls like?
" I ask moments before my band strikes up the swampy beat and I do
what I do best. Sing.
I love the energy up on a stage. It' s like magic, and I' m the magician.
The abracadabra is my lyrics, and if everyone loves what I' m singing
about, the white rabbit appears, and the crowd goes crazy. Everyone is
connected, waiting with bated breath for the next trick. I dance around
on stage, kicking up my cowboy boots and twirling my dress. I play up
the words of the song to the crowd, telling a story with my voice and
facial expressions. I lose myself in my music. Smiling, I privately
rejoice, knowing that Rhye found this again.
When it ends, I bow to the crowd at the applause. I motion towards the
band, letting them know how much I appreciate what they do. "Thank
you so much. Look for my new album coming soon," I say, speaking
into the microphone. Walking off the stage, I wave to the fans

and give everyone in the band high fives. We all return back to the
waiting area where I don't see Rhye at all. I walk over to grab a water
bottle and kill it. Next stop is the bathroom where I freshen up and then
walk over to the side of the stage and peek around the corner to see if I
can spot Josh and have him brought back. Thankfully, it only takes
minutes before I see him and can grab someone in the back to get him
for me.
"That was amazing," he says, walking up and reaching out to hug
me.
"Thanks. Glad you could come," I reply, embracing him.
"You clearly have a natural talent, one that I know will take you to
the top. "
I smile up at him when I notice his gaze zeroing in on something, or
someone, in the corner. Turning to look in the same direction, I can' t
help but gasp when I see Rhye talking to a guy who clearly must be bad
news. Rhye keeps nodding his head and looking away. I watch the guy
go to shake his hand and unmistakably slip something into his fingers, a
small brown packet.
"Goddamn it to hell. Throw it away, Rhye," Josh says under his breath.
I don't think he realizes I can hear him, but I instantly know what just
happened.
I watch Rhye look at the packet, lick his lips, then slip it into his jeans
pocket. My heart sinks at his actions and aches at the thought of his
addiction. I've never experienced it myself. My daddy used to say it
was only for weak-minded people, but I know now that it is a disease,
one that most people can never understand until they are in the grips of
its ugly tendrils. I've watched so many people in this industry struggle
with addictions to drugs, alcohol, food, and fame. They can all become
deadly, costing you everything you've worked your butt off for.
"What do we do now?" my voice wavers, and I want to fall to the
ground sobbing.
"There is nothing...," he starts, but stops when he remembers who he is
talking to. "What are you talking about, Syn? "
"I know who you are working with. I didn't realize he was living right
across from me until I met him coming out of the door this evening.

I'm sorry, but I can't pretend I didn't just see what happened. I respect
that you do your job in all confidentiality; however, I can' t stand here
and do nothing," I say, pleading with him.
"Do you know, Rhye?" he asks, confusion marking his face.
I start to lie, but I know every untruth I tell could possibly harm Rhye.
It' s not the time to worry about what someone else will think of me. It'
s about Rhye. Taking a deep breath, I reach for his arm and squeeze.
"He's the guy I'm in love with."
Josh's mutters something that I can't hear while hanging his head and
rubbing his neck with his hand. We both glance back over at Rhye who
stands against the wall, now talking to some barely-dressed hoochie
momma. I watch her run her fingertip down his tattooed arm and think
to myself that I'm sure I can take her in a fight. Touch him. One. More.
Time.
"Syn, are you listening to me. The boy will break you into a million
pieces. You won't even know what happened to you. Please stay away
from him. I' m begging you. "
I get mad at his words. "Isn't your job to help him?" I say, my words
seething with anger. "To turn his thoughts away from bad energy to
positive outlets?" I want to yell at him and kick him in the shins. For
several seconds, I even consider it.
"I'm trying, Syn. It's not easy. He's resistant to change because he
doesn't seem to want it. He's a hedonistic twenty-two year old rock star.
It' s a volatile cocktail. The truth is that I' m here to babysit him. As
soon as he either quits or makes an album, I' m history," he states,
looking back to check on Rhye.
"What do you mean you're history? Don't you mean once you've helped
him you are history?"
"It's not what the record label truly cares about. They want him either
off the payroll for good if he isn't going to make any money or back to
rock god status where they will not care what he does as long as he' s a
cash cow," he says, having a hard time looking me in the eyes. "Syn, I
really do want to help him. I know I can make a difference in Rhye's
life if he allows it. Otherwise, he doesn't have a chance beating his
addictions. "

I'm still mad at him, but now I'm steaming hot at the record label. This
is playing with Rhye's life, and it's seriously pissing me off. I turn away
from him and start to walk towards Rhye. I don't have any idea what to
do. Confront him? Beg him to give it to me to throw away? In my head,
I can't clearly see anything working without pissing him off. If I make a
scene, he would probably use just to spite me.
Right before he looks up to notice me walking his way, I see Tag step
up next to him and slam his fist into his jaw. All hell breaks loose. I,
along with everyone else, run towards them. Rhye gets a couple of
shots to Tag' s face before someone pulls them apart.
I immediately run to Rhye. "Are you okay?" I ask, watching him lick
away blood from his split lip.
"What is your boyfriend's problem?"
"He's not my boyfriend," I reply, looking into his eyes. I know that this
is the moment. Leaning forward, I catch his mouth with mine while
slipping my fingers into his pocket and retrieving the small packet.
Instantly, it's a full on kiss as we both are equal participants. I allow
myself to get caught up in the sensual haze, and the metallic taste acts
as an aphrodisiac. A large growl behind us lets me know that Tag is
witnessing the kiss, reminding me of my goal. Thinking I'm smooth, I
fist the drug inside my palm, only to have Rhye grasp my wrist, jerking
my entire arm up and towards him. Pain shoots up my shoulder at his
roughness. "Oww." I gasp, breaking the kiss. I try to pull away from
him.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing? Give that shit back right
now," he says, snarling in my face.
"Let her go, Rhye," Josh says, finally reaching us within the crowd of
people.
"She has something of mine. I'll let her go when she gives it back," he
replies, not looking at Josh but deep into my eyes. The blackness of his
stare hurts to gaze into. The abyss is back. It must be the drugs talking
to him now. The brown eyes that I love are nowhere to be seen.
"You don't want to use, Rhye," I say, pleading with him.
"What the fuck? Are you both spying on me now?" he says, looking
from Josh to me.

I can' t stand what is happening right now. There is only one thing I can
do, and I take the chance of him hating me, but it has to be done. I look
up into his face, noticing that his jaw and lip are starting to swell from
Tag' s fist. I feel him loosen his grip on my arm, and I make my move. I
jerk loose and takeoff running towards the restroom, hearing Rhye yell
at Josh for holding him back. Several times, my ankles twist, and I
almost fall. Cowboy boots are evidently not made to run in. Bursting
through the door, I throw the packet in the toilet and flush it. I wait for
him to come chasing me at any minute. Several seconds pass by
without him rushing inside the bathroom.
Knowing that I can't stay in here forever, I walk out. At first, I don' t see
Rhye or Tag, but then I notice Ryan talking to Rhye in the corner. I
look around for Tag and notice that he and his buddies are gone. Thank
God. Josh stands to the side of Rhye, listening to the conversation.
When Josh sees me, he leaves them to walk over to me.
"I didn't know what else to do?" I say, suddenly overwhelmed with
grief and misery. I want to cry, and I don't know why. Yes, I do. He's
going to hate me.
"Kiddo, I would say it was both smart and stupid. Smart because you
may have saved him from that one hit, but we live in a world of
roaches, like the guy before, and they have so much more where that
came from. If Rhye is going to get high, he will find a way, or like I
said, they'll find him."
I' m tired and want to go home. Bowing my head, I whisper, "So it was
for nothing. I just gave him more ammo to hate me, for freaking
nothing."
Feeling his finger beneath my chin, he raises my head and looks into
my eyes. "That was one of the bravest things I've witnessed, Syn. You
knew the guy you love would hate you for your actions, but you still
acted. That is amazing, and I' m sorry I ever doubted your love.
Evidently, I don't always know what I'm talking about; however, I still
know it's a mistake for you to love him, only because I don't want you
to get hurt," he says, smiling at me. "Listen, Ryan wants me to make
sure Rhye gets straight home. He doesn't know anything about the
heroin; he just doesn't want Tag and Rhye to meet up anywhere else to
finish what

Tag started. I think it might be better if Rhye and I get a taxi and let you
take the car back. You okay with that? It will give him some time to
cool
off."
I swallow back the sob that almost chokes me. "Sure." What else am I
supposed to say? No and that I need him to understand why I did it?
Josh leans down and kisses my cheek, turning to walk back over to
Rhye. I watch him say something to him and Rhye looks up to see me
staring. We are back to him sneering at me. Great. "Such a good look
on him, " I joke with myself to keep from crying like a baby. He looks
back at Josh and turns to walk out of the room, grabbing the girl from
earlier around the waist as he goes. Right before he passes through the
doorway, he looks back once more. I feel the single tear drop roll
slowly down my face. I turn away, not able to stand the sight of him
anymore.
Two weeks of being clean and sober, well other than alcohol, takes a
toll on the body. Everything becomes clearer, sharper, and you can't
ignore the demons that haunt your ass day in and day out. Josh actually
was the one that suggested I get hobbies. I still hate the asshole, but I
tolerate him. It's hard to fill all the hours of the day, but somehow, I've
been able to do that. Every morning, I take my happy ass down to the
gym and actually work out, getting rid of the excess energy that I seem
to have extreme amounts of. I' m not lifting weights or any shit like
that, just trying to keep in shape. I try to stay away from anything that
remotely makes me break a sweat due to my lungs and coughing up shit

that is better to stay down. I think I'm the only person that leaves the
gym to smoke a cigarette.
I' ve already written the notes and lyrics to eight songs. All are definite
keepers for the album. Ryan and Mel, fucking love them. Once I really
got to working seriously on my music, I hit it off with both of those
guys, and the shit we come up with rocks. They are bringing in the rest
of the Mavericks next week to start recording the album. I haven' t been
close to any of them this past year. Jared and Ian are painful reminders
of everything, the good days and the fucking bad ones.
After Chris died, we didn't talk for months. It was too motherfucking
soon to see the blame in either of those guys' eyes. Jared hated me. I
know he did because he fucking told me, and I didn' t blame him. Hell,
I knew it was my fault. Chris and Jared go way back, farther than Chris
and me. When we finally did meet up, it was decided not to replace
Chris. He was second guitarist, so I would stay lead singer and
guitarist, Jared as the bass player, and Ian on drums; however, by the
end, we were all back to fussing about everything, and I fucking left to
get high. I've stayed that way, on and off, ever since.
I pull my shirt on, getting ready to go to the studio for the day. The
hardest part of my shitty days revolve around staying the fuck away
from Syn. We haven't spoken since that night at the club. Of course, I
see her at the studio. I can't miss her. Sometimes we sit in the same
recording booth, staring at blank paper. Well, I stare at blank paper, but
I don' t know what the fuck she does other than act like I don't exist. We
are supposed to be writing a duet together. So far, we both have nada.
What can I possibly say to her? Yeah, I was pissed the night she flushed
my smack away. I was jonesing for my next hit. I wanted to yell at her,
hurt her. That was the whole reason I grabbed the skank on the way out
that night. I knew she watched me. I wanted her to. I made sure she did,
and then what the fuck did I do? I put the chick in a different cab and
sent her home, all because of that lone tear that rolled down her face.
That moment won't leave me. Every time this past week that I've gone
to a bar and tried to hook up, I remember her, and damn if I can even
care about getting some ass.
Every fucking time I think about getting high, I remember what

Josh said on the taxi cab ride home, "She's pretty special." He didn't
have to say who. I knew who he was referring to. Josh then added, "To
find someone that will sacrifice their happiness for the one they love is
amazing. Don't you agree?" That night, I didn't know or care what he
was talking about. I was so fucking pissed at what she did. Not because
I couldn't get plenty more, but that she thought it was her business.
It' s killer what time and clarity brings. Now, I question those words
over and over. Every day. When I asked Josh about them several days
ago, he said he didn't remember what he said. Fucking liar. I know he's
been meeting her to run or ride bikes almost every morning and have
breakfast. I reminded him that he's too old for her, and he laughed,
walking away. Fucker. He knows what I'm trying to throw down.
Bastard.
I finish getting dressed and grab my guitar case to head out. Josh sits at
the bar in the kitchen when I walk by.
"Morning, sunshine," he says, laying his newspaper down.
"You want my piss now? " I ask, setting my guitar down. I do not want
to have to worry about it later.
"You seem anxious. What's the rush? Hot date?"
"Yeah, with you watching me provide a golden shower in a cup."
He stands, smiling and saying, "Since you are so adamant about doing
it, let' s go. "
I follow him and complete the test with everything being negative. It
wasn't a surprise. I think I would remember getting high. The worst part
is I still want to get fucked up, but I just can't seem to make myself do
it.
When we walk back into the kitchen, I grab my case and head for the
door.
"Rhye, you're doing a good job..." he starts to say, but I slam the front
door on his words.
Fuck him. I don't need his stamp of approval. My phone buzzes in my
pocket. Looking down, I see it's my mom again. She's called several
times, and I haven't answered it. Staring at my phone, I tap my thumb
on the accept button.
"Hey," I answer.

"Hey, sweetie. It's Mom," she says, her voice gravelly from smoking a
pack a day.
"Yeah. Hey, Mom. "
"I just wanted to check in and say thank you for helping me out. The
money has been a godsend, but I'm actually calling to let you know I
got a job."
I take the stairwell down. "Mom, you don't have to do that. Listen, the
new album is going to be great. I' m back in the game, and you don' t
have to worry about working again. "
"Rhye, I want to. I've applied over the years to several different places,
but with the economy and all..." she says, pausing. "I just wanted to tell
you thanks and I love you. Maybe you could come visit me soon? "
"I'll try. Listen, I have to go. I'm about to walk into the studio."
"Okay. I'm proud of you, Son. Love you."
I press the end button. I still feel uncomfortable hearing those words.
There is nothing about me to be proud of. There never has been. I walk
through the doors of the recording studio.
"What's up, man?" I ask, seeing Mel sitting at the sound board.
"Dude, you have to listen to this track we worked on yesterday. It's
madfunk with some swampy blues. "
I sit beside him, settling in to get this shit out pronto. We work through
lunch, and I don't see anyone else around the studio until late in the
afternoon. Ryan walks in with a group of guys, definitely alternative
folk music junkies with their beards and bushy hair. He introduces
them, and I notice the band name immediately. I haven't been living
under a rock, just strung out these last years.
"If it's okay, I thought they could help out with the two songs we are
getting ready to record. What do you think?"
I shrug before saying, "Fucking cool with me."
We continue to work until late in the evening. These guys are the shit,
super cool, and the sounds they work with are fucking crazy. I' m down
with all of it. Around nine, I hear them talking about hitting up this
retirement strip club out by the airport. I've heard of it but haven't
ventured to check it out.
"Hey, Rhye," the lead singers says. "You want to hit up the Marble

Lounge with us? We are looking for entertainment tonight instead of
pussy, plus Jack' s wife is okay with him checking out the retirement
strip club versus fresh, new titties. "
My first thought is fucking curfew. Oh hell no! I'm done with this
permission shit. "Fuck yeah. Let' s do it. "
It takes about thirty minutes to reach the lounge. When we pile out of
the car, I look up at a gold colored building with a big blinking 3D
breast at the top. Hell yeah, this is what I'm talking about. I rub my
hands together in anticipation. We all had a couple drinks in the car
over, and some of the guys are already lit. The bouncer in front
recognizes us, but warns us several times that they don' t give two fucks
who we are. Any pictures or videos taken, and they will throw our asses
out.
Walking in, I laugh at the interior. It is all red shag carpet walls, shiny,
black, cracked vinyl booths, and faded gold ceiling. Fucking priceless.
A big girl in a bikini leads us to a table up front where an old woman in
a g-string dances on a pole to the song "Cherry Pie". It's like a train
wreck that you can't turn away from but you know you need to. The
mental image will probably damage you for life, but you keep on
watching.
We order massive amounts of booze and cut up with all the women
who visit our table. Short, fat, young, or old, we have a blast. My
favorite is Miss Kitty who swears up and down that I'm going to love
her famous stage act.
"I' m going to rock your world, sweet thang," she purrs, sitting her big
ass on my lap. "I love me some skinny white boys. "
When it comes time for her performance, I'm all fucked up. We all
stand around the stage as Miss Kitty lays on her back and proceeds to
shoot ping pong balls from her pussy. Holy. Fuck. The guys and I go
shitballs crazy, screaming and yelling for more. I remember getting on
stage with my phone, trying to record it, and the next thing I remember
is getting our asses booted out.
We continue to all out fucking drink it up on the way back. I start to feel
sick which usually doesn't happen with alcohol, and my headspace
goes from chill to somewhere darker. I hear the rest of the guys cutting
up around me, but it' s like I' m outside of my body,

watching everything happen in "slo-mo" instead of being in the
moment. Oh fuck! This only happens when I take ecstasy or some shit
like that. I start to have these uncontrollable thoughts. Fucking images
of guns. I should just end this all. It's never worth it. Everyone's dead
because of me. They will not stop. It's almost like my brain is
screaming them all at me.
The car stops, and I bust out the car door with voices sounding behind
me. I ignore them and stumble inside the apartment building, making
my way to the elevator. End it. END. IT. The chanting in my mind
doesn't stop. I grab my head, pulling at my hair. The four silver walls of
the elevator look like they're closing in. I bang on them, screaming to
get out. My hands feel so heavy that I can hardly lift my arms. When
the doors open, my feet won't work when I try to run to get out, and I
trip, landing on the floor. "Fuck! " I yell, laughing hysterically.
"Goddamn it that hurt! " I crawl to sit and lean against the wall.
The hallway seems to stretch double its length. Motherfucking figures.
My life is never easy. I die laughing because crying doesn't exist for
me. Shit, my ankle really hurts, and my damn door seems way too
fucking far. Why am I doing this? I could be fucked up for real now and
all this shit wouldn't matter. I'll just go back to using eventually. I
always do. Of course! Get this fucking album out, and I'll be rich as
fuck again, and then, fuck them all! Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck me. That'
s pretty fucking hilarious.

Is he for real? It's four in the morning, and the idiot is obviously high as
a kite or drunk as a skunk as he loudly giggles like a little girl. More
than likely, it's both. It's been a little over a week since I've spoken to
him. Touched him. Kissed him. That night, I regret everything but
taking the packet of drugs from him. I can't regret that. Ever.
I wish I could say that I didn't care about him, that I stopped wanting
him, but the truth is, my feelings have only grown. I've Googled him,
his past, as much as possible, trying to find out about Rhye. I poured
over interview after interview, trying to attain small clues to his
actions. What I've learned has been so incredibly sad. He was
abandoned by his father when he was a baby and grew up with a single,
working mother who wasn't there. From what I've gathered, he's been
on drugs since he was fourteen, never really having anyone who cared
where he was or what he did.
That wasn't the worst of it though, just the foundation. I found
gruesome crime scene photos online of his friend's apparent suicide.
The story that seems most factual is that Chris and he had been fighting
for weeks because of Chris's inability to perform on stage due to his
drug habit. They both were addicts, but Rhye used sparingly and was
able to continue to sing and play without any problem, where Chris was
using twenty-four-seven and couldn't function anymore. They had to
cancel several shows and even played often without him. On the night
Chris died, he pretty much passed out on stage after urinating on the
crowd. Rhye and the bandmates didn't agree on firing Chris, but Rhye
did it anyway.
The article went on to say that Rhye scored some bad drugs the day
before, and he and Chris used them. Something was mixed in that
shouldn't have been and was found in Chris's autopsy results. Of
course, they didn't know it until it was too late. At their apartment, after
the show, Rhye smoked some and became agitated and paranoid. He
had a purchased a gun and was said to be walking around with it. At
some point, Chris gets the gun and threatens to kill himself if Rhye
doesn' t reinstate him into the band. Rhye tells him he doesn't believe he
will pull the trigger and calls his bluff, which ended up not being a bluff
after all. Chris blows his brains out, literally, all over Rhye.

The following year, he spent most of his time in and out of rehab,
primarily at his record label's insistence and court ordered stays for
minor misdemeanors. Online, the Mavericks are said to be on "hiatus,"
but their fans are still numerous and loyal. In the four years he' s been
on the music scene, not one serious girlfriend has been mentioned,
except once online. A short videotaped interview with the band. It was
early in their career, and Rhye was asked, "What was his inspiration for
the songs he has written?" All the guys laugh and look right at him.
Rhye just shakes his head, and in unison, all the guys shout a name,
"Jay." Rhye looks pissed at their answer, but Chris continues saying,
"Man, he loved that girl. She's actually one of the reasons we are here
right now. She got us out to L.A. and to the music showcase in time,
and ultimately, we were discovered that night." The girl interviewer
looks at Rhye and asks, "So are you guys still together?" Rhye looks
away at first, then back at her, shaking his head, "No." The interview
goes on, but nothing is mentioned again about her.
That night, I lay in bed when finally it hit me. The lowercase "j"
tattooed underneath his eye. The teardrop. It has to be for her, but what
does it mean? I tried to find more information about her and him, but
came up with nothing. I also began obsessing over his hand and wrist
tats. "Never" spelled out across his knuckles and "Forget" on his wrist.
They were clearly inked on before Chris died, so it's something entirely
different.
I tried to act as if I didn't care this past week, ignoring him when we
were in the studio together, but it was a living hell. My own music has
suffered. I can't write anything that makes sense. It's all doom and
gloom. All I want to do is scream at him to wake up and see that he has
everything to live for. His fans. His music. Me.
The last several nights, I've spent holed in my apartment, afraid to go
out and see him bringing random girls back. Just the thought causes my
chest to ache. My heart to shatter. It should make me hate him, but I
believe, deep down in my soul, that he just needs someone to truly care
about him. Josh and I mutually decided that next morning not to talk
about Rhye. Josh, because Rhye's his job, and myself because I was
crushed emotionally. Josh has turned out to be just what I need, a
friend.

We have a lot in common, and as it turns out, I remind him of his
youngest sister who he is close with and misses. It seems we both fill
voids for each other.
At the sound of gurgling laughter, I look down the hallway at Rhye
again. He's missed curfew, and I can't believe Josh is not pacing the
hallway waiting for him, unless he doesn't know he's out. Julie is the
one that told me about the curfew and drug testing. She said he gets
fired on the spot for violating either one.
I know I should knock on the door and tell Josh to get him. What do I
know about taking proper care of a drug addict? He sits there, his back
against the wall, with one knee propped up. His head is tilted down, and
his shoulders shake with laughter. What he is laughing at? I don' t think
any of this is funny whatsoever.
Making a rash decision, I walk slowly towards him. "Rhye?" I call out
softly. He doesn't move at all. I'm not sure if he's passed out or what.
"Rhye?" I ask again. The closer I get, I see that his chest is heaving and
his shoulders now tremble instead of shake. I feel waves of despair
permeating the air around me. I stop right beside him, and in my short
bathrobe, lower myself to my shaking knees. My breath catches in my
chest, and I' m afraid of what is happening. The thundering of my heart
seems to echo in the hallway.
"Rhye, please. Look at me," I beg, tears gathering in the corners of my
eyes. His pain resonates through my soul, and I silently pray that I can
take all of his suffering into me. Away from him.
He slowly raises that handsome face of his, and I'm paralyzed, not by
the beauty but by the tears that fall rapidly down his face. His eyes are
dark, completely brown with the small black pupil in the center;
however, I can't help but see him, the real Rhye. I gently lift my hands
to his face, taking my time to make sure he understands I'm here to help
with my actions instead of words.
Rhye intently watches me but never moves. I caress his cheeks, his
unshaven face rough against my hands, wiping away the wetness with
my fingertips. My eyes search his, seeking answers, but I only discover
excruciating pain.
"Tell me. Please," I whisper, my heart crushing under the weight of

his torment.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. I can't stand to see him broken
like this. Leaning slightly forward, I cover his face in small kisses. My
lips sip away his tears, leaving no visible evidence of his emotions. I
know he would hate for anyone to see them. When my lips are cast next
to his, I feel his body shudder, and I don't move a muscle when he
begins to speak.
"I' m a murderer. A drug addict. I' m no good for you. I' m no good for
myself. I fucking want to die so bad that it hurts to think about taking
my next breath. The blackness in my head has spread to my soul. My
heart. I don' t even know if I can feel anything other than hate anymore.
Right this minute, it all seems impossible. Death is my reality, and it
beckons me. She sings sweetly in my ear and plays the perfect strains
of music in my head," he says, slurring all of his words; however, I
understand him perfectly.
Bringing my lips to his, I lightly kiss them, pulling back slightly to say,
"Don't say that. You're not a bad person. I know. I see you." My tears
now swiftly fall, mingling with his. He tries to move away from my
hands, but I don't allow him, holding tight to each side of his face.
"Look at me, Rhye. Please, just look at me."
I watch his eyes glass over from the drugs. I'm not sure if he even
knows what he is doing or saying at this moment. Again, I think to
myself to get Josh, but I can't. I know it's not what Rhye would want.
He shakes his head and, once again, tries to focus on me.
"I don't like when you ignore me. It fucking sucks. Quit doing it," he
slurs, completely off subject.
The change of topic is fine with me. Just the thought of Rhye dying
completely demolishes me on the inside, proving how much his
happiness means. I laugh through my tears. "I hate ignoring you. I won'
t do it anymore. "
I can't help myself. I know it's bad and possibly taking advantage of the
situation, but I kiss him again. This time, his lips move with mine.
Softly at first and then more ardent as the lust rises between us. He
moves quickly to his knees, his body fitting against mine. His hands
seek

out every bend and curve, patiently exploring. I forget where we are
and ride the tide of this heated attraction.
My body is more in tune with his than any before him. It answers with
every pounding heartbeat, with my runaway pulse, and the rise and fall
of my heavy breathing. His moan feathers against my lips, igniting a
molten lava of need rushing through my body, burning down any
reservations that I may have had. I feel him trying to lead me to the
floor, wanting to cover my body with his.
"I need you," he whispers against my mouth. "I fucking need you so
bad. Please, let me have you. I'll be better than all the others before
me."
I start to say, "There has been n...," when I hear someone behind
me.
"What the hell is going on?" Josh demands, his voice almost a roar.
I slowly pull back, noticing Rhye staring over my shoulder. Turning
my head, I look at an enraged Josh. Rhye goes and makes the situation
worse by starting to laugh, completely acting as mad as the hatter.
Anger, not at him but at myself, now replaces the lust. Allowing this to
happen when he is completely inebriated is unacceptable. He falls back
against the wall, unabashedly messed up.
"Are you kidding me, Rhye? The one night I go to sleep trusting you to
keep curfew? I wake up, needing a glass of water, only to see your
bedroom door wide open, which I know you wouldn't leave, to find you
missing. I just happen to think maybe you got locked out and open the
door to find you, not only with Syn but apparently high."
Rhye continues to chuckle, finally finding his words, "Josh, man. I
fucking did not take any drugs. No, I fucking drank it all, and I was
going to apologize about curfew. I went to the retirement strip joint and
got fucked up but not fucked. Not my scene, if you know what I mean.
There was ping pong pussy balls and old cherry pie," he mumbles, not
making any sense.
Did he just say "retirement strip club"? I should be pissed, but it just
sounds wrong on so many levels.
"She attacked me in the hallway," he slurs, pointing at me.
"What? I did not," I gasp, feeling a little guilty. "Maybe I did," I

think to myself, blushing.
"Get up. Both of you," Josh says, seething. Feeling a little hurt and
embarrassed, I stand, only to watch Rhye struggle to do the same.
"Goddamn my ankle," he complains loudly, walking forward with a
slight limp.
I turn to follow Josh when I feel Rhye grasp my wrist from behind me,
pulling me backwards to him. I look up into his glossy gaze.
"I didn't mind it. I want you too," he tries to whisper, but it comes out
very loud. He leans down to kiss my mouth once more, but it lasts only
a second before Josh's groan interrupts us.
"Really, I' m not playing. Syn, this is serious. I need you go back to
your apartment." His voice brokers no argument.
I' ve made a choice, and there is no going back. I turn to face him with
Rhye still holding my wrist from behind. "No," I answer, hating every
minute of having to defy Josh, my friend.
"Syn, if you truly care about him then go back to your own apartment.
Let me do my job and handle this. "
"Listen to him, Josh. Call me crazy, but I believe him. He says he didn't
take anything. Maybe he's just overly drunk," I plead, begging him with
my eyes.
"I know the signs, Syn. It's my job. I'm equipped to spot the
difference," Josh states, looking down at me.
"Oh no, I admit to being fucked up," Rhye says behind me. I turn my
head to stare up at him. What? "But, I did not take any drugs.
Somebody slipped me something. Fucking 'X,' I would guess. Trust
me, I don't touch that shit. It does nothing but bad shit to me. It's so
fucking dark in my head right now. That's not my kind of high
headspace. Fuck no," he finishes, looking tired and about to pass out.
Looking back at Josh, I reply, "See. You can't hold this against
him."
"First off, Rhye, you've broken curfew. That alone would get you fired
from the record label. Second, I don't believe you. I'm sorry. You've
been resistant to me. Why should I believe you now?"
"Fuck you, man. I've...," Rhye starts to say before completely passing
out.

Thank God, I turned to watch him and saw him wobbling on his feet. I
barely had time to catch his lanky frame in my arms, and if it weren't
for Josh, we both would have fallen.
"Damn it!" Josh yells, supporting most of Rhye's weight. "Help me get
him in to his bed. "
We both struggle to get him in and through the apartment. Once we
have him on his bed, Josh checks his pulse and respiration to make sure
he is not overdosing, and then I take off his shoes to make him
comfortable. Standing silent in his bedroom, I turn to see Josh' s
disappointed eyes on me, and I look back to stare at Rhye.
"What are you doing, Syn? Is he worth your future? Your music
career? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with nights like this
one? This, moments like now, I can promise you. "
"You really don't believe him?" I ask, hating that my voice sounds
questioning.
"No," he answers with one word.
Looking down at him sleeping, he looks so young and peaceful. A pang
of longing lodges in my chest at the thought of lying next to him and
holding him in my arms throughout the night. I have to believe him.
Otherwise, what am I fighting for?
Without glancing at Josh, I answer, "He is worthy of my future. My
music career means nothing if he's not somehow involved in it, and if
more nights like this are to come, then bring them on. Just know this, I
will fight with everything inside of me to make sure they are few and
far between if he loves me. "
"Everything that happened tonight, in that hallway, will be a distant
memory for him tomorrow, if he even remembers anything. Drugs
corrupt words and misconstrue actions. They make addicts automatic
liars. And if he does remember, what happens tomorrow when he
wakes up hating the thought that he shared anything personal with you?
You will be blamed, and once again, ignored," he says miserably.
"Then that is my cross to bear. Where do you stand in this, Josh? I' ve
seen that you have been truly proud of Rhye. Are you ready to turn his
fate over to an uncaring record label? Better yet, I've heard some of his
new music. What happens when they decide to keep him on and not

you because they know he's got several top ten hits coming? What
then? You both lose out? Or maybe not. You go on to your next
babysitting assignment because that's what it is if you aren't helping
anyone. You can forget all about us," I say, turning to look up at him
through my sheen of tears.
He blows out a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair. "I don't
know, Syn. It's late. Let's both sleep on it and talk in the morning. Let
me walk you back to your apartment. "
"No thanks. I'm going to stay here and make sure he's okay through the
night. "
"As your friend, if I told you that I know that's probably not the best
idea, would you listen?" he asks, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes.
This morning is definitely wearing on him.
"Yes, but my choice would still be to stay," I answer, smiling sadly at
him.
He nods and turns to leave, gently closing the door behind him.
Walking over to the bathroom, I flip the switch and crack the door for
some light. I then turn the bedroom lamp off and slip into Rhye's bed,
leaving my bathrobe on. Rolling to my side, I face him, his facial
profile illuminated by the wedge of bathroom light shining down. I
follow his contours with my eyes, committing them to memory. He' s
breathtakingly beautiful. I stay awake for as long as I can, just watching
him sleep, praying it won't be for the last time. His even breathing is the
sound of my personal lullaby.

The persistent pounding inside my head wakes me from my sleep.
Even with my eyes tightly closed, there is no relief. In fact, I'm pretty
fucking sure that if I were to lift my head the entire room would start
spinning and I would die from the excruciating agony. Fuck me. What
happened last night? I haven't felt this horrible since.... well, I've never
felt this horrible. To add insult to injury, I've got a terrible case of
cotton mouth.
Blinking my eyes, I bring my hand up to wipe the sleep away and rub
the bridge of my nose to ease my head tension. "Shit! " I hiss. It hurts
like a motherfucker.
"I put a glass of water by your bed," a soft voice replies.
Her. I lift my head and turn towards the only chair in my room. What is
Syn doing here in nothing but her robe and fuck me hair? Did we? I
groan and let my head fall back to the bed in pain. Closing my eyes, I
try to remember anything about last night, but my last memory is
getting thrown out of the strip club and nothing else. My stomach rolls,
and the nausea builds to the point that I feel the need to wretch.
Rolling out of bed, I don't have control of my body, and I fall to the
floor hard. "Fuck! " I say, before puking everywhere. The force of the
vomit splatters all over as my stomach empties itself. I heave until there
is nothing left. The rancid smell of liquor and bile permeates the air.
"Here," she says, now sitting on my bed with a wet washcloth.
I think about reaching for it, but my arms are shaking too hard as it is.
Shutting my eyes, I try to find the strength to even move when I feel the
cool cloth pressed against my forehead. God, sweet relief. She gently
rubs it down my face, wiping away the spittle from my mouth. I open
my eyes to see her staring as she cleans me up. Without saying
anything, she turns to reach for the glass of water and brings it to my
dry lips. I take only a small sip, letting it wash away the nasty shit in my
mouth.
"Better?" she asks, looking unsure of herself.
I barely have the strength to nod, but I do. Hanging my head, I take
deep breaths, willing my stomach to quit rolling. I hear her footsteps on
the floor, walking away. She is probably leaving to get away from the
shitty smell and this fucking mess. Far away from me. If she is smart,

she will run as fast as she can. No wonder I'm always left alone, I'd
leave my own ass if I could. Thoughts of just ending all of it hammer at
my head. "You can't even stand up out of your own vomit, " I think to
myself. I' m a fucking loser. Is this all there is to this life? Forever?
Fuck this shit.
At the sound of the door opening, I barely raise my head up enough to
see her with a trash bag, a bottle of cleaner, and a roll of paper towels.
In complete silence, she kneels down and starts cleaning up my mess.
What the fuck is she doing?
"Stop," I croak out, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Glancing up from scrubbing the floor, she actually laughs and says,
"It's not my idea of a perfect date, but I'll let you make it up to me."
"What?" I ask, not understanding a damn word.
"Rhye, I'm not going to leave you like this. I wouldn't ever do that. See,
you don't know me, but I stick when times get tough. That's who I am."
She talks as she cleans. "My mom died when I was ten, leaving my dad
and me by ourselves. We lived on a big farm, and my dad was a mess
for years. I've had to clean nastier stuff than this. Trust me. Needless to
say, I've been taking care of myself since then. I'm not afraid to get my
hands dirty if it means helping someone that I. ," she stops talking and
cleaning, looking pensively at the floor.
I clear my throat and ask, "Someone you what?" My heart pounds as
hard as my head. I feel lightheaded and wait anxiously on her answer.
She raises those eyes of hers to stare at me. Damn. I swallow at the
intensity in her eyes. I've only been scared once in my life when I didn't
know how to save the girl I loved. Now, that same feeling invades my
empty heart, making it physically ache. I bring my hand up to rub the
phantom pain.
Here I sit, surrounded by my own puke and barely able to hold my head
up as this beautiful girl cleans my shit. For the first time in years, I
glimpse at something so alien to me it has me scared to my toes. If I
could stand, I'd walk away, protecting myself the only way I can, but I
can't, and my stupid fucking self does the unthinkable and asks her to
finish her sentence. Seconds seem like minutes, and minutes seem like
hours waiting for her. When I think she isn't going to answer, I look

away. "What the fuck did you think she was going to say, Rhye?" I
scream in my head.
"Someone I care about," her voice, when she finally answers, whispers
across my skin, causing small tingles up and down my spine.
"Someone that I would do anything for. Someone that could count on
me forever."
When I look back up, she is finished cleaning up the mess on the floor.
She ties the trash bag up and sits it outside. I watch her walk into the
bathroom and wash her hands. She turns the shower water on, and
returns to stand in front of me.
"Okay, you're next," she says, taking off her bathrobe and placing it on
the bed. She has on a white nightgown that barely reaches her thigh. I'
m too weak for it to have any effect on me, which is fucking sad.
I shake my head. There is no way in hell I'll make it off this floor by
myself, and I don't want her to help me. Damn, I'd rather her go get
Josh at this point. No! Wait. I hadn't. I'm way too fucking sick for it to
have been alcohol. It had to be something else. Did I fucking use last
night? Fuck me. It wasn't heroin; that's for damn sure. It had to be some
other motherfucking drug that I don't normally touch.
"Rhye?" Her voice calls to me, and I look up. "Do you remember
anything about last night?" She looks anxious now. Her entire face
turns fifty shades of red.
FUCK! SHIT! MOTHERFUCKING HELL! What did I do? "No," I
whisper, ashamed for the first time in years, if ever.
"Oh." That one word lets me know just how much of an asshole I am.
Great. There is no telling what I did or said.
"Well, let's get you cleaned up, and then we will talk. Okay?"
I don't have the energy to fight her help, and without an answer from
me, she stands behind me and pulls me up. I stand on my trembling legs
and lean on her for support as we both stumble to the bathroom. Damn,
I smell like shit. She leans me against the sink and reaches to pull my
shirt off. In my weak state, I can't even assist her. I watch her unbutton
my jeans and, with her dainty hands, unzip them. She pulls them down,
helping me step out. I watch her blush at my being

commando. Her eyes fly to the ceiling and everywhere else but my
limp dick, not even he can be revived at this moment. "Do you need to
use the restroom?"
Thank fuck, no. I think I would find the energy to shoot myself at that
point. Again, I shake my head.
"Well, in the shower you go," she says, opening the door and helping
me walk in.
I place my hands on the showerhead wall, leaning into the warm water
spray, letting the water fill my mouth and spitting it out. It feels so good
to wash all this shit off me. I move my head around, letting the water hit
me from all directions. I jump in surprise at the touch of her soft hands,
rubbing my shoulders, making me moan loudly. What is she doing? I
look back to see Syn, standing in the shower behind me in her gown.
She reaches for my shower gel, pours some into her hands, and then
massages it on me. The clean aroma replaces the smell of the vomit,
making it easier for me to breathe. I close my eyes, allowing her
ministrations to soothe my body and mind. Her touch is different from
all those before her. I can't explain it, or maybe I don't want to. I'm not
sure my brain or heart could handle the truth, whatever it may be.
It's not the first time I wished the situation was different, but it's the first
time I wished I was. I think again, "What is so different about Syn?" I
pause, hearing the sound of her soft voice echoing off the shower walls.
She is singing some slow song, and instead of it irking me, it comforts.
Warms me from the inside out. It's amazing. Special. Mine. Only for
me.
The sweet melody she shares, along with her touch, quiets the internal
storms that constantly rage inside of me. My body stops rebelling, my
mind is even able to rest, finding peace without the help of smack.
Once she starts back at the chorus, I hum along with her, needing to feel
the connection she freely offers, even though I know she is not
expecting or wanting anything from me in this moment.
When she ends the song, I close my eyes at the touch of her soft lips
against the middle of my back. My strength has barely returned, so
even if I wanted to, I couldn't do anything about it.

"Do you feel strong enough to stand by yourself now and finish
showering?" she asks with a husky tone.
"Yeah," I answer, leaning my head down on my outstretched arm. The
sound of the shower door opening and closing is the only sound other
than the water. I let the water continue to flow over me. Syn. Who is
she? And what the hell is happening with her?
I barely make it out of his room, soaking wet from his shower, before
the sobs rack my body. Sliding down the wall, I let the tears drip to the
floor. I love him. Without a doubt. Without question. I can't help it. I
can't control it. Cleaning his throw-up should have been a deal breaker,
but I didn't think twice. I couldn't stand the thought of him being
covered in it, because I knew he hated it.
It seems that, every time I'm with him, I fall in love over and over
again. Something different, every single time, makes me care for him
more. Nothing is off limits if his puke makes me love him more.
Standing behind him in the shower, I wanted nothing more than to
comfort him. Make him understand that my love is unconditional. Has
he
ever had that? Felt it?
"Syn, what's the matter?"
I glance up into Josh's caring eyes, letting him see how much I love
Rhye. He kneels down next to me and gathers me in his arms.
"It's okay, kiddo. Real love is hard on the heart. I've been such a dick to
you, and I' m sorry. I just wanted to save you from this, but I

guess I' m too late, huh?" he asks, holding me tighter as I nod against
his shoulder. "Is he okay? I actually just received a call from Ryan
checking on him. Seems he was right. One of the other guys he was
with ended up in the hospital because he was terribly ill. Turns out they
all had something slipped into their drinks. "
I pull back to look into his tired eyes.
"Please remember that I did just refer to myself as a 'dick'," he says. "I
didn't realize how jaded I've become. I'm sorry, and believe me, I know
I owe Rhye an apology too."
I can't control the harsh laugh that escapes me. "Well, you can
apologize until the cows come home and the boy won't know why. You
were right. He doesn't remember anything," I reply, my heart aching at
the thought.
"You know, I didn't want to give you the impression that it doesn't
happen."
"Give me what impression?" I ask, looking at him.
"Couples overcome these circumstances every day. They fight for it.
For each other. It happens. Don't give up. He's lucky to have you, even
if he doesn't know it yet. In fact, I'll make you a promise. No matter
what, I won't give up either."
Standing, he turns to help me up and says, "Go home and get dressed.
Let me see if I need to circumvent any damage control. "
I nod, and in a daze, walk back to my apartment.
After I shower and fix my hair and makeup, I sit on my bed, trying to
figure out what happens next. I can't live like this. I can't even function
like this. It's not Rhye's fault about the drugs this time, but if we did end
up together, would this incident be my constant worry? Would I spend
every night wondering if he is coming home to me sober or not? How
does my life, my career, factor into this type of relationship? Talk about
trust issues. I'm already a basket case, and he hasn't even lied to me.
I need to get us away from all the outside influence. For one day, I just
need us to be Syn and Rhye. Maybe I can find out if he has feelings too.
With my mind made up, I put on a white rhinestone tank top with a pair
of short blue jean cutoffs. Slipping on a pair of old brown cowboy

boots, I spritz some perfume and grab my bag. I march over to his
apartment and knock on the door. Josh answers it, looking no better
than before, and I know something is up when he blocks me from
entering.
"Hey, this is probably not a good time. Can you come back later?" he
whispers, starting to shut the door.
Placing my hand to push the door open wider, I wedge my way in. "No,
I can't. What is going on?" I ask, confused and upset. What has
happened in the past hour I've been away? He didn't remember
anything when I left. I don't understand why Josh is acting like this.
"Syn, sometimes drugs have backlashes. Him getting sick was one, and
after you left, he's had some issues dealing with things. Sometimes the
worst side effect is an overwhelming sense of doom. You can' t control
the thoughts you have, and you can't control your actions. I'm just
trying to protect you from seeing him like that or him saying something
he doesn't want you to hear."
"You are scaring me, Josh," I say, meaning it.
"Good. You should be. This is the dark side of the moon, the one that
all those groupies that only want him for his fame and fortune never
care to see. I'll stay with him all day and make sure he doesn't do
anything stupid. The drug should be out of his system in a couple of
days."
"A couple of days," I echo, repeating his words after him. The thought
of Rhye lying in bed, wanting to end it all, breaks something inside of
me. I can't bear the thought or do I want to. I know deep down that Josh
understands this entire situation better than I ever will, but it doesn't
mean he knows Rhye like I do. Or like I think I do.
I walk past him, ignoring his groan of frustration. Reaching Rhye's
bedroom, I turn the door knob only to find it locked. I bang on the door,
"Rhye! Let me in! " I fist my hand and pound on it louder. After several
minutes, he still doesn't answer, and panic sets in. "Rhye! Get your ass
out here! " I yell. "Open this damn door now! "
Before I can physically ram the door with my body, it opens. He stands
there in only his boxers, staring at me with his bloodshot eyes. "I don't
think I've ever heard you cuss before."
"Call me crazy, but I'm sure it won't be the last time it's directed at

you. Get ready. We are getting away from here. "
"Fuck no, Syn. I don't feel like going anywhere," he says, rubbing his
head with his hands in obvious pain.
"Listen, mister, you owe me," I say, pushing the door open, not giving
him a chance to back out. "There is somewhere I'm taking you. Grab a
change of clothing because we are busting you out of this joint." I plop
my butt on his bed and cross my arms over my chest, daring him with
my eyes to argue.
He shakes his head but grabs a t-shirt off of his dresser and pulls it on.
"So he does own a pair of underwear, " I think to myself, staring at his
boxers. Now, every time I see him with clothes on, I'm going to play a
guessing game in my head. He ducks into the bathroom, closing the
door then coming out minutes later after I hear the toilet flush.
I' m mesmerized by him as he walks around the room. Grabbing a pair
of well-worn jeans, he slides them on. He catches me staring, and I
watch him slowly move his hands to button them. Every movement he
makes is sensual in my eyes. Turning, he grabs socks and shoes, sitting
down next to me to finish getting dressed.
"Where are you kidnapping me to? " he asks, tying his shoelaces.
"Somewhere quiet."
I watch him hesitate, maybe quiet isn't what he wants or needs.
"Sounds pretty damn good," he says, surprising me.
"Let's get out of here then," I tell him as we stand to walk out. He grabs
his sunglasses and slides them on before leaving. On a last minute
thought, I grab his guitar case and carry it into the hallway.
"What are you doing with that, Syn?" He turns, grabbing the case from
me.
"Just bring it, okay? I' m not saying we are going to even open it.
Humor me," I tell him.
"Whoa, hold up. Where are you guys heading? " Josh says, walking
from the kitchen.
"I'll have him back sometime tomorrow," I say, planning to march right
by him.
"Hold up. You can't do that. Rhye has a mandatory curfew, and even
though last night's incident is going to be overlooked, it hasn't

gone unnoticed by the record label that he willingly missed curfew.
And before you say anything, Syn, the record label surprised even me
with how strict they are being about this. They want Rhye healthy for a
tour, so all the rules still stand. "
"Okay," I say, noticing the fleeting disappointment in Rhye's eyes
before he hides it. "You have five minutes to meet us downstairs at my
truck, or we are leaving anyway. I' m sure after having a slight change
of heart this morning, you will take one for the team and be downstairs
in five minutes. Right?" I'm playing dirty, using Josh's own guilt
against him. It's scary to learn that, when it comes to Rhye, I'm not
scared to pull all the punches. In fact, I' m protective over him, and the
look in his eyes, staring at me right now, makes everything worthwhile.
Rhye and I walk out, not saying anything on the ride down. I know his
head hurts, and sometimes, the best moments spent together are the
ones in cohesive silence. When I head to the parking area, where I have
Old Blue parked, I hear Rhye's low chuckle at his first look at her.
"Hey now. That's my baby you're laughing at. I love her," I whine,
puffing my lower lip out.
Running his hand down her heavily dented side, he laughs and
looks at me. "So do I. "
"Get in and hold on. She goes zero to sixty in two point five days, " I
joke, climbing in.
A loud rumble of laughter escapes him, and the sound makes my heart
sprout wings to fly. It is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. It
makes everything about last night and this morning worth it. Whatever
he's dealing with internally, we'll work on together. I just have to get
him where he trusts me enough to tell me.
In my rear view mirror, I see Josh flying out the doors with an
overnight bag. It hasn't gone unnoticed by me that Rhye didn't pack
one. I' m not complaining. He looks entirely yummy naked. All that
sinewy muscle...I couldn't help but take in the entire package earlier in
the shower.
Josh looks around the parking lot. He skips over Old Blue several times
before finally seeing us. I notice him roll his eyes.
"I' m guess I' m riding bitch," Rhye jokes, referring to riding in the

middle of the truck seat.
"Since I've already showered with you today, I'm picking you." We
both laugh.
"Why doesn't this surprise me?" Josh says, climbing in the truck.
When I gas it, Old Blue backfires, making both of them jump high in
their seats. I laugh and speed happily down the road. None of the guys
voluntarily talk on the ride. No one asks where we are heading as we
enjoy the autumn foliage. Well, I guess I'm the only one enjoying the
view considering a glance to my right reveals they are both fast asleep.
No wonder it's so quiet.
I called ahead earlier to ask a friend of mine to stock my cabin before
we arrived. Rhye and I both need a change of scenery, and what better
than twenty acres of beautiful, secluded land? Not many teenagers
would even be interested in owning any property, much less this one,
but I grew up on a farm with plenty of space, and I wanted that for
myself. At the time, going to my dad's house, didn't feel like home. I
was suffocated when I stayed there, so when my manager's friend
wanted to sell it, she got me a great deal.
As I pull up to the log cabin, I give a quick thanks for the beautiful
weather we are having. It's perfect for what I have planned today. I turn
off the truck and lean over to wake Rhye. His head is propped back
against the glass, and as uncomfortable as he looks, he seems
completely relaxed.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty," I whisper in his ear.
It must take my words a minute to register with him. He turns his head
sideways to look at me, and I can barely see his eyes behind his
sunglasses. I ache to remove them, but I don't.
"How do you feel about exploring my land with me today? Are you up
to it?" I speak softly, knowing he may be too physically ill. "Otherwise,
I have an extensive DVD collection, and I'm sure we can find
something to lounge around and watch. "
He doesn't say anything at first. I watch him swallow before he asks,
"What's your angle, Syn? What do you get out of this?"
I ache to tell him the truth. You. That's it for me. He's it for me. It
sounds crazy, even to my ears. I'm nineteen, and he's twenty-two, too

young for anything to be serious. Our lives are so similar yet worlds
apart. How do I fit between the drugs and the girls? Where do I factor
between his music and his first love? So many unanswered questions.
"Wait until you see how beautiful this land is. You'll understand what I
get out of it," I say, scared to death to utter anything else. "But if you
are feeling bad, I can always take a mental break and veg out in front of
a movie. Your call, Rhye. "
"Are we walking or what? I'm not up for any long treks through the
woods," he says, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his
nose.
"Heck no! I was thinking of maybe taking the Polaris Ranger out."
He glances up at me, and his eyes are still slightly dilated. "Mmm...,"
he starts, "Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad. Let's do it."
I smile and turn to hop out of the truck. Rhye follows and looks back at
Josh, still sound asleep on the passenger side.
"Let him sleep. I'll crack the windows, and he'll be fine. He'll know to
go up to the house when he wakes up. Come on. I'll give you a short
tour. "
As soon as he steps out of the truck, I notice the shaking of his hands.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting
one up, he smokes while following me up to the house. I' m so proud of
everything here, and I want him to love it too. As far as I know, he
would hate living in a small log cabin on tons of land. I know it's not for
everyone, but I would really hate to learn that this type of living is not
for him. What could anyone have against fresh air and peace and quiet?
I turn to watch him looking at the little stream by my house. It' s almost
picture perfect. The brown log cabin is situated right smack dab in the
middle of a beautiful, evergreen meadow dotted with wild flowers. A
couple of big oak trees stand tall, offering shade on both sides. A
stunning, fast-running, creek sits to the left. He leans down to put out
his smoke against a rock, taking care to not throw the cigarette butt
down on the ground. The house has a wraparound porch that we climb
a couple steps to reach.
I unlock and open the door to turn the alarm off when I cross the
threshold. Rhye follows, looking around. It's decorated in a rustic
theme

from the last owners. I haven't had time to change anything, but it
doesn't look half bad as is. I watch him walk in, taking in the high beam
living area with floor to ceiling windows. A small dining room sits off
on the other side with a door leading to the kitchen. If you follow the
hallway back, it leads to three bedrooms and two baths.
"Are you hungry? I can make you something," I say, fidgeting with my
hands. I'm sickeningly nervous. I want him to like my home. Geez,
calm down, Syn. You are being ridiculous.
"No, maybe later," he says, twirling his sunglasses in his hands.
Looking my direction, he starts to walk towards me, and I involuntarily
take a step forward. He gives a little laugh and shakes his head. "Are
you always like this?"
"What?" I ask, sincerely confused.
"I don't know. Happy. You're always smiling. It drives me fucking
insane most of the time," he says but laughs, making it seem less of an
insult. "You just walked towards me smiling. I guess I don't get what's
behind that pretty face of yours. When I first met you, I thought you
were going to be some annoying airhead, but damn. I guess I was
wrong."
I'm not insulted at what he is saying; however, I had no clue that I was
grinning like a jackass eating briars either, as my dad would say. I try to
wipe the smile off my face, but every time I try, I end up with a bigger
one. My infinite fails end with a burst of laughter. Watching Rhye's
face cracks me up. He, honest to God, doesn't have any idea what to do
with me. Just as I don't understand his pain and addiction, he has no
chance understanding how I look at life with endless possibilities. We
are not only polar opposites, we are from different worlds entirely.
"Do you want to know?" I ask, continuing to smile even bigger up at
him.
"Do I want to know what?" he whispers, his eyes searching my
face.
"Duh. Do you want to know what's behind this pretty face?" I say,
lightly punch his shoulder, flirting with him.
He gives a deep laugh and then tugs on his bottom lip. I'm so glad he
has his sunglasses off and I can see his eyes. They actually seem to

twinkle. I realize it could be the drugs, but I'm really hoping it's because
of me. Please Lord, let them be for me. In these precious minutes, I feel
like we are normal, everyday people. Just a young girl trying to hit-on a
cute guy.
"Yeah. I think I do want to know that girl," he says, almost shyly.
Are Rhye Clark's cheeks turning a light hue of pink? I think so. I feel
entirely giddy inside. I want to scream and do quick jig, but I bottle it
up, saving it for later.
"Let's go then. Daylight is burning away." I turn, thanking every deity
possible for this conversation. It's entirely what I need. "Go on outside
to the little shed, and I'll meet you there. I need to get some provisions."
He nods and walks outside. I walk into the kitchen and immediately
start dancing. Popping my booty out, I kick my leg up and shake it
about while flailing my arms. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah," I sing, moving
around the kitchen. "He likes me. He likes me," I chant, chicken
necking. The sound of a knock on the kitchen backdoor makes me
freeze in my broken crane dance move. My eyes zoom to the cut-out
window in the center where Rhye stands, dying laughing. I slowly put
my leg down, my shame knowing no bounds. Bowing my head, I
slowly walk to unlock and open the door. My face feels completely on
fire, and no doubt it is redder than red.
"Did you need something?" I mumble, as I watch him try to
unsuccessfully compose himself.
"What the hell were you doing?" he barely gets out from laughing so
hard.
"It' s a new country line dance. You got something against country line
dancing?" I ask with a straight face.
Still chuckling, he answers, "Hell yes I do. Its looks fucking stupid. I
can promise you that any girl dancing like that in a bar is going to go
home alone. I don't care how fucking hot she is."
"That's your opinion, city boy. Now, what can I get you?"
"Whatever," he says jokingly. "You got any beer?"
"No, I don't drink."
He suddenly goes completely quiet. "You don't drink?" he asks,

looking mystified.
"No, nothing with alcohol in it. First, I'm underage, but you and I both
know, if I wanted it, I could have it. Second, I have no desire to. It
tastes nasty, and I like having one hundred percent control of my life at
all times. "
"No booze," he repeats, looking like I've blown his mind. "Nope.
Nothing. I don't smoke or drink."
"Oh-kay," he says, emphasizing the word. "Uh, what do you
have?"
"How about a Sprite Zero?" I ask.
"I guess that will do." He looks confused.
I turn towards the fridge, opening it to grab his drink. Part of me wants
to tell him that you don't have to drink or smoke to be cool, or whatever
it is he thinks it makes someone. I can tell he doesn' t understand my
choices, and well, I don't understand his. I take several deep breaths
before turning around. Remember, Syn, patience. You have to show
understanding for his lifestyle choices for him to ever show you the
same. Have a little faith that he'll get to that point.
Flipping around, I hold out a can of soda. "You want a glass for that?"
He shakes his head negative. "I'll be out in just a second," I say,
excusing him.
"Alright," he says, opening his can and turning to leave.
Grabbing a light lunch and a blanket, I pack them in a red, checkered
picnic basket. I grab one of my old guitars and the basket before
walking outside. Rhye has opened the large doors to the shed and is
checking out my Polaris Ranger.
"This is fucking sweet. How fast does it run?"
"It'll do about fifty, but we won't be testing that today," I reply, looking
at him like he is crazy. "You're sick, remember?"
"Next time," he simply says.
My heart speeds up double time. "Next time" sounds like the sweetest
phrase ever. I'm already thinking of lyrics to go with it. Here I go,
smiling again, and my eyes lift up to see him shaking his head at me.
"Get in," I tell him, sitting the basket and guitar in the back and tying
them down.

Once we both are ready, I crank it up and drive out of the shed. Josh
stands in the middle of my yard, looking around in awe.
When he sees us, he yells, "Hey! Where are you guys going?"
I drive the opposite way, waving bye and screaming back, "Help
yourself in the house. Don't worry about us. Bye, Josh." Rhye laughs
next to me, and I love seeing that smile on his face. It does amazing
things to my heart and wicked things to my head. I drive straight beside
the creek bed. The weather is spectacular. There is a simple breeze that
cools the warm air. It's a perfect fall day with the vibrant, changing
leaves still high on their branches. Magnificent foliage of burnt orange,
flaming red, and blinding yellow covers the tops of the trees in a
dazzling spray of colors. I point out the different types of trees: oaks,
maples, and birch to Rhye. We drive through a valley that is filled with
endless, light blue wildflowers sprouting from the ground. Several
families of deer scatter from our sight as we drive through, and Rhye
nudges my shoulder to show me a humongous ten point buck standing
at the tree line. The nature surrounding us is breathtaking.
After about an hour, I drive us to my favorite spot on my land and park.
It's the largest weeping willow tree I have ever seen, and it rests on the
edge of a small pond. We had one on my farm growing up that I loved,
and this one is twice as big. Its drooping limbs are mainly emerald
green with some faint yellow sprigs throughout. It looks like a
storybook cutout, fit for a fumbling princess and broken prince.
Switching the Polaris off, I hop out and grab the items out of the back.
"Why are we stopping?" Rhye asks, looking around. "Are you ready to
get back?" I ask in return, silently praying that he isn't.
Looking around, he turns back to me, "Honestly, I'm enjoying myself.
Don't get me wrong. I still want to ride the shit out of that Polaris one
day, but not today. "
Here I go smiling again, and I try to stop. Really... but I can't. I give up.
Returning to what I was doing, I cover a soft patch of grass, underneath
the shade of the willow tree, with the thick blanket I brought. I then
place the picnic basket on one corner along with my boots. Strolling
over to the pond, I reach down to pick up a small, smooth

stone. I rub it between my fingers before turning to toss it, watching it
skip over the glass-like water.
"That's pretty good," he says behind me. "Let me try."
I watch him find a stone, brushing it off against his jeans. He looks to
take aim and launches it. It drops in the water in one loud splash,
sinking to the bottom.
"Don't laugh," his voice threatens beside me, and I do just that. "I said
don't laugh," he says, turning to grab me around the waist and hoist me
over his shoulder, carrying me like a sack of potatoes. Being turned
upside down only makes me chuckle louder. A loud smack and sharp
sting to my behind halt my laughter and my breathing. "It's not funny,"
he says, but I hear the lightness of his tone.
"You know I could teach you." It's not easy talking upside down with
my hair falling in my mouth. I spit a tendril out and take advantage of
my situation. I play his butt cheeks like drums with my hands. I' m
literally loving that he seems to be flirting with me, to the point my
happiness is overflowing.
"No girl is going to teach me to throw a rock. I'm just a little rusty,
country girl," he says, dropping me on the blanket and falling down
beside me.
"You hungry yet?" I ask, not wanting the moment to go to waste.
"No," he replies lying back to look up at the bright blue sky peeking
through the branches of the tree.
I join him, scooting over to lie right next to him. I watch the multitude
of hanging branches sway in the gentle breeze. Inhaling the crisp air, I
close my eyes to commit this moment to memory. It' s so perfect; I' m
afraid to open my eyes and find it all a dream.
"Syn, tell me why a girl like you, at your age, would buy this land," he
whispers right next to me.
I turn my head to stare into normal brown eyes again. Our faces are
inches from each other, breathing in one another's air. The upside of his
cheek catches the light peeking through the trees. My body hums with
wanting Rhye, but I sense that we need to casually get to know each
other. So, I tap down my own needs and give him what he wants. I tell
him about growing up on a small farm, stories of my overactive

imagination as a child, and running and playing on acres of land. I
describe my craving for the peace of nature, the solitude it offered
when my soul needed healing after my mother died. I softly cry
remembering not understanding why my dad couldn't get up out of bed
some mornings, drowning in grief, and I would have to complete all the
daily chores before getting on the bus to school. There wasn't many
days like that, but every one vividly stands out in my mind.
He listens, sometimes watching me and other times staring off at the
sky. I talk about running away as soon as I could to Nashville. I even
mention meeting Tag. How those first few weeks on tour were such a
culture shock and how fast it became miserable. I speak of going to the
Grammys and the day I danced in the pouring rain when my record
made it to number one. I bring up about the land becoming available
and wanting a place to call mine after running from the memories of my
childhood home. The hardest part was describing the betrayal I
suffered with Tag. I didn't hide anything from Rhye. I laid it all out for
him, so he could get to know me.
"Are you saying what I think your saying? " he asks, not disguising the
surprise in his voice.
"What? That I' m a virgin?" I reply shyly. I turn my face once more to
see him staring at me.
"Yeah. Why the hell are you still a virgin?"
"Why, not?" I reply, unsure what I'm supposed to say.
He turns his head to look back at the sky and blows out a loud breath of
air. "She asks why not," he mutters to himself. "I don' t know....maybe
because sex feels fucking amazing. Maybe because no one saves
themselves anymore. I don't fucking know why."
"You think it's stupid to still be one?" I ask, wanting to hear what he
honestly has to say.
"Yes. Fuck. I don't know." He turns his head back to stare into my eyes.
"Are you like saving it for marriage or some shit like that?"
"No. Just someone special. Someone worth waiting for. It's not
something I can just say, 'Oops, I made a mistake. Can I have that back,
please?' or anything l like that." My lips are dry, so I wet them with my
tongue and rub them together. I can't help but notice that Rhye's eyes

stay glued to my actions.
He groans and mumbles, "A goddamn virgin. Figures." While still on
his back, he props his knees up and drums on them with his hands, I' m
sure keeping beat with a melody in his head. He suddenly stops and
looks back to me. "What about that Tag guy? I thought you loved him.
"
"I thought I did, but now, I' m not so sure. The right moment never
came for us. I guess that should have been a clear indicator that I wasn'
t truly in love with him." He doesn't say anything for a while before
turning his head to look away. One question is burning on my tongue,
and I can' t hold it back any longer. "What about you? Have you ever
been in love?"
I wait with bated breath, praying he will have the strength to talk to
me.
My mind is still reeling over the whole fucking virgin issue. I was
hoping I misunderstood and she said she was a version of something.
Fuck, I don't know. If that Tag bastard didn't close the deal, then I think
that pussy was the problem. He evidently didn't deserve somebody like
her.
When my thoughts finally slow down, I realize what she just asked. I
quickly turn my head towards her, my lips already forming the word
"no," but something keeps me from releasing it. Pressing my lips
tightly together, the lie will not come. Goddamn it. I don't want to talk
about this shit. I never have.

"I shared my innermost secrets with you, Rhye. Talk to me. You can
trust me. Please," she begs, her innocent eyes pleading with mine.
Now, I really know just how innocent that stare is. Fucking virgin. You
have got to be shitting me. Before I can think it out clearly, I start
talking for the first time ever. "Her name was Jay. Short for James.
Growing up, she was the fucking it girl, high school cheerleader and
overall hometown sweetheart. All the girls wanted to be her, and hell,
all the guys just wanted to be in her," I can't help, but add.
She playfully slaps my arm and says, "Really? That was crude."
I laugh, saying, "Sorry babe, it's the truth. From the time we were in
middle school, Jay always dated JT, the male equivalent to her. The
perfect goddamn couple. If you saw Jay, you saw JT all the way
through tenth grade. Then, one day, Jay didn't come to school, and it
lasted for weeks. The story was that she was super sick. No one knew
what the hell happened. Then, after a month, she showed up looking the
same but fucking different. It wasn't the girl that we all knew. She
dumped JT, ignored everyone, and kept to herself." I pause, nervously
chewing on the bottom of my lip.
She reaches over to gently rub my arm and, somehow, it comforts me,
making the words come easier.
"We had a gig going on downtown at this club called Vortex, and
suddenly, Jay started showing up at my sets. At first, I thought I was the
shit. The most popular, beautiful chick at my school had finally decided
to ditch the boring bitch of a boyfriend and come play on the dark side.
But I caught on real quick to her. She was fascinated with some of the
shit we were taking back then. She would ask what pills did what. One
time, she even asked which ones would make you never wake up again.
Needless to say, I fell pretty fucking hard, and one night, she called me
JT's name when we were together. It killed me. So, I fucked some
random chick just because I could. When you're young, you don't think
that shit like that ends things. But, she dropped me like a bad habit, and
by that point, I was hooked like a junkie. Not only did I want her, but I
knew something wasn't right with her. Does it make me a sick fuck that
I was more attracted to the broken girl than the perfect one?" I pause,
waiting for her to tell me I'm a disgusting prick.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Sometimes pain is what draws us to
someone, links us." She looks away from me. Minutes later, she turns
back to say, "You could relate to that broken girl, where the other one
was a world away. Did you ever find out what happened to her? Made
her that way?" she asks eagerly.
I can' t control the bitter laugh that slips forth. "Yeah. I spent a year
trying to piece everything together, and one day, it became perfectly
clear. There was this Coach at our school that couldn't keep his eyes off
of her. Sometimes, I would catch him looking at her like he owned her.
He had this twisted stare when he watched her. Jay was obviously
scared to death of him, and it didn't take a genius to finally know why."
Turning my head, I glance up at the sky. The pain of knowing what
happened to Jay fucking killed me. I can't stop the misery that now fills
me again, including the liquid that dampens my eyes. I take a deep
breath, trying to control my emotions, but I can't help the tremble of my
chest.
She whispers, "To know what, Rhye?"
"The bastard raped her. For two years, he taunted her emotionally and
fucking physically," I say, my hands shaking with anger. "He
threatened her if she went to the police. She was embarrassed that
everyone, including her perfect ex-boyfriend, her perfect parents, and
perfect friends, would find out what happened. The only control she
had in her life was when she would end it. So, she planned, using me to
find out the easiest way to make death happen, and there was not a
goddamn thing I could do about it. "
An unwanted tear rolls down the side of my face, and I shut my eyes
tight, trying to contain the rest. Memories rush back to me in waves,
swamping me with desolation. I need to hurry up and finish the fucking
thing.
"But something happened her senior year. Jay met this other bastard
that evidently made her less unhappy, so she decided to try and live
again. But then, her life got more complicated with shit when JT
wanted her back and Jay thought she owed it to him to try and make it
work. These guys fought or some shit like that, and she came running
back to me, wanting to get high again. And there I was, like a goddamn

lost puppy, lapping up her scraps; however, I knew the truth when no
one else did, and she begged me not to tell. I decided that I'd rather her
be alive and happy with JT than fucked up and suicidal with me. So, I
took her to him, hoping he could save her from herself, " I stop, when I
hear a tiny sob next to me.
I turn completely sideways on the blanket to see her crying. Something
tugs at my non-existent heart and I can't help but gather her in my arms.
"Syn, why are you crying?"
can..can...," she stutters while sobbing. She buries her head in my neck.
"Shhh," I try and calm her down by rubbing her back. I understand
completely. It takes everything within me not to ball like a little bitch
myself. I know she' s probably upset because she can relate to being a
girl and going through something like this.
Minutes later, she finally calms down. "I can' t believe she put you
through that. I mean, I can't believe she had to go through it, but that
was so wrong. What if she had killed herself? How selfish. What about
you? How were you supposed to live with that? "
I' m shocked that she is even remotely upset because of me. I have to
finish the story though, so I keep going. "So, JT and Jay got back to
being a couple. One Friday, before a big pep rally, I couldn't help but
notice Coach Branch fucking zooming in on her. He had this wicked,
evil look in his eyes. I'll never forget it. I decided to follow him that
day. This freshman girl's cellphone was sticking out of her bag, so I
grabbed it, thinking maybe I could record something to get his ass
locked up, send it from her phone, and Jay never had to know it was
me. They both end up in an empty classroom, and I pressed record. It
was fucked up, Syn. He was threatening to rape her, again and again,
until Jay finally stood up to him. The things he said. I had to block out
so much of it, just to live with what I heard that day. I knew I had to
help her, to do anything to get him away from her, but I couldn't let her
know it was me. I didn't stand a chance with her if she knew what I did
that day. So, I sent the video to half the school in a text, knowing that
the police would end up with it. "
She continues to softly cry against my chest, and I squeeze her

tighter to me. Being swallowed whole by so much sadness makes me
physically ache, but having Syn in my arms makes it almost bearable.
I finish, whispering in her ear, "That night, everyone saw it. Including
JT. I heard he went berserk. So, he left Jay at a party to take off with his
best friend to go kick Coach Branch's ass, but he never made it. There
was a car accident, and he died. Jay fucking blamed herself, and then
did as she planned all along. She overdosed, but somebody found her in
time. All because of me, Syn. If I hadn't sent that video, JT would be
alive. Jay would never have tried to kill herself and probably be happily
married to the guy, spitting out little 'J' named kids. Everything that
happened that night was because of me, Syn. "
"Don't say that. You tried to help her the only way you knew how. How
could she blame you for that?" Syn says, sobbing against my chest.
"She doesn't know, Syn. I never told her it was me. I live, every fucking
day, knowing that I caused this. She would probably kill me if she
knew. Some days, I replay every single second over and over in my
head. Sometimes, it's not even a choice. The only time I get away from
it all is when I'm high. I'm an addict. I'm not going to lie to you about
that," I tell her, pulling back to stare directly into her eyes. For once, I
want her to see the real me, the fucking ugly as sin bastard underneath it
all. She needs to see that devil so she can run fast and far away. "But I'
m an addict because I can't deal with this shit day in and day out. I
would have blown my goddamn brains out long ago. "
Syn brings her soft hand to gently touch my face, showing no sign of
revulsion at being near me. Before I can move away, her lips touch
mine, and my dick hardens to the point of pain. A tightness in my chest
causes me to hold my breath, waiting, then opening for her. I try to be
gentle, something I'm completely unfamiliar with. My mouth wants to
devour her, marking her as mine, but I keep it slow and tender for her. I
don' t think I could allow myself the liberty of taking it any further. She
deserves so much more.
"I. ," I start to say, pulling back from her.
She places her fingertips across my lips and smiles for me. "Just close
your eyes," she whispers, settling herself next to me. "We will talk
about all of it later. "

I am so fucking tired, completely exhausted, mentally and physically,
from my life, but for this one, stolen moment, I shut it all down without
the aid of anything manmade. She gives me a quiet peace that I've
never known. The touch of her delicate hands massaging my temples as
we lie, facing each other, in the grass is the greatest gift anyone has
ever given me. Syn doesn't offer me empty words, broken promises, or
careless caresses. It's something I've never known: giving without
getting back a single damn thing. I don't understand it, and I'm afraid I
never will.
Her hands slowly cease touching me, and her breathing steadies out.
She lies curled up next to me, and I gently lean back, looking down to
see that she has fallen asleep. Propping myself on my arm, I reach
down with my other hand to brush her beautiful, blonde hair with my
fingers. Fuck, she looks incredibly younger than nineteen. So innocent.
I've never held anything like this... I don't even know what to call it.
Precious I guess? Her lips look swollen from our kisses, and the tender
skin on her cheek is beard burned from my unshaven face. My marks
on her. Mine. This overwhelming need to consume her is killing me.
Everything inside of me screams to take her. Own her. Make her
fucking mine in every way possible.
Leaning down, my lips brush hers, once....twice and again. I trace my
tongue around them, saturating her mouth, making it wet. A full body
shiver fucking ignites me like a hot furnace. Burning on the inside for
Syn. My cock swells, my balls tighten, and I can' t help but to rub
myself, searching for some kind of relief, against her with our bodies
aligned perfectly together. The beauty of the land surrounding us has
nothing on sweet Syn. Her cotton candy scent is driving me bat shit
crazy, making it exceedingly hard not to go down town. I wonder if her
virgin body has ever felt a wet tongue lick her like she' s its favorite
candy. Another full body quake rocks my internal core. Goddamn, this
is powerful stuff. Inexperienced chicks have never been a turn on
whatsoever, but Syn is the exception. In fact, she' s become the one and
only rule. Her mouth starts mimicking mine, and her eyes flutter open,
dazed with lust if her moan is any indication. Knowing that she is with
me turns the notches up inside, fanning the flames. I tremble as she

pushes her pelvis up hard against mine, seeking what I want to give her.
Her hands grasp handfuls of my hair, tugging and pulling with
unrestrained need. I'm so fucking horny, shaking with uncontrollable
lust. When her mouth finally opens to me, I give everything I am in that
kiss, trying to prove that I' m worthy for what she needs. At the same
time, I feel a pang of regret, knowing I' ll never be. She seems to accept
me for who I am, knowing what I am, but for one tiny second,
something inside me says to take the high road and leave her the fuck
alone.
The feel of her mouth sucking hard on my sensitive neck, right below
my rose tattoo, blows that goddamn idea to smithereens. Mine. Want.
Need. All-out war rages inside of me, within us, it seems. She pushes
my chest up, grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it off, attacking
my mouth once again when she finishes. This greedy girl owns me with
the intent in her eyes, and I know that she is, without a shadow of a
doubt, completely mine. No other before me and no other after will
ever come close to this living, breathing encounter created by us.
Not slowing down for a minute, she reaches to pull her top off, along
with her bra. Her tits are two perfectly sculpted tan globes with tight,
rosy nipples in the center. I attack them, drawing each one into my
mouth, my dick pulsating in time with her tiny moans.
The touch of her hand, slipping beneath my jeans to run over my needy
cock, triggers my own, loud moan. I can' t help but feel every single
molecule within my body swell with demand for her. I have to slow this
down or it will be over before it truly fucking begins, and I' ll blow my
load early. For once, it's a fear instead of a goal because I care about
Syn getting hers first.
Reaching for her searching arm, I tug it out of my jeans, smiling at the
sound of her reluctance. "Lie back for me, Syn," I command, watching
her yellow eyes go liquid with desire. She doesn't buck me; instead,
like the good girl she is, she does as I say. Something tells me, though,
it's only because it's me and in this moment. Once she is flat on the
blanket, I kneel on my knees beside her, instructing her softly,
"Remove your shorts, slowly." I watch her unbutton them and slide
them down her shapely thighs. She's not my usual stick-thin waif, and
I've

never wanted anyone more.
The sight before me blows my fucking mind. Her blonde hair is spread
out around her face. Her tan, tight little body glows underneath the
willow tree as the sun tries to shine its rays directly on her. A pair of
barely there, white panties fail to hide the bald pussy that glistens
underneath. I slowly glide my fingertip from her panting chest, over
one pebbled hard nipple, and down her flat stomach until it reaches the
edge of her panties.
I tug on the elastic, slipping my hand down to cup her. Wet, hot heat
greets me. If my dick could become the incredible hulk, he would bust
out of my jeans, going ape shit crazy to find her. No fucking doubt, this
is, without question, the hardest I've ever been for any girl. Her moan of
need spurs me further. I slide one finger back and forth, not entering her
but increasing the wet heat with every swipe. The excitement builds,
and goddamn if I don't swear I could just come right now. Slipping one
fingertip inside makes her entire body shake, and she pants louder.
Going a little deeper, my finger is coated in her sultry wetness, making
each glide in and out easier. I grind my palm against her mound,
stimulating her as much as possible.
"Please, Rhye," she cries out, "I... Oh my God." Her entire body bows
out, and I close my eyes at her scream of satisfaction. My breaths are
coming out just as fast as hers, and when I open my eyes, I see the
entire innocence of Syn smiling back at me. She's a beaut, but her inner
beauty would completely bring me to my knees if I wasn' t already on
them.
She lies there, willing and ready. Once again, I want to give a girl
something more than I could possibly ever offer her. So, I do the very
thing that my body and mind scream not to, stand and walk away.

"Rhye?" I ask, trying to make sense of what is happening around me.
He just gave me the most memorable experience of my life and then
walked away? Did I do something wrong? My body trembles, not from
the cold but confusion.
I know he desires me. It's evident by the hard on he's sporting beneath
his jeans. I watch him walk over to the tree and lean against it, away
from me. He looks miserable, and he doesn't have to. I stand on my
wobbly legs, my body feeling the aftershocks of his experienced touch,
and stumble over to him. He refuses to look at me, staring out across
the clear pond instead.
"Rhye?" I ask again, gently touching his shoulder. He moves away
from my touch and cuts his eyes at me.
"Get dressed, Syn," he says, looking back over the still water.
"I don't want to," I tell him defiantly. "This is my moment. What I' ve
waited for. I know it with every breath I take and with every fiber of
being. Do not deny me this, Rhye Clark. I don't know why you decided
to stop, but I damn well know it's not something wrong with me, so
don't make me feel that way. I'm done with assholes making me feel
like I'm the one lacking something." My last words come out with a
cry, and once again, my tears pour like a river.
He turns towards me now, guilt assailing his features. "No, Syn. I want
you too damn much. I fucking would give my left nut to have you right
now, but listen to what I have to say. Please," he begs, bowing his head.

I watch him breathe in and out, his jaw ticking, usually indicating his
anger. At me? I cover my breasts with my arms. The day still shines
majestically around us, but the moment is now tarnished, and I don' t
know if we can go back. The thought makes me want to cry harder, sob
louder.
"If I take you, I can't say what you need to hear. Not because I wouldn't
mean it, but because I don't know what it really means. Something is so
fucking wrong inside of me that I don't know if I'll ever be able to be
fixed. Even at this moment, if it was a choice between a hit of smack or
you, I wish I could tell you, without another thought, that it would be
you, but I can't," he says, looking deep into my eyes, pleading silently
with me to understand. Looking around, he motions to my land with his
hand before saying, "After spending today with you, I know you could
live here forever and be content, but even now, I'm becoming jittery,
needing more than the silence and the peace. I can' t fix me for you
anymore than you could dirty yourself up enough for me. I don' t want
to sleep with you and tell you thanks for the fuck and walk away. I
know that it would shatter something inside me that really would be
unfixable."
His words do the very thing he' s afraid for himself, shatter me. I don' t
want to fall apart in front of him. He wants to be honorable now? When
I'm naked and willing to open myself for him? To give over my past,
my present, and my future? The dark shadows that haunt him are
casting darkness over us. Can he not see that? The salty tears leak out of
my eyes, warmly caressing my face. My heart is so full, but so empty.
After everything I've said, how can he turn away from me? Can he even
have a heart? Is it even possible? His tiny, shriveled, and withered
heart. Isn't that what it is? Unused. Squandered. A wasted heart?
I turn, not wanting to look at him another second. I'm pissed,
fire-breathing mad. Does he not realize what I'm willing to give up for
him? Everything! Every little and big thing in my life. Picking up my
shorts, I slide them on with trembling hands and over unsteady legs,
shaking with unrequited love. I grab my shirt and pull it on
haphazardly, without bothering with the bra. I toss it inside the picnic
basket along with my boots and everything else. He's not getting rid of
me this easily.

Without even looking at him, I walk over to the Polaris, throw the
basket in the back, and sit down. I seethe in silence, waiting for him to
join me. Minutes later, he does, his shirt and shoes back on. I turn the
key, and we drive back to the house. Taking the direct route only takes
us about thirty minutes to return. The evening sky is shaded with blues
and pinks, but the peacefulness has worn thin for the day, and not even
that picturesque sight can repair the moment. Stopping directly in front
of the cabin, I turn off the ignition.
He starts to get out when I say, "Stop. " Turning, he stares back at me
with hostility, once again in his eyes. "When I want something.
Someone. I fight for them, and I don' t give up until I get what I want.
You need to know that. You need to prepare yourself for me. Get right
with Jesus and take care of whoever or whatever you need to because
you and I are far from over. "
I step out of the vehicle and walk around to him. He' s seems surprised
and maybe a little angry at my outburst, but I don' t care. "Jay may have
let you go without a fight, but I sure as hell won' t. " I turn to walk up
the steps to the porch.
"I don't really care for desperate chicks," he calls behind me.
I stop, slowly counting to three in my mind so I don't turn around and
choke him to death. Turning, I march back down those same steps,
stopping directly in front of him. He glares at me defiantly. "You need
to learn the difference between desperate and what I'm offering only to
you," I whisper, leaning into him. Raising myself on my toes, I kiss his
cheek and turn to walk away again.
"I'm sorry," he quietly replies, but I don't stop.
Walking inside, I steel myself for what happens next. "No more tears,"
I chant, over and over. Maybe, just maybe, it will work. A throat
clearing makes me turn my head.
"You look like hell," Josh says, lounging back against the couch while
watching a movie. Making my way to him, I sit down, letting the
cushions break my fall.
"Pass me the popcorn. I'm starving," I say, realizing I haven't eaten all
day.
"Where' s Rhye?" he asks, handing me the bowl of buttery

goodness.
Shrugging, I grab a fistful and stick it all in my mouth, chowing down
like a cow and not caring how un-lady like it looks. "Should I be
concerned?"
Again I shrug, not wanting to speak quite yet. We sit in silence,
watching some movie about a girl trying to lose a guy in so many days.
When the main actor walks on screen, and I see who it is, I look from
Josh to him and back again. "You know that you look...," I start to say,
only to have him hold his hand in my face.
"If you value our friendship, don't even say it," he threatens, glaring at
me the entire time.
I smile and feel a little more myself. Laying my head on his shoulder, I
close my eyes and try not to give into this overwhelming grief. After an
hour, I realize it's a futile attempt. I'm no closer to a resolution than I
was an hour ago.
Josh went outside to check on Rhye, and I haven't seen either one of
them. Looking at the clock, I see that dinner time has passed, but I get
up to go fix something in the kitchen anyway. Turning the stove grill
on, I get ready to grill a couple of steaks and microwave some baked
potatoes. It's pretty much the only thing I can really cook and not burn.
Thirty minutes later, I hear the front door open and close. Both of the
guys' voices seem to rise and fall as they speak. They must follow their
noses because it only takes minutes before they both arrive in the
kitchen.
"Food," Josh says, smelling the air. "Steak and a potato? You've
officially hit goddess status. "
I roll my eyes at him, but I' m entirely focused on Rhye. He looks like I
feel, tired and beaten down. Rhye walks over to sit at the kitchen table.
Sprawling in the chair, he stretches those long legs out. What did he say
to me earlier about his addiction? It's been nagging me to put it all
together. So, he feels completely guilty about this Jay chick, who
sounds like she never even cared about him in the first place, and her
boyfriend JT. Maybe he needs to come full circle, regarding that
situation, before he can put it behind him. I look down, realizing that,
while I' m lost in thought, the steaks are charring on one side.

"Josh, hand me that large serving plate please," I ask, and he passes it to
me. Placing them all on there, I set it down on the table along with the
baked potatoes and large salad I fixed earlier. Making sure all the
condiments are out and that they both have something to drink, I excuse
myself, telling them to choose a room to sleep in. Let Rhye think what
he wants.
When I reach my room, I head straight for my iPad to Google her. How
many females named "James" could there be from Rhye' s old
hometown? I' m actually surprised that tons of information
immediately pulls up on her. Every gritty detail about what happened is
spelled out before me. It garnished a lot of national attention. I have to
admit, she is very beautiful, completely opposite from me with dark
hair and grey eyes. She's quite lovely in fact, and her story is one of
immense sadness. I find myself shedding several more tears for this
poor girl.
Reading on, I see that she married four years ago, right after Rhye went
to California. Well, that was fast. Her last name is David now. Kane
and Jay David. Now that I have her name, it only takes minutes to
Google the address to her front door, which is only five hours away.
I lay the iPad down and lean against my headboard. I know what has to
happen, but am I willing, again, to sacrifice my future relationship with
him? The truth that I have to see is there can be no happy future for us if
he can't come to terms with his past.
Closing my eyes, I pray that I make the right decisions regarding Rhye.
I need some outside help tonight.

"Rhye, wake up."
Someone is shaking the shit out of my arm. "Goddamn it, leave me
alone," I drowsily mutter, turning over in my bed.
"No can do. Get up lazy bones. I have another field trip planned," Syn's
voice calls to me.
Blinking my eyes open, I turn my head and see her standing over me,
once again smiling. "Damn, Smiley. Let me sleep," I mutter, laying my
head back on the pillow.
"Smiley?" I hear her ask. "I'll take it. I'm sure you could have come up
with a much worse nickname. Now, please get up. We have to get
moving. Josh and I will be outside. "
Something tells me she won't give up, so I sit up to stretch. She hands
me my clothes and turns to walk out. I know it has to be early, but I get
dressed, not asking any questions. I'm the biggest bastard ever to walk
the planet when it comes to her. Guilt swamps me about yesterday,
especially after having another conversation with Josh last night. He
came outside after we returned. At first we just rode around in the
Polaris, not saying anything. Then, he maxed out the speed, and we tore
it up. I didn't tell him, but yeah, it was fun. Next time, it's my turn to
drive that bad boy. Damn. If there is a next time.
I never spoke to Josh about what happened with Syn, but the fucker is
so intuitive that he pretty much put all the pieces together. He talked,
and this time, I listened. He kept saying that if I didn't take advantage of
the situation with Syn, then I was more of a standup guy than he
thought. No shit. It surprised even me. Josh said exactly what I am
feeling, "If I can't give her what she needs, leave her the fuck alone, but
don't hurt her." The "don't hurt her" was Josh's add on. Hurt is what I
do.
Placing my sunglasses on, I walk on the porch to see her and Josh
sitting there, laughing. It's got to be too fucking early in the morning for
this shit.
"What time is it?" I ask them, walking down the steps as Syn locks
up.
"Time to go," she says, getting to the truck before me.
I don't want to sit next to her today. Just the thought of having to

smell her sweet scent so close is driving me crazy. I really hope this is a
short ride back to Nashville. Knowing that I can't handle being that
close to Syn without doing something incredibly stupid, I walk over to
the passenger seat.
"No," Josh says before I can say anything. "Not no, but hell no. Sit
down and slide over. "
"Josh, man. Help me out," I say quietly. He rolls his eyes,
understanding what I'm asking, and gets in first.
"I' m rolling next to you, girl," Josh says, speaking to Syn.
"He can run, but he can't hide, Josh," she replies to him but looks right
at me.
I get in, ignoring her comment. What does she think is happening?
Does she not understand that I'm doing this for her? Goddamn! You try
and do the right thing and this is what happens. Fucking madness.
Fucked if you do, and fucked if you don't. I keep my mouth shut for the
first thirty minutes when I realize we are not heading back to Nashville.
"What the fuck, Syn? Where are we going?" I ask, sitting up to look
over at her. Josh who is sitting beside me, nudges my arm with his
elbow to shut up. "What?" I hiss at him.
"Somewhere you need to go, Rhye," Syn says, not looking at me as she
drives.
"I' m not fucking going back to rehab, so you can stop the goddamn
truck right now." Are they serious? Who does she think she is? Hitting
the dashboard, I lean up and stare at her. I'm so fucking angry.
She flicks those yellow eyes over at me and then back to the road. "If I
thought you would go, I would take you there in a heartbeat. I would
drive you, myself, to the front door knowing you would hate me,
knowing that nothing between us would be salvageable, Rhye, " she
says, her voice breaking. "I would, but that's not where we are going."
She reaches to flip the radio on.
This time Josh doesn't nudge me. He all out hits me with his elbow to
my side. Goddamn that hurt. I rub the pain radiating from right under
my ribcage and lean against the seat. What was I supposed to think? I
cross my arms and close my eyes, laying my head back and keeping my
damn mouth shut. I will my brain to shut down, especially to try and

ignore the lame ass country music that's playing.
"Wake up, Rhye," Syn says, standing at the passenger door, holding it
open.
"What? Fuck, my neck hurts, " I think to myself as I reach up one hand
to massage it. With the other, I pull my sunglasses off and look around.
It seems like I just had shut my eyes. "Did I sleep?" I ask, sliding out of
the truck. Stretching my cramped up muscles, I glance around to see
that we are parked in the driveway of somebody's two-story, brick
house, right smack dab in the middle of, what appears to be, suburbia.
Trees cover the modest front yard, and you can hear kids playing in the
neighborhood.
"Yes, for about five hours, and you snored the entire time, " Josh says,
still sitting in the bitch seat.
"Where are we?" I ask, yawning.
"You're about to find out," Syn says, reaching for my hand. She gently
threads her fingers with mine.
I see the questioning look in her eyes, silently asking if it's okay to
touch me. I'm used to fans touching me without my permission,
wanting a part of me just to say they had it. And whores touch me
because I let them, but they always want something I can give them.
Syn has her own fame, her own money, and knows her own damn self.
She doesn't want me for personal gain, for the contacts I can give, for
the lifestyle, for the drugs, or for the glory. Why does it seem like she
only wants me for me when that man doesn't have a damn thing to offer
her in return? A pain shoots through the left side of the top of my chest,
the place where my heart is. I can't deny her this. Wherever she is
leading, I'll follow.
Staring at her, I squeeze her hand in mine, giving her the answer she
needs. She gently pulls me as we walk up the driveway, onto the
walkway, and up to the front door. Before she knocks, she turns
towards me, and licks her lips.
She starts to talk then stops, starting again minutes later. "You have to
make peace with your past to ever have a future. Whether that's with
me or not," she says through shaky breaths. Tears form in her eyes, and
I watch her reach up to swipe them away. Taking a deep breath, she
continues, "Jay seems like the right place to start. "

I look away from her to the front door. Did she just say "Jay"? I'm at
fucking Jay's house? Is she shitting me? This time, I do pull my hand
away from hers, only to rub both of them through my hair. What the
fuck am I supposed to do?
"Hell no," I tell her, turning to walk back to the truck.
"Please, Rhye," she pleads, her words holding me in place.
Turning around, I can feel my anger rising towards Syn. She doesn't
have a clue what she has done. I can't just show up and lay my shit
down to Jay. She could still be that fucked up girl that might blow her
brains out once I leave. Who the fuck knows? Plus, I don' t want to see
her. She left me. End of story. She chose someone else, and I fucking
walked away. I haven' t heard from the girl, except when I called to
check on her in the hospital. Shit, it was when we were first gaining
momentum with our music, and I never called back, hurting more and
more every time I thought about her, finally realizing that she would
never choose me, and even if she did, I couldn't live with telling her
what I did to fuck up her life for good.
I watch her turn to ring the doorbell. "Don't do it, Syn. I have nothing to
say to her." She pauses, then pushes it anyway. Goddamn it to
hell.
Minutes seem like hours until the front door is opened. I hold my breath
as the sad and broken girl, that I remember and love, doesn' t answer.
Instead, standing in front of me, is that beautiful, happy girl that
captured so many hearts, looking slightly older if not more gorgeous.
Her long brown hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and those grey eyes
that still haunt my dreams, shine with happiness. Damn, she still takes
my breath away.
"Oh my God! Rhye!?!" she screams, running straight at me and
barreling into my chest, hugging my waist tight.
I stand frozen and shocked at the events happening.
"What are you doing here? " she asks, pulling back, but still holding
onto me.
Not knowing what to do with my arms, I reach out to gently grasp each
of her shoulders. "To see you," I reply, not exactly knowing what the
hell I' m doing here.

"I'm so glad that you did. I've missed you," she says, squeezing me tight
once more before pulling away. "Let me get a good look at you. Wow.
Famous rock star, Rhye Clark." Her smile is about as big as Syn's, but
not quite as pretty.
Syn. I look up to see her crying again. Damn, everything that concerns
me makes her cry. I watch her wipe her face clear. Glancing down, I see
Jay finally noticing that we are not alone.
"Syn, meet Jay Stevenson," I say, suddenly nervous for these two to
meet. What the fuck am I anxious about?
"Actually, Jay David. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry. I'm a little excited to
see Rhye," she says to Syn, offering her hand.
David? Who the hell is that?
"It's fine. Nice to meet you also," Syn says, smiling while shaking her
hand.
"Wait. You're Syn Landry, the country singer, right?" Jay asks,
pointing at her.
"Yes, that would be me."
"Good God, Eli would have a hissy fit. My best friend loves your
music. He's a huge country music buff, and I actually watched you
open up for Carrie when he drug me to her concert. No offense, country
music just isn't my thing," she says, laughing. "But you were
wonderful."
"None taken," Syn replies back, genuinely nice.
Clapping her hands together, she turns back to me, saying, "Where are
my manners? You two come in." She ushers us towards the front door.
"Um, Rhye needs to talk to you, so I'm just going to wait with our
friend in the truck," Syn says as we both look at her. She motions her
hands towards the vehicle then looks right at me. "Take your time and
talk with her. "
"Syn, why don't you and your friend both come in? I'll get y'all
something to drink, and then Rhye and I can talk, " Jay replies, looking
from Syn to me.
"Thanks, Jay, but we'd rather wait there. We'll be fine. Just make him
talk to you if he won't. He really, really needs to," she says directly to
Jay before walking off, not once glancing towards me.

"Come on in, Rhye," she says, leading the way inside her home.
I follow her through the foyer, past the dining room, and into the
kitchen. Everything looks so... nice. Like a real, lived-in home. I look
out the back window to see a kickass stone pool.
"Have a seat," she motions towards the bar stools at the kitchen
counter. "Would you like something to drink? "
"Yes, some hard liquor would be great, " I think to myself, but instead,
I ask, "Got any beer?"
"Sure." She reaches inside the fridge and grabs one. Twisting the cap
off, she hands it to me then sits on the other stool.
"It's really great to see you," she says, looking at me while I take a big
drink of the cold, light beer. "You know, you told me you were going to
keep in touch, but all I got was one phone call in the hospital. What was
up with that?"
I shrug my shoulders and take another sip before answering, "Life.
Music. Take your pick." Not knowing what to say, I pick at the beer
label, stripping it from the bottle in shreds.
"I tried to reach you several times. Seems it's hard to get in touch with a
famous lead singer. No one just wants to hand out their cell number. Go
figure," she replies with a short laugh. "Even your mom wouldn't give
it to anyone."
"I told her not to." We sit in silence for several seconds.
"I was sorry to hear about Chris. I thought you would have come back
for the funeral. I looked for you. "
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I really don't want to do this. Is she kidding
me? She's acting like nothing is wrong. That nothing ever happened
between us. That we never fucked or got high. That JT' s dead. That her
life was a fucking mess. She sits there acting motherfucking happy, like
she' s living in goddamn Candyland, and now she' s sorry about Chris?
What about fucking me?
"You looked for me? What the fuck does that mean? The last time I saw
you, you told me that you were going home to meet some guy that you
wanted to be with more than me. So, I walked away. Let you go like I'
ve always done, even though you have no idea what it does to me. Now
you say that you've been looking for me? Trying to reach me? For
what?

Now that I'm famous you care to want to know me?" I angrily sit the
beer bottle down on the kitchen counter, causing Jay to jump in her
seat.
"Don't put words in my mouth, Rhye. You were the one that told me
that day to never forget you, not that I ever could have." She points at
me, seemingly upset.
"Don't give me that, Jay. I never said that bullshit," I reply, shaking my
head.
"Yes, you did. And I didn't. For years, I've worried about you, reading
the same garbage online and in magazines that everybody else does.
Not knowing what was real and what was a lie. The one major obstacle
in finding my own happiness has been worrying about you, especially
this last year. God Rhye, you can't imagine the hell you have put me
through. "
Standing quickly, I pound the granite counter with my fist. "Put you
through? Fuck you, Jay. What about the shit you have put me through
every damn day for years? I fucking loved you. I was the only goddamn
person that knew you were going to fucking kill yourself, a fucking
messed up kid who didn't have a clue what to do to stop you. When you
needed me, I let you use me however, whenever, you needed. I held
you in my arms and prayed, to a God I didn't even believe in, for you to
be mine. And I watched you, time and time again, walk into somebody
else's arms."
Looking at her, I shake my head, seeing her tears flowing. "You see, I
didn't look for you all these years. I didn't have to. You've been with me
the entire, fucking, miserable time. Your and JT's memories haunt me
every damn day," I say with a bitter laugh. "And now Chris' s. "
Returning to the stool, I lay my head down on my crossed arms, silently
choking back these stupid feelings. My fucking body hurts with the
pain of holding everything in.
"Why?" she whispers.
Turning my head towards her, I reply, "You don't want to know why. It
might mess up your pretty little world. "
"Tell me, Rhye. I' m not the same girl you once knew. You need to talk
to me. "
"You really want to know?" I ask angrily, watching her nod her

head. I don't hold back, letting her have it. "I'm the reason JT died. I'm
the reason Cal will never walk again. And I am the sole reason you lost
him and tried to commit suicide. Me, Jay. I'm the one that recorded and
sent that video." I walk over to look out the window, not wanting to see
the look of hatred on her face that I know will be there. "I didn't know
what to do. I watched that bastard tear your goddamn world apart and
didn't know how to help. You wouldn't let me, so I saved you the only
way I knew how. And if I could go back and change everything, I
would, only to know that you would live. Every choice and mistake I
made, I made for you, and I've lived with those consequences ever
since. I can't live with the blood on my hands. Most days, I don't even
want to try."
Her arms surround me as she embraces me from behind. I feel her lay
her head on my back and squeeze me tighter.
"I never knew, Rhye. And, at one time in my life, I would have been
angry, so I understand why you didn't tell me. But you listen to me
now. JT's death, my attempted suicide, and especially Cal's paralysis
have nothing to do with any choices you made. Nothing. Are you
listening to what I'm saying?" she says, her voice trembling.
I shake my head because this isn't what I expected. I've always known
Jay would go ape shit crazy when she found out. She pulls back to
grasp my arms and forcefully moves me around. Looking down into
her teary eyes, I see the same pain that I notice in the mirror every
morning.
"I' m not mad at you. You probably did save my life. Who knows what
would have happened, maybe more people would have died before
everything was said and done. Rhye, JT is the reason JT died. He got in
his truck emotionally distraught. Cal and I tried and couldn't stop him.
Cal would tell you that he got in the truck knowing JT had no business
driving. He doesn't blame anyone but himself. We have spoken about
that video on several occasions, and not once did we believe that person
held any responsibility, regardless of the reason they did it. I always
knew it was either someone being viciously petty or someone who, like
yourself, didn't know how to help me, but either way, they were
innocent in this mess. "
Glancing down at the ground, I say, "I should have just brought it

directly to the police. Then, that night wouldn't have happened."
"You don't know that. Like I said, it could have been worse. All I know,
for a fact, is that you are not responsible for JT, Cal, or me. God Rhye,
I am so sorry you had to live with any of this. The one thing I've learned
from all the expensive therapy I've had is that we can't blame ourselves
for other people's actions. We can only find ways to live with the
choices we've made and go on with our lives. You can't change the
past, but you can make the future better for yourself, " she says, leaning
in to hug me again.
This time I reach around her tiny waist and squeeze her back. Burying
my nose in her hair, the smell brings back so many memories.
Surprisingly, most of them good. Us hanging out at Chris's apartment,
serenading her while we danced, singing on stage to her at Vortex, and
her watching us practice our sets. I clearly remember watching her
sleep, passed out actually, on Chris's couch, right before I took her to
JT because I knew he was the better man for her. Chris came in, saw me
holding her, and asked if I loved her. I told him "yes," but then
explained what I was about to do. I remember him smiling and clapping
me on the back before saying, "It must be love if you are willing to give
her up. That girl's got too much hurt in those eyes. No one should live
with that much pain. Just let it go. Life is too short. You know what I'm
saying, man?" I shut my eyes tight at the forgotten memory until today,
willing the tears back. "Yeah, man. I'm starting to realize exactly what
you are saying, " I think to myself.

Looking down at my watch for the millionth time, I yawn. Rhye's been
inside for about thirty minutes, but it seems like three, extremely long,
never-ending hours. At first, I sat in the cab of Old Blue with Josh, but
then, I felt smothered, even with the windows rolled down. I hopped
out and went to let the tailgate down. Josh joined me shortly after, and
we've been sitting here since.
My first impression of Jay was that she was this incredibly beautiful,
sweet woman. She seemed genuinely happy to see Rhye. She ran to
hug him like he was some long lost friend that she'd been waiting for.
That was kind of annoying actually. I think the hug was a little too over
the top for my liking. God, how long is this going to take? Surely, she
hasn't changed her mind and now wants Rhye. Does he still love her? Is
that the real reason he doesn't want me? Maybe he does, and I just
brought him right to her front door stoop. "Great idea, Syn," I think to
myself.
"Do you think it will help him?" I ask, glancing over at Josh.
He tosses the old softball up that he found behind the seat. "I don't think
it can hurt. The guy is hell bent on his destruction. If he specifically told
you that this was part of the reason for his addiction, it's a good place to
start. "
I cringe, feeling bad about telling Josh something so personal that Rhye
told me, but I needed to know his professional opinion about this trip.
While we sit here, I hear the loud rumble of a motorcycle's engine
getting closer to us. I look down the street to watch a guy roll up on one
and pull into the driveway right next to us.
Wow. It' s the only thing that comes to mind as I watch this serious
hottie take his helmet off and look directly at us. He hangs it on the
handlebar of his Harley Davidson. His dark hair is sheared close to his
head, but what a pretty head it is. He glances over at me with eyes the
color of emeralds and the body of a Greek god. He swings his leg over
and stands next to his ride. I am so attracted to Rhye, and for me, there
is no one better looking, but months ago, I would have thought this was
more my speed.
He grabs a grocery bag off the back of the motorcycle and

swaggers over to Josh and myself. "Hi." He smiles, looking at us both.
"Can I help you with something?"
Josh looks at me, and I simply say, "We are just. waiting?"
"I live here," he says, motioning towards the house. "Anything in
particular that you are waiting for?"
Uh-oh. The husband. Wow. I didn't think about him. If he just arrived
then he has no idea that Rhye is talking to Jay. His wife. This might not
be a good thing. What if he doesn't know Rhye and now his wife is
inside talking to him? Alone. Maybe she's decided that she doesn't love
Mr. Motorcycle man in front of me, and instead, she wants to be a rock
star's wife. She could be a fame whore. You never know.
"My friend is talking to Jay. She offered us something to drink, but we
decided to wait out here. Now, my throat is super parched. Do you
think we could come inside and get something? " I ask, standing and
pulling Josh with me.
He looks at both of us and nods. "Sure. Follow me." Turning, he starts
to walk towards the front door before turning back to us. "By the way,
I'm Kane David," he says, looking back at us and then anxiously up at
the house.
Of course, I just told him that someone is talking with his wife. He's
probably worried about her. "I'm Syn, and this is my friend, Josh."
"Nice to meet you guys."
"Likewise," I reply back as we walk inside. Her house looks brand new.
The interior looks expensive but not overly done. In fact, I love what
she has done to it. We follow him through the house until we reach the
kitchen.
"Well, if it isn't bread boy himself. Please step away from my wife,"
Kane says, his voice sounding totally menacing in front of me. I watch
him sit the grocery bag down.
He must be blocking my view because I don't see who he is talking to
until I step around him. Rhye and Jay are standing by the window,
holding each other, but the embrace immediately ends at Kane's words.
Kane must not know Rhye. I turn to look at Josh as he dies laughing
behind me.
"What is so funny?" I whisper to him.

"Bread boy. Get it?" he says, looking at me like I should understand.
"Rhye bread equals bread boy. "
Oh. Well, I guess Kane does know who Rhye is. Kind of a lame
nickname if you ask me.
"Kane, look who finally came to visit," Jay says, walking towards Kane
and leaning up to kiss him.
At the sound of Jay's voice, I turn back around. Her eyes are
red-rimmed, and tears still linger. My eyes glance up to meet Rhye' s,
staring at me. I can't read the expression in them, but he doesn't look
angry.
"Did he make you cry?" Kane asks before kissing her back.
"No, he didn't. We had to talk. I'll tell you all about later," she says
quietly to him, but I hear her. Turning back towards Rhye, she says,
"Rhye, you remember Kane. Right? He's my husband now."
Rhye moves his eyes from me back to her. "You married that bastard?"
he asks, giving this evil little smile towards Kane. If I hadn' t gotten to
know Rhye better, I would be worried that he was, in some way,
jealous, but now I see he's messing with him for the hell of it.
"Yeah, I guess I was the better one," Kane replies, standing taller, but
never letting go of Jay.
"What the fuck ever," Rhye says, balling up his fist and rubbing it with
his other hand.
Way too much testosterone for me. "I'm thirsty. Can I get something to
drink?" I ask the entire room. Whoever will answer, wins.
"Sure," Jay replies, looking worried to leave Kane' s side.
"I'll just grab something from your fridge if that's okay?" I reply, not
wanting her to move in case she's the reason Kane is standing still.
"Help yourself."
I walk over to the fridge and see that a beer bottle is sitting on the
kitchen counter, the label laying in shreds around it. I assume it is
Rhye's. Opening the door, I grab Josh and me a bottle of water and
another beer for Rhye. I normally wouldn't make myself at home in a
stranger's house, but the situation warrants a change of atmosphere.
"While I' m in your fridge, do you want something to drink, Jay? " I
ask. Wouldn't it be tacky if I didn't ask?

"No, but thanks," she replies then laughs out loud. I join in. This is the
weirdest conversation I've ever had in my life.
"Heads up, Josh," I say, tossing him a bottle of cold water. Walking
around Jay and Kane, I stroll right up to Rhye and kiss his lips. I have
no clue why I' m doing it, but his mouth feels so right against mine.
Pulling back, I see the look of surprise, and then he leans down to kiss
me again. He lays one on me that turns my world inside out, wrapping
his arms securely around me. With the drinks in my hands, I can't
return the embrace, but I try. When he pulls back, he smiles at me and
looks at the beer in my hand.
"For me?" he asks, reaching for it.
Nodding, I let him take it and turn when I hear the laughter getting
louder behind me.
"Point made," Kane says to him. "But I still don't trust you."
"Fuck you," Rhye says, taking another gulp of beer.
"Pissing contest over you guys. Listen, we are having a cookout this
afternoon with a couple of friends. I would love it if you all would stay
and eat. "
Rhye shakes his head while Josh and I both answer, "Yes." I watch him
roll his eyes and drink his beer.
"Great. Kane, why don't you and Josh, is it, go out to get the grill ready,
and the rest of us will get things started in here," Jay says.
I can tell Kane wants to say something, but at the last minute, he leans
down to lightly kiss her. I think he mouths that he loves her and she
does the same. I'm really hoping that I'm wrong about Jay. She seems
like someone I could be friends with. I look back at Josh, and he nods
that he's okay with everything. He follows Kane out the backdoor, and
the rest of us are left in the aftermath.
"Well, that was as fun as to be expected. Really, Rhye? " Jay asks,
putting her hands on her waist.
"He started it," Rhye says, raising his beer bottle. "Where's the
bathroom?" he asks, and Jay points down a small hallway which he
follows.
Groaning, she turns back towards me. "Thanks for deflecting the
moment. Kane has a jealous streak a mile wild, and it's double that
when

it comes to Rhye," she says, walking over to the kitchen counter to
unload the grocery bag that Kane brought in. Looking at me, she
motions for me to have a seat at the kitchen counter. "Not that he has a
reason to be now. "
"But there was a point where he did?" I ask, thinking curiosity killed
the cat.
Stopping, she turns those slate grey eyes right at me. "Yes. In fact, me
making bad decisions regarding Rhye almost cost me my relationship
with Kane several times. I'm only telling you this because I want you to
understand why Kane has so much animosity towards Rhye. It's not
because he thinks Rhye still loves me; it's because we all have a very
interconnected and shady past." Reaching over, she places her warm
hand on top of mine. "You love him, right?"
"Yes," I answer, not hesitating for a second.
"You brought him to me, didn't you? You knew he was living with guilt
that wasn't his."
Again, I answer, "Yes."
"He's lucky to have you. I can only imagine that his lifestyle is
magnified ten times over from when I knew him. The drugs, the booze,
the women. You have to be a strong woman to stand beside someone
who is immersed in that world, not to mention the demons they already
carry." I just nod my head, not knowing where she is going with this.
"Thank you, Syn. That guy that you love saved me in so many ways. I
owe him my life. So, please don't give up. He deserves someone that
will stand by him and help fight what he carries inside." Looking out
the window at her husband, she continues, "I was lucky enough to find
that person, and it has made all the difference in my life," she says,
looking back at me with a smile.
Her words give me hope that there could be a future for us, together,
beyond Rhye's pain.
Patting my hand, she whispers, "He's coming back." Jay smiles at me
and mouths, "Thank you. "
I nod and smile back at her.
"Okay, you guys like hamburgers and hotdogs? " she asks, turning to
get something from her kitchen cabinet.

"Sounds great," I reply loudly.
"What sounds great?" Rhye says, coming back to sit down beside
me.
"Food. I' m starving," I answer, smiling at him.
"So, Rhye. Are you still living in L.A.?" Jay asks while fixing a huge
salad. She slices a couple cucumbers, laying them on a small plate and
placing them in front of me with a sweet grin.
He begins to tell her that we are both writing and recording our new
albums in Nashville. Of course, he leaves out anything about his
addiction and us. It makes me think that he's embarrassed of the drugs
instead of not giving a damn. I'd much rather he be embarrassed. You
can try to help that. Once someone doesn't give a damn, I'm finding it's
hard to change that perception. She talks to him about his music,
keeping the conversation light for his sake. He even laughs when she
says something about her awesome singing voice providing backup
vocals. Must be an inside joke for them.
As I sit here next to the man I love and in front of the woman he used to
love, I should feel some type of insecure jealousy, but what I' m really
feelings is a sense of coming full circle. This is where Rhye needed to
be so we could move forward. Again, I'm amazed at the lengths I will
go to for this boy. Ends of the earth kind of stuff. I can't help but think,
"Does he know? Does he even care? " I look over to hear him ask her if
she's in college.
"Yes. I' m finishing up my Bachelor of Science in Psychology so I can
become a high school guidance counselor," she says, pride in her voice.
He nods at her. "Good for you, Jay. I know you will make a great
one."
She gives him a sad smile before glancing back down at the salad, but
not before I see the sheen of tears in her eyes.
Clearing her throat, she starts to speak when I hear a loud yell for her
from the front of the house. A set of good looking guys come walking
in, and one walks right over to plant a big kiss on her cheek. "I've got a
new one for you," he says, handing Jay different bottles of salad
dressing out of the bag he brought. "Why did the tomato turn red?"

"God, no!" she says, groaning and shaking her head.
"It saw the salad dressing," he says, dying laughing. "Get it? It saw the
salad dressing. "
"You are embarrassing yourself. Turn around and see who sits,
witnessing your idiocy. "
The guy turns around and looks at Rhye first, saying, "Hey, Rhye."
Rhye gives him a flip wave before he turns to me. His eyes go round
like saucers, and his mouth drops wide open.
"Eli, meet Syn Landry. I think you know who she is. In fact, I'm pretty
sure you went on for days and days after the concert about how
awesome her voice is. "
He is just too cute with his University of Georgia Bulldog hat and
matching sweatshirt. I smile, loving his reaction. It's so sweet. "Hey,
Eli. Nice to meet you. "
"I' m a huge fan of you and country music, unlike some uncool people
that I know," he says, nudging Jay. "You killed the stage when we saw
you in Atlanta. I have your entire last album on iTunes and listen to it in
my truck all the time. "
"Thank you. That is amazing to hear."
"He's got some mad guitar skills. I tell him he should have been a
country music artist all the time, but instead, he's in school to be an
architect," Jay says, looking lovingly at Eli.
"Don't listen to her; she's tone deaf," Eli says jokingly.
"That's for damn sure," Rhye pipes up.
"Guys! " Jay yells, throwing pieces of lettuce at each of them.
"Rhye and Syn, meet my boyfriend Danny," Eli says, motioning
towards the guy standing on the other side of Rhye.
"Hey, man," Rhye says, shaking Danny's offered hand.
"Nice to meet you," I smile.
Shaking his head, Eli looks at Rhye now. "Man, I bet Kane had a fit
when he saw you. "
"You have no idea," Jay mutters.
"I better go check on my boy," he says, walking outside with Danny.
Feeling the need for the restroom, I stand. "Excuse me, Jay. Which

way was the restroom again?"
"Down the hallway," she says.
I head that way and find an elegantly decorated half bath. After peeing,
I wash my hands and try to fix myself up the best I can. At least I have
my lip gloss, which I use. Walking back to the kitchen, I hear Jay
talking to Rhye and slow down.
"She seems pretty special if you ask me. I'm sure they're hundreds of
things she could have been doing other than bringing your sorry ass to
talk to me, but she knew you well enough to know what you needed. "
"I'm not good for her, Jay. Do you know what that's like? Knowing you'
re not good enough for the girl you love? I' ve already been down that
road, and it hurts like a bitch. At least I didn't have to be around to
watch you marry that steroid freak. "
"Hey! He doesn't use steroids. He works out for that body. And yes, I
do know. Hello, remember I gave JT up in the first place because I didn'
t believe I was good enough for him. Listen to me, Rhye. The only hope
you have in beating your demons is somebody by your side that you
love, and someone that is willing not to fight your battles for you but
next to you. Someone who won't run at the first sign of trouble because
your problems won't just disappear. I still see a therapist, I still take
meds for my depression, and I still have days where there isn't enough
alcohol or drugs in this world to drive my demons away. My only
salvation is Kane's love. Doesn't mean he's perfect and we don't fight.
Being with someone is always a struggle; however, it's knowing that
they are there for you no matter what. "
"I don't want to hurt her," he says softly.
"Then don't. Just love her," Jay replies.
I swallow back the emotions swamping me. Does he love me? He
didn't say he did. I can't stand in the hallway forever. Walking in, I put a
smile on my face and notice a girl with long, beautiful red hair walking
into the kitchen.
"Jay, girl. Where do you want me to put the fruit?" She freezes, looking
at Rhye then at me. "What are Rhye Clark and Syn Landry doing in
your kitchen, Jay?"
"They are just a figments of your imagination, Mols, " Jay says,

shaking her head. "Syn, meet my best friend, Molly. Rhye, I believe
you know her already. "
"Hi," I say, waving at her.
"Hey. Love your music," she says to me. "Rhye, still looking rough as
ever. Still living the hard life I see. "
Rhye's answer is his middle finger and a swig of his beer. "Be nice you
two," Jays warns.
"I bet Kane is loving life right now. What does Kane bench press these
days? Wasn't it hundred pound rockers?" Molly asks sarcastically.
I' m getting the impression that Molly and Rhye have never gotten
along.
"Take the meat out to Kane, please," Jay says, handing a plate to Molly
and kissing her cheek. "Troublemaker. " "You love me anyway."
After she walks out, Rhye looks at Jay. "Is she still with that same guy
from high school?"
Jay shakes her head. "Reed has been living up North, attending art
school. They still love each other, but who knows if it will ever work
out for them. "
"Anyone else coming for this happy little fucked up reunion?" Rhye
asks, getting up to get another beer. I guess we've all made ourselves at
home.
"No, Cal would be the only one left, and he spends every waking hour
that he's not at school with his new girlfriend. He's doing really great,
Rhye. Don't worry about him."
Rhye nods his head and walks out the backdoor.
"Did you hear my conversation earlier?" Jay asks, looking directly at
me. "I meant for you to. I knew you were standing there. "
"Why?" I ask her.
"Because you need to keep fighting, and I wanted you to know it wasn't
for nothing. He's trying to work everything out in his head. This
seemingly heartless guy has the biggest heart of them all. He just doesn'
t know it. Grab those salad dressing bottles," she tells me and heads for
outside.

Everyone, including Josh, is sitting around this huge patio table with a
drink. Kane stands up to check the grill every couple minutes. You can
tell that this group of friends are close knit. They are comfortable in
each other. The love is evident in the way they unabashedly show
affection and laughter. I find myself smiling and talking through most
of the meal. Rhye even smiles when they remember times from high
school. It amazes me that this is the same girl Rhye spoke of and I read
about. She's probably one of the strongest women I will ever meet, and
I know, within hours, that she is a friend I want in my life.
When the sun sets, I know it's time to hit the road. I excuse us, telling
them we are due back in the studio first thing tomorrow. Josh says his
goodbyes and heads out to the truck. Rhye and I do the same thing, but
Jay walks us out. At the front door, we stop and turn around to face her.
"Rhye Clark, I have your cellphone number now, and I will be using it.
Remember that love is an action. It is not a feeling or fleeting emotion,
and it requires hard work and perseverance. Make sure you recognize it
before it's gone," she says, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Fight for
it."
Turning towards me, she places her hands gently on either side of my
face. "Please take care of him. He's very fragile, though he'll never
admit it," she says, cutting her eyes to Rhye and back to me. "Don't give
up easily and remember that anyone who is worth your love is worth
waiting for." Letting me go, she kisses me lightly on both cheeks and
stands back. "See what years of therapy gets you? Call me Dr. Phil and
pay me millions," she says, jokingly. "Drive safely, and Syn, I'll call
you next week. "
"Please do," I reply as we walk back to the truck.
Once we are on the road, with Josh sitting in the passenger seat and
Rhye in the middle, I feel a peace that I didn't yesterday. For most of
the ride, we all stay silent. The only movement is the touch of Rhye's
warm hand as he grasp my free one, linking them.

"Try that other slow beat with the acoustic guitar solo in the middle," I
tell Mel as we sit, working in the studio. He rotates some knobs on the
intricate sound board and brings in the other track that I was asking for.
"Yeah, I agree. That's the one. Your bandmates should be back any
minute, and we will lay it down. See if it sounds close enough, " Mel
replies, bouncing his head to the beat of the music.
I nod in agreement. We've been in the studio for the past week
recording all the new material with the band. Jared and Ian arrived on
Monday. It was fucking hard at first being around those guys. I didn' t
know what attitude Jared was going to come at me with, but it seems I'
m not the only one that's chilled. We decided to let the past rest and
carry on in Chris's remembrance. Of course, they ask about my drug
situation. I didn't make any false promises, but told them, as of right
now, I'm clean. That's all I can fucking say at this point.
I'm finally feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be, and that's the
goddamn truth. Talking with Jay helped. I still know that I'm
responsible for some of the shit that went down, but I wasn't the only
one. Lately, I' ve also thought about that night with Chris. If I could
have stopped him from pulling the trigger, I would have. Fuck, I rather
it had been me, but the reality is, it wasn't. I'm the one stuck living here,
dealing with the bloody aftermath.
Josh and I were talking the other day, and the bastard actually said
something that I get. He said, "Rhye, you can live on your knees, down

in the dumps, begging for the scraps that life throws at you, or you can
live standing as tall as you can, reaching for the stars." When he first
said it, I called him a pansy ass pussy, but days later, here I am thinking
about it. The drugs make my life heaven for about two seconds, while
the down could cost me a lifetime. A lifetime of singing, a lifetime of
playing the guitar, a lifetime with Syn.
Syn. She fucking drove my sorry ass to Jay. I'm still tore up inside
about what she did for me this past weekend. She offered me a piece of
her world by taking me to her home and giving me shelter, not just
from the outside but from life. Then the girl really listened to me when
I even didn' t know what I was saying, bleeding out my pain. She tried
to heal me the only way she knew how. And fuck, I can't say it worked,
but seeing Jay, yeah, it gave me some closure. Jay. Part of me still
loved and wanted her, but then I would look at Syn and those feelings
were nothing compared to the desperate aching wonder I have for that
girl. She' s so goddamn beautiful on the inside and out. I didn't know
that purity of the soul still existed in this shitty world. When we
returned that night, everyone was half asleep, especially her from
driving all day. I kissed her cheek, wanting her so bad my teeth hurt,
but I let her walk into her apartment. Alone.
This week, I've been busy with my band and she with hers. I've hardly
seen her. After the first twenty-four hours, I convinced myself it's for
the best. She doesn't need my shit, and maybe she's realizing it. I even
went straight back to the apartment the first two nights after recording
while the other guys hit up the bars. I kept telling myself she would
come over, she'd check on me, but only Josh showed up. It's for the
fucking best. She deserves so much better. Someone that can give her
what I can' t, words she deserves to hear. So, these past two nights, I
went out with the band, not getting home until late, drinking some beer,
but saying "no" to anything else. I'm hard up for some pussy, that's for
damn sure, but I can't think of being with anyone but Syn.
"What up, man?" Jared says, walking in the studio with Ian after
grabbing some lunch. They both come over to give me a bro hug.
"You guys need to hear this shit. See if we can come close to playing
it," I say as they sit in the chairs behind Mel and me.

The door opens again, and I look up to see Ryan. "Hey, Rhye. You got
a minute?" he says, nodding for me to follow him out the door. When
we are both in the hallway, he says, "Listen, I need you and Syn to get
on that duet today. The record label is pushing pretty hard for it. They
want it recorded by the end of the week. If they like what they hear and
feel like it's going to be a hot hit, they may have a slot for you both to
sing at the Grammys coming up. "
I nod, realizing what a big deal this is for both Syn and myself.
"Look, Julie already has a couple of back up tracks ready to go with it.
I need words, and I'd like to see what you two come up with. If not, then
we'll pull somebody else's lyrics in. Are you where you can work with
her right now? Her band is recording sound today, and if your guys are
in the same place, let's get on this right now. You with me?"
"Yeah. If Syn is okay with it?" I answer, fishing to see what she
said.
"She is. Let's do this then," he says, slapping me on the arm. "Studio C
is open. Grab your stuff, and I'll tell Syn to meet you there." Ryan turns
to walk down the hall.
I head back to the studio to let the guys know where I'll be for the next
couple of hours. Grabbing my guitar, I head over to the studio. I' m the
first to arrive, so I sit in one of the thick leather chairs and grab a piece
of paper and pen. Personally, the lyrics are not coming to me because of
a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach at seeing Syn. My knee
bounces uncontrollably, and it's fucking hot in here. I freeze at the
sound of the door opening.
Her curly blonde hair falls around those delicate shoulders of hers,
emphasizing the wicked-colored eyes I like. Today, she has on a yellow
t-shirt with a little tan skirt and those damn cowboy boots. They look
better than a pair of ten inch fuck-me-heels, and I get an instant hard on
for her.
"Hey," she says, smiling at me. Walking to the chair beside me, she sits
her notebook down followed by that sweet ass of hers.
"Hey," I stupidly reply back. What. The. Fuck. I tap the pencil against
the paper, staring at her.
"So, I guess they want us to get this song together today, " she says,

staring back at me like she's waiting for something.
"Yeah. I guess. Whatever." I look down, feeling stupid. Where is this
weirdness coming from? I go from knowing her to not knowing what
the hell she wants.
She looks down at her notebook, and I look at mine. Minutes later, I
hear the sound of her pencil, scribbling across her page, and it's about
to drive me fucking crazy. I lean my head back to stretch my neck and
close my eyes. Her sweet smell invades my nostrils, making my
already blue balls black, if that's even possible. I just fucking.. .want...
her.
"What is your problem? " she jumps up yelling, while turning towards
me. "One minute you're you, then you're the good you, and then we are
back to this self-centered egotistic asshole you, which seems to be the
you that ignores me and pretends that I don't matter. And I love and
miss all the yous, and after not seeing you for days, this is the you I get?
"
Huh? Her outburst confuses me at first. Then I realize what she is
implying, and I get rip roaring mad. My body tenses at her words. Does
she not realize the hell I'm putting myself through for her? I look down
at my paper to try and control my rising temper.
I' m going to kill him before he drives me achingly insane. He has been
ignoring me for days, and I can't take it another long, hard second.
Watching him look down at his still blank pad of paper, not looking at
me once again, makes me want to commit murder. I watch his cheeks
cave in and out with visible anger. Good. Maybe, he'll get mad, but by

God, he will see me.
He throws his pencil down and cuts those beautiful brown eyes up.
Instead of the deep look of hatred that I'm used to, I see heart starting
passion and stark lust staring back at me, causing me to take in a quick
intake of breath. My heart literally bursts with love within my chest,
spilling over and over inside me.
My body ignites with electrical currents firing inside, filling me with
need, saturating me with life changing desire. My entire being reacts
with the soft, fine hair on my arms standing up. Sexual attraction revs
up my body like hot flames leaping across my skin, gathering at the
back of my neck, but as fabulous as that feels, it is nothing compared to
what my heart craves. Him. All of him.
Without a sound, he stands and advances, stalking towards me like an
uncaged beast. I' m trapped within his lustful gaze, drowning in our
ardor, completely lost in him. The feeling of my butt hitting the wall
behind me is the first realization that I am even walking backwards. My
breath comes out in pants, fear and arousal warring within me. I'm not
scared of him, just of what happens now that I know he is the one that I
want to share my body with. Without a doubt, without a second
thought. Forever.
He, with his body and essence, pins my petite frame against the hard
surface behind me. The heart he wanted everyone to believe was
wasted, captures me wholeheartedly. He's so close that, once he leans
his face down, his warm breath, smelling of sweet peppermint, washes
over my upturned face. His body vibrates against mine.
"You don't need me. This is my reality, but it doesn't have to be yours.
When I didn't see you at the first of the week, I figured you agreed. I
don't want you to live with my addiction. Don't make me feel like the
fuck up when I'm trying to do the right thing. I don't want you in my
fucking life; it's hard enough dealing with my own shit," his raspy
voice says, clipping out every single word. Puffs of his sugary breath
reign over my face.
I shouldn't be stunned by his words, but I am. Destroyed. Damaged.
"What did you expect, Syn? " I think to myself. My own anger builds
inside me, returning, in force, once again. I loosen my arms that

are pinned between us, placing my hands solidly on his chest and
pushing with all my might. My fingertips tingle where I touch him, but
I can't let him overwhelm my senses another second. I can't lose myself
in someone like that ever again. He stumbles back, surprised by my
strength.
"You don't have to do it alone!" My voices rises. "I thought we had
been over this, Rhye. I thought you heard Jay. I'm here. Right beside
you. I want to fight it with you, but you have to let me. It's my choice to
be with you, and I don't want to be anywhere else. Damn it." A small
growl of frustration escapes through my lips, and I actually stomp my
foot in annoyance. "Just get over your stupid jerky self already. "
He charges me, lacing his hands roughly on my arms and pushing me
back, against the wall. Leaning down into my face once more, he
speaks his words through gritted teeth, "You stupid, little. ," he pauses,
breathing harshly.
"Say it," I whisper, daring him.
He roughly jerks my stiff body against the wall a second time. Curly
tendrils of my blonde hair bounce loosely around my shoulders. His
eyes devour me while his nose presses intimately against mine. "Damn
you. Why?" he asks, devouring my mouth, kissing me with everything
he wants to be and already is.
I answer him by putting all the love I feel for him into this one
exchange, one last shot to show him how I can't live without him. I
raise my arm, my hand softly caressing his rough, stubbly jaw, and his
body heat warms the pads of my fingertips. Our heavy breathing and
excited moans fill the silent recording room.
"I love you," I whisper. "And everything has changed for me. I can't go
back to being that girl who didn't know what life was. You infuriate
me, but you make me feel what love is. I love you, Rhye Clark. I want
you to be mine so that I can be yours. I'm tired of missing you when we
are apart. Don' t make me hurt anymore. Let me in, to love you. " At my
words, he abruptly lets my other arm go and steps back, disengaging
my hand from his face. His wild eyes search mine. I stand there, lost
without the touch of him. The tears rise from the depths of my soul,
overwhelming me.

I cover my face with my hands, no longer able to bear his gaze, and sob.
The tide of emotions overrides my senses, shaking me to my core;
however, in that instant, I look up to see him smiling at me, and I smile
through my tears. The stupid idiot
"You love me?" he asks, still smiling.
"Yes."
"You know that it won't be easy with me. In fact, we will probably fight
all the time. I like to rile you up. You're fucking hot when you get
mad," he says, placing a stray hair of mine behind my ear.
"You ain't seen nothing yet," I say, blinking away my tears, my heart
overflowing with joy.
He dies laughing and steps back to pull me sharply against his chest.
Rhye hugs me close to him and whispers in my ear, chill bumps invade
my body.
"I want you, too."
Looking up, I whisper back, "I didn't say that. I said 'I love you'." I dare
him to say it, not expecting it yet, but wanting it soon. "I know."
He is clearly trying to aggravate me, but I don't give him the
satisfaction. He! Wants! Me! I lean my head back and give a happy
yelp. His answer is booming laughter, and I love it. Glancing at him, I
take a deep breath, and ask, "Do you want to come back to my
apartment? " I smile shyly at him, knowing he understands what I'm
asking.
"Yes," he says, reaching his hands up to cup my face. "But not now.
Not today. I want us to live with my issues for a while before taking
something so special from you. Don't look so sad, Syn. I'm not saying
that I'm fucking going to live like a monk with you," he jokes after he
sees my look of disappointment.
I start to argue when he places his lips against mine. Our kiss starts off
slow but increases as the pent up passion is unleashed from within us. I
can' t get enough of him. Of us.
"We are just going to know each other, inside and out, before we take it
to that level. You are worth waiting for. Even though, I have a critical
case of blue balls," he jokingly replies. "Damn, even after all this shit, I
still don't think I can write some sappy duet."

"We don't do sappy," I tell him.
"That we don't, babe," he says, then looks at me questionably. "What
do we do?" I turn out of his arms and walk back over to my notebook. I
turn to a page of lyrics I wrote one night when I was longing for him.
"Play off these lyrics. See what you come up with, but hurry up. I' m
ready to get out of here. With you," I tell him, raising on my toes to kiss
him once more.
He reads them out loud.
"When I say that I love you, boy
And you still walk away.
I' m not sure what to do,
Or even what to say.
Do you know how much I care,
How can you possibly know?
You take me to my highest high,
And bring me to my lowest low.
I don' t know how to revive the ceaseless beating,
Or even a way to make it start.
I' m lost trying to find my way?
Inside your wasted heart."
Glancing at me, he says, "Deep. Still a little fucking sappy, but I get it.
Give me that pen. " He sits and begins to write, only stopping to hum
out loud before returning to the paper.
I love watching his creative process. His face becomes serene as he
becomes one with his music. It's an amazing sight, one that I look
forward to sharing with him in the future. I close my eyes, smiling to
myself, loving that this is my life.
"Smiley, read this," he says, and I open my eyes to his. Reaching for the
paper, I look down at what he has written after my lyrics.
There is nothing you can say,
When I can't hear your words.
Especially when my heart no longer feels,
The rhythm or the chords.
My eyes don't see the beauty,

Or the wonder you possess.
When everything within me,
Is devoured in this emptiness.
And I don't know how to revive the ceaseless beating,
Or even a way to make it start.
I' m lost trying to find my way,
Inside this wasted heart.
If I could have relinquished this fear,
It would have been for you.
Given my demons up,
If I only knew how to find my way to you.
And I don't know how to revive the ceaseless beating,
Or even a way to make it start.
I' m lost trying to find my way,
Inside my wasted heart.
My eyes, no longer dry, glance up at him. I nod my head, letting him
see the love and pride I can't disguise.
There are no words to describe the realism of being uncharacteristically
sober for seventy-three days on my own, not counting Josh, the
aggravating bastard who my label has glued to my ass. Evidently, he
has done such a standout job regarding my situation that I'm his
fulltime job until the tour is over. It would really piss me off if it didn't
make Syn ecstatically happy. She thinks he keeps me straight

when, in all reality, she is my true north.
I've known her now for about as long as I've been off the "H," and it's
been almost thirty-one days since I walked out of that Nashville studio
to finish recording the rest of my album in L.A. Syn and I have seen
each other only three, short times since then. She flew out to see me
once, and the other times, me and my best friend Josh, who I'm not
allowed to shit without, flew back to Nashville to see her. The time that
Syn and I spend together, especially on the phone, makes the fucking
blackness in my life somewhat easier to deal with.
Today, she is flying back here to prepare for the Grammys tomorrow
night. We are slated to perform our duet live on stage. Our song,
"Wasted Heart," was an instant radio and download hit, and each of our
albums had top-ten singles. Seems that people really love the whole
tortured rocker and country girl romance story. We can' t go anywhere
without the paparazzi tailing our asses, and of course, our record label
is eating that shit up. They love free public relations. Several weeks
ago, they met with us both, asking us to show more public displays of
affection in front of the cameras. Of course, we gave them the finger.
Well, I gave them the finger; Syn rolled her eyes and swatted my hand
down.
Everything is much clearer in my life but still so damn hard most of the
time. It' s not easy, day in and day out, fighting these compulsions
within. I' m learning smack wasn' t my only addiction. The women are
a bitch to give up. It' s not even the sex; however, I can' t lie, that' s hard
enough to turn down on its own. Instead, it' s the attention warring with
my soul. I always thought having a shitload of girls whoring
themselves out was a perk of being famous, but I'm learning
differently. It's way too easy. You want pussy? Poof! Here it is. You
want your cock sucked? Wish granted. You don't want it, but it's there
anyway. Just try to say, "No". It's near to impossible, but I am trying.
For Syn.
"Hey, Rhye. The car is here," Josh yells, from the living room.
Josh and I are living in a hotel suite for now. My tour kicks off two days
after the awards show, the same day as Syn's. We tried to coordinate
our stops so we could, in the least, be in the same state a majority of the
time, making for easy drives should we need to be with

each other. And right now, I fucking need to be next to her, smelling
her sweet scent and holding her delectable, untouched body. We've
done just about everything possible except fuck or, excuse me, "make
love" as she says. I've explained to her that it's the same thing in my
book; she is what makes it different. Syn has tried her best to coerce me
into taking it further, and I'm finding it's damn hard to hold on to
someone's virginity for them. I love to tease her saying that I have no
idea how she's held onto it this long as much as she begs. Putting my
sunglasses on, I walk out of my bedroom to the living area where Josh
lies sprawled on the white massive couch.
"It would probably be less of a headache with the paparazzi if you just
let the car pick up Syn and bring her back. You don't have to go meet
her. Plus, it screams that you're desperate. One of you needs to try and
play hard to get," he says, drinking something out of a can.
"Don't fucking worry about it," I say, walking by him and knocking it
out of his hand. Yellow soda fizzes out all over the white couch,
looking like he pissed on it. "Guess you need to clean that up before I
get back. "
I walk out of the suite to the sound of him cussing me, and I smile. Josh
fucks with me just as much. It's what we do for the hell of it. I wouldn't
admit it to anyone, but he's okay most of the time. Taking the elevator
down, I walk out of the hotel lobby, and immediately, cameras start
flashing. Everyone's in town for the Grammys, and the pic roaches are
coming out in force. Nothing is private outside of your room, and even
then, you better check.
"Rhye, how's Syn doing? When is she coming into town? Rhye, are you
and Syn performing at the Grammys?" Questions are thrown at me,
which I ignore at first, trying to make it to the car. "Rhye, need some
smack, man?" I look up, trying to see which jackass said that comment
before narrowing my eyes on a guy that's been following and heckling
me for a while. I shoot him a bird before getting in the car. Fucktard.
It takes about an hour to get to the airport with stupid L.A. traffic. Syn
texted me about thirty minutes ago that she was hiding out in the

bathroom, waiting for me. When we are near the terminal, I text her to
go ahead and meet me outside. As we pull up, I see her standing at the
curb with her suitcases. Of course, I look around and see a guy standing
about ten feet away from her with a camera.
When the car stops, I don't wait for the driver before I open the door,
allowing her to climb in. Slamming the door closed behind her, she
settles in the seat with a heavy sign. At first, she peeks at me with a shy
smile, and then, in a blink, launches herself, knocking me back hard
against the door. Her mouth melts mine with hungry kisses. She smells
fucking unbelievable, and I make a silent promise to myself that we
won't go long periods of time without seeing each other again.
"Miss me?" I ask between the open mouth kisses that she smothers me
with. Not that I'm complaining.
"No. I go to airports and jump into cars to attack unknown, tattooed
men all the time. A girl has got to get her kicks," she says, glaring at
me.
Spoken like a true, sexy smartass. My girl. I give her a good hard
whack on her ass and proceed to kiss the living daylights out of her.
"Did you miss me?" she asks, pulling back to look into my eyes.
"Only on Tuesdays," I jokingly reply. It's an inside joke with us. The
last time she was here, she arrived on a Wednesday and left on a
Monday. The only day we didn't get to spend together was a Tuesday,
hence what I said to her.
She smiles again at me, "Yeah, every Tuesday I cry myself to sleep for
you," she says, sticking her bottom lip out to pout. "I wrote a song
called 'Only on Tuesdays.' Want to hear it?"
"Is it a country song?" I ask, and she nods. "Does it mention guns,
divorce, trailer, dog, or beer?" She pauses for a second, thinking it over
before nodding her head again. "Uh, no. I'll pass."
She punches my arm with her bony fist, and it hurts. "Damn, Syn.
Boyfriend abuse. Don't fuck up the merchandise. You break, you buy."
"Did you just call yourself my boyfriend?" she asks, patting my arm
and rubbing it softly.
"Yes, why?"
"That was so sexy. Say it again," she says, purring in my ear as her
wondering hand slips over my jeans to rub my aching dick.

"No. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep your virginity intact?
I don't think you do," I say, ignoring the evil stare she is giving me. "It's
a lot of hard work, but one of us fucking has to do it. Keeping you from
going to the dark side is extremely difficult. Help a guy out, " I reply
sarcastically, laying it on thick. I love to watch her face turn three
shades of pink.
She stops her hand from petting my hard dick, and it almost makes me
want to cry. I need to learn when to keep my motherfucking mouth
shut.
"Boyfriend," I say, trying to make amends.
I watch the smile cover her beautiful face again, and I can't help but
smile in response. This is what Syn does to me. She turns me into this
goofy ass guy. Her smiles are like the plague, infecting everyone in
their path. All the time, I watch strangers on the street smile back at her
for no reason. It's crazy beautiful and makes me want her more than
humanly possible. My smiley girl.
Kissing me one last time, she pulls back. "Are we going to be able to
practice on stage tomorrow?"
She links her hands with mine as she leans back against the car seat.
Looking out the window, she points at the Hollywood sign.
"See it almost every day, babe," I say to her. "Probably not. I talked to
my manager, Jimmy, and he was supposed to give Trina, your
manager, a call to explain everything. We are winging it. "
"Rhye, it's the biggest award show for us. We can't just wing it," she
says, shaking her head in disgust.
I see the worry deep in her eyes, and I want to assure her that it will be
okay. Putting my arm around her shoulders, I pull her close to me.
"You will do just fine on your own, Syn. Don' t worry about it. It will
work out. We will kickass and take names. "
"I love you, Rhye Clark," she says in that country twang of hers before
reaching up to caress the side of my cheek.
"I want you, Syn Landry," I reply back, touching her the same way.
"You're a big old tease."
"It's my evil plan. It's not for you to understand," I reply, letting the
words go, not ready to give her what she needs back yet.

The car pulls in front of the hotel, and I open the door, reaching back to
help her out. More camera lights brightly flash as we ignore the calls
and questions surrounding us. When we finally make it into the
elevator, Syn glances up to me in total shock.
"This is getting crazy, Rhye. What do they expect us to do?" she says,
shaking her head.
"Those fuckers get on my last nerve. I lose my shit on a daily basis at
some of the things they say," I reply, rubbing her arms with my hands.
"I try not to listen to them, but lately, they're everywhere I go.
Sometimes they...," she starts, but stops and turns away from me.
"They what?" I ask, watching her step out of the elevator as soon as the
doors slide open, still not answering me.
Walking to the door, she turns to me, her face pale and those yellow
eyes occupied with sorrow. Slowly, I walk up to her, standing mere
inches away. What has fucking suddenly changed between us?
"They say what, Syn?" I ask her, fucking pissed at her hesitance to
answer me.
She swallows, looking down and then back up to me. "Nothing. It
doesn't matter. I trust you. I do."
"Wait. What the fuck, Syn? You can't say you trust me out of the blue
and not tell me why you felt the need to even say it out loud. Unless
you're indirectly questioning me?" I ask.
"Can we go inside? Please," she says, looking around at the empty
hallway.
Nodding my head, I reach for the card to slide it in the reader and open
the door. I breathe slowly in and out, wondering what the hell is
happening. She walks in, and I follow, only allowing her to get so far
before grabbing her hand and yanking her back to me. She comes flush
up against my chest with her hand pressed to my beating heart, the
place she found her way into.
"Talk to me, Syn. You have to tell me what's going through that mind
of yours. "
With a long sigh, she says, "They tell me where you go and what you
do. Sometimes they send me pictures of you hanging out in different
clubs. I don't expect you to stay at home every night. I would never ask

you to do that. It's just... I don't know what I'm supposed to say back to
them."
"Tell them to fuck off! That's what you say. It's none of their goddamn
business in the first place. Syn, I haven't done anything for you to
warrant not trusting me yet. "
She rolls her eyes while stepping back to place her hands on her hips.
Her total demeanor changes in an instant. Oh, shit. Here it comes.
"Yet? What is that supposed to mean?"
Laying my head back to look up at the ceiling, I roll my neck then look
over at her. "Yet. I've told you from the start that this is my life. I' ve
stayed clean and kept my cranky cock, from lack of use, in my pants
because I want to be with only you. I don't see that changing anytime
soon, but I am not going to make you hollow promises that don't mean
shit. I know they don't have pictures of me banging some random chick
or smoking anything illegal, so what do you want me to say? Tell me,
Syn? Because I really am trying not to fuck this up with you, and it' s
hard," I tell her, laying it all on the line.
Her eyes well up with tears, and she blinks through the wetness. "I'm
sorry. It's just that I'm fighting every second for us. Some days, it's two
in the morning before you get a chance to phone me with the time
difference, and I wait with bated breath for that call. We don't lead
normal lives, so I know nothing about us will ever be easy, but I guess I
didn't expect it to be so hard. It's like everyone is against us."
Every single word she is saying is making me insanely crazy. From the
beginning, I have told her to not listen to or read anything in the press.
If she does, and questions anything, then she needs to bring it to me,
and I will fucking answer honestly. I've never offered anything less
than the truth to her. If she asked me right now, at this moment, if I
missed the snatch, I would answer truthfully, "yes." What more can she
want from me?
"You wanted this, Syn. You asked for me. All of me," I tell her, my
demons rearing their ugly heads. "Fuck this." I turn, letting her go so I
can leave. My head is going to a horrid place, and I don't want to say
things just to hurt her.
"Where are you going, Rhye? " she asks, chasing after me, reaching

out to grab my hand. "Please stop. I'm sorry."
Goddamn it! I turn to pin her lithe body up against the wall, my hands
holding her wrists by her sides. My knee automatically slides in
between her thighs while my mouth punishes hers. Moments pass by in
a passion-induced hysteria, not knowing whether I can handle these
feelings I have for her. I pull back for a second to catch my breath and
whisper, "Don't ever be fucking sorry. Do you hear me?"
Her swollen, used lips call to something inside of me. My tongue lashes
out to wet them, and her whimper of lust ignites the fires within me. I
burn for this girl, like no other.
"I hate hurting you, Syn. I don't know how to be what you want. What
you need. Help me. Just help me, okay?" I beg her. I've never begged
anyone before, but if I can't give her the words she needs, I'll give her
what I can. Me.
Reaching down, I slip my hands underneath her knees, cradling her up
in my arms. She gives a yelp of surprise before I capture her lips
between mine. I need her to make me sane. What if she can't handle the
speculation of the press? The lies that they descriptively depict? The
photos that insinuate false images? The truth that I might not be able to
hide? I need to know what she is thinking so I can fight the insecurities
we both have.
I carry her down the hallway and into my room, stumbling only once,
my suave move impeded by a pair of my shoes left carelessly on the
floor. She laughs. Gently taking care of this precious cargo I hold in my
arms, I place her on top of my bed, following her down.
She is the closest to peace that I can obtain in this lifetime. Closing my
eyes tight, I pour my consuming need for her into a kiss, praying that
she can forgive me for not being something I can't. Hoping that she can
quit being sorry for something she can't fix. Not a day goes by that I
don' t think how much of a bastard I am for not letting her go; however,
I'm in too deep. If I let her go now, I don't think I can come back.
"Rhye. I need you. Please. Please, don't stop," she pleads, rolling me to
the side and sitting up. She pulls at my shirt, stripping it off in one
swoop. Her eager hands move to my jeans, quickly divesting me of
them.

"Commando. Oh, yeah," she pants, breathing heavy. Glancing into my
eyes, she smiles, once again smashing my fucking world to
smithereens with her love. It's heady to know someone like her could
care about someone like me. I don't understand it.
She reaches for my hands, linking our fingers and gently squeezing. "I
love you." She leans down to rain kisses over my face. Sitting up, she
pulls her dress over her head, turning to kick off her shoes. Her lily
white panties and bra strike me as virginal. Fuck. It slips back into my
head at the most inopportune times.
"Syn, we need to slow. ," I get out before she reaches her hand down to
grasp me. "Damn, that feels good, " I think to myself. Her up and down
movements are just the right grip and speed, wiping my thoughts blank.
I lean my head back against the bed, closing my eyes. I let her have
complete control for now, needing to concede it to her. My hips pump
up into her greedy hands. Need builds inside my body, from the top of
my head to the tips of my toes, steadily increasing until it pulsates and
screams for release. The feel of her wet tongue, licking the tip, elicits a
moan of pleasure. Goddamn, that feels like the shit. "Fuck yeah, Syn.
Please don't stop."
She sucks me gently, fumbling with some of her movements, but it
feels too good to complain. I glance to see that beautiful blonde hair
bobbing up and down with her actions. My dick swells even harder,
which I didn't think was humanly possible. I'm close to spilling cum
down her throat, and I don't want it to end yet. Not like this.
Reaching for her shoulders, I push her gently back, bringing myself to
cover her. I kiss her, trying my damnedest, to make her feel what I' m
feeling. Bringing my hand up, I touch the side of her face, slowly
lowering it to the latch on the front of her bra, undoing it. Her chest
swiftly rises and falls underneath my fingers, and my body trembles
with need for her. She leans up to kiss my lips, grinning at the same
time.
"I' m yours, and you are mine," she whispers, staring into my eyes.
I want to breathe her goodness in and keep it inside of me. Maybe it can
fix what is broken before I lose her. The thought drives me to
desperation. I grasp her delicate panties between my nimble fingers and

tug downwards, stripping them from her.
My body vibrates with all-encompassing lust. I have to have her. Own
her. Use her. Slipping one finger into her warm, wet center, I gently
stroke, making her ready for me. A pounding need inside of my head
keeps rhythm with the heart that beats only for her, driving me to the
only completion that matters anymore.
Her eyes stare up at me with intense pleasure at my touch. She pants
and releases, the tiny sounds that keep me right on the edge of sanity. I
know that I'm about to fucking lose it. Hell, I'm already lost. Thoughts
spiral and rage in my mind, but a miniscule voice finds its way through,
telling me to slow down.
"Don't you dare stop," she states, reading my mind.
I have one last sane thought of why I shouldn't do this. Take this from
her when I' m not deserving of it. But sanity has never been my strong
suit. I have to have Syn. End of complete thoughts. Raising on my
knees, I carefully move over her, spreading her soft, silky thighs to
place myself between them. I gently move lower until my chest is
pressed against hers.
"I can't," I whisper back, fitting myself inside her and gliding in. She
closes her eyes tight, seeming to brace herself, but I push on.
Everything is happening so fast, and my mind is spinning out of control
at the remarkable feeling of being inside Syn. It's like...It's like nothing
or no one could ever compare to this. To her.
Within minutes, I feel her tightly constrict around me, and precious
moans of pleasure escape her. Her tiny shivers stoke my lust to an
almost intolerable degree. Fuck. I can't hold on for much longer.
Letting it all go, I come inside her, pouring myself deep with each
stroke of my cock, her muscles clenching down to grasp me until I
finally collapse on top of her.
"I love you," she breathlessly chants in my ear.
I roll to my side and gently bring her with me, cradling her in my arms.
My heart warms at her words, but the reply that she deserves and needs
refuses to form on my lips. In my mind, her words start to twist,
intertwining with the darkness, the meaning now distorted. The feeling
in my heart quickly evaporates, leaving me achingly empty, my
demons

denying me the sweetness of Syn. I was afraid of this. It should mean
something more to me than just an ordinary fuck, but as I feared,
something is seriously fucked up inside of me. Closing my eyes, I fake
sleep, hating myself and the tears that gather behind my eyelids.
Glancing into the mirror one last time, I turn away and roll my eyes at
the discarded dresses laying haphazardly on the bed. It's the
pre-Grammy party tonight, and all my luggage finally arrived, forcing
last minute decisions regarding what to wear. The amazing dress that I
have for the awards show tomorrow night is already decided on; it's just
all these other party dresses that are last minute decisions, depending
on what I ate and if they still fit.
In the midst of this dilemma, I'm still processing that I made love with
Rhye for the first time this afternoon. I close my eyes to remember
every single caress and every heart-stopping kiss. My virginity is only
a sweet memory, and I am happy that I shared it with him. It was
everything and more than I could have ever dreamed. He's all I want.
All I need. I would give up my current life just to have him. I love him
that much. His touch was amazing, and even now, my body burns for
him. The thought of leaving him again in two, short days paralyzes me
with fear.
As we laid in bed earlier, we snuggled deep underneath the covers,
holding on to one another. He seemed to even fall asleep next to me,
but the peacefulness didn't last for long because Rhye had a freak out

moment when he realized he didn't use a condom. I did also, but not
because of pregnancy, explaining to him that I've been getting
precautionary birth control injections for the last year. I' m entirely sure
that I' ve already told him this, but he swore I had not. Either way, I
really did plan on still using a condom with Rhye for so many reasons,
but the main being his drug history and previous bed partners. He said
that he's clean, having been checked several times, but it's done. I never
thought I could get so swept up in passion that I would forget
something so important, but there you have it.
It didn't escape my notice that he still can't talk about his feelings. After
his freak out moment, I felt him emotionally sever all ties to me. He
just. shut off. In the past, he has said that he desperately needs to know
what I'm thinking, but I need the same. I'm afraid to push him, knowing
that it might be away from me. How do you fight for someone when
you're fearful of every move you make? I do something or say
something wrong and then apologize, terrified that he'll walk away, and
I see how extremely agitated it makes him.
Our relationship hangs in a delicate balance. Again, I know that I can't
expect normal, but I'm not sure what to expect. That's what earlier, with
the paparazzi, was about. People try to tear us down. Maybe it' s easier
to get to me than him. They tease me with questions regarding what
Rhye is doing without me. Some get downright mean, insinuating he' s
using drugs or sleeping with every girl he comes in contact with. I' ve
been strong and held all of their accusations at bay until some pictures I
saw online last week. They weren't incriminating, but it's not like he's
sitting at home waiting for me either.
I called Jay, and she said to be forthright and just ask him. That was my
plan, but we were bombarded when we arrived at the hotel from the
airport. Needless to say, I intermittently lost my ever-loving mind. I've
always had thick-skin, and words normally don't faze me, but I'm
learning that Rhye turns my world inside out. Nothing is as it should be.
This is my reality at nineteen years of age. On one hand, I'm living this
incredible life, singing and performing for a living, and on the other,
I'm trying to handle an addict boyfriend who I don't have the first clue
what to do with beyond loving him. And I do, but everything feels like

it's only temporary. I imagine it's like trying to hold a butterfly in your
open palm. You want to grasp that bright, beautiful creature knowing
that, any minute, it will fly away, leaving you with only the fleeting
memory of the treasured seconds when it was yours.
Thinking that Rhye is waiting for me, I step outside the bedroom door
and into the living area. The sound of a whistle makes me look to my
left.
"You clean up nice, Syn," Josh says from his seated position on the
chair.
"Thanks," I say, looking down at the black strapless dress and matching
black heels that my personal stylist picked out for me before leaving
Nashville. I also had someone come in hours ago to pin my hair up and
expertly apply makeup. That was about the same time Rhye left the
room saying he was hungry. I glance at Josh, saying, "You know you
are more than welcome to join us tonight? "
"I'll pass. I'm saving my energy for tomorrow night and the mass
partying afterwards," he says jokingly.
"What? You going to kick your shoes off and live it up tomorrow
evening? That's a must see," I reply, walking over to sit across from
him.
"Maybe. You never know. Hey, I do believe there is an extra glow
about you tonight. You must be excited for the duet tomorrow. "
I can actually feel the heat creeping up my neck at his words. The flush
covering my entire face. "Not even close, Josh, " I want to say, but don'
t. Even after the quick flash of pain I felt today, and lingering
tenderness, I still want Rhye again. Soon. Changing the subject, I ask,
"Have you seen, Rhye?"
Josh shakes his head. "I thought he was with you."
"No, he left me hours ago. I'm sure he'll be back any minute," I say,
ignoring the tingling suspicion in the pit of my stomach, an unfortunate
response to dating someone who is a recovering addict. I imagine, in
most serious relationships, you would think that he's just gone to the
store and he'll be back any minute. Instead, I'm thinking, "Please don't
let him get into any trouble. "
The door opens, and he comes strolling in, not close to being ready for
the evening. As soon as he sees me, he smiles, and my heart soars.

Walking straight for me, he pulls me up and kisses me directly in front
of Josh.
"You look goddamn amazing, Syn," he says, pulling away just enough
to stare into my eyes.
"Thank you," I reply, but my heart sinks at the obvious, glassy look in
his eyes. It's definitely not alcohol, at least I don't think it is. I turn my
head to look at Josh, who seems entirely too busy with the remote
control.
Kissing me once more, he pulls back. "I'll go get my shower," he says,
walking to his room.
I watch his every move until the door shuts, and then I turn back to
Josh, who is now looking at me. He shakes his head, and I know
instantly that he knows something, something that he doesn't want to
tell me.
"What is it?" I ask, my voice vibrating with the tears I hold back.
"California is a whole different world than Nashville, Syn. Different set
of rules that I have to play by. " "What do you mean?" "Do you know
what a gateway drug is?"
"Yes, Josh," I reply, angrily. "My school had the same 'Just Say No'
drug program as everyone else's, so what's your point?"
"I just want you to understand that, in my mind, there is no little drug or
big drug, but some have a different perception. When someone hires
me directly, they actually sign a form stating they will take no illegal
substances of any kind while I work with them. As you know, the
record label hired me, and Rhye and I have a strained relationship as it
is. There are days I feel like I make a difference in his life, and then
there are others that he'd rather I drop off the face of the earth. I got a
call a couple weeks ago from Kelly at the record label to stop the drug
testing for now. I think he's probably been smoking marijuana for the
last month. No, I know he has been. I've smelled it on him several
times, and my hands are tied, Syn. "
"Have you asked him about it?" I whisper, my body numb.
He breathes out a heavy sigh, and rubs the back of neck with his hand.
"Yes, and what do you think he says? 'It's just goddamn pot and

everybody smokes it. ' I can' t fight him on this, Syn. I don' t even know
where to begin anymore. "
I sit here, emotionally lost inside and physically hurting from a sense of
betrayal. After gifting him with the one thing I had left to give, he goes
out to smoke pot? Of course, I know tons of great, respectable people
that do, even close friends of mine in the music business, but they' re
not Rhye. I can' t stomach the thought of looking into his eyes again
and seeing that dark, drug-shrouded, void.
"Syn, you can't say anything to him. He's on edge and too volatile. You
will lose him, and it will have nothing to do with whether he cares for
you or not. He' s months out now, and has to find his own solid ground
again. It' s part and parcel of the process of overcoming addictions."
I speak through the clogged emotion in my throat. "So we do nothing?
Say nothing?"
"For now, yes. I can tell he' s anxious about the road and how
everything will work with you. He hasn' t said that to me, but I' m
beginning to read his emotions. As long as either he or the record label
wants me here, I won't abandon him, Syn. I promise you. But you have
to listen to what I'm saying for now."
My head nods in automatic response. In this moment, I'm numb, gutted,
and I can't complain. This is the reality that I accepted when I fought
for Rhye. It's my reality now.
Josh and I both turn our head at the sound of the bedroom door
opening. Rhye walks through in black slacks and matching button up
shirt. His hair still has crystal droplets of water dotted throughout from
his shower. He glances at me, and I lose my very breath. I love him, and
I' ll find a way to help him. One way or another.
"I' m almost ready," he says, looking from me to Josh.
Clearing my throat, I reply with a tight smile, "Okay."
Nodding, he turns back to walk into the room.
"I told you loving him wouldn't be easy," Josh whispers, and I close my
eyes.

Hours later, I stand alone in a room full of incredibly talented
musicians, sipping some fruity non-alcoholic drink. I'm actually
wowed by the number of famous artists and starlets that have made a
point to speak to Rhye tonight. He knows pretty much everyone and
treats them all like run of the mill folks, while inside, I about die every
time they approach us. He only laughs at me when I gush about them
after they walk away.
After an hour of mingling, he excuses himself to find a restroom,
leaving me to stand like a wall-flower amongst a room of hot house
roses. I bring the sweet liquid to my lips and take a small sip, sweeping
the room with my eyes for Rhye. This evening is not quite the romantic
soiree I was hoping for, directly because of the conversation that Josh
and I had this afternoon. When Rhye was finally ready, we left, and I
haven't said anything to him about it. Not that I could. The words get
lodged in my throat when I think of Josh's warning.
When forty minutes pass and still no sign of Rhye, I start to circle the
room once again, searching for him. A sense of forbidding invades my
soul, making me physically nauseous. I say a silent prayer that I' m
overacting. Please, dear God, let me be wrong.
"Syn."
I turn at the sound of my name, his deep voice a surprising comfort
with this uneasy feeling overwhelming me. "Tag," I answer, giving him
a quick fake grin.
"What' s wrong, girl?" he asks, stepping closer to me and reaching out
to touch my arm.
I glance down at his hand, not wanting him to notice my distress.
"Him. Right? Damn, Syn. Look at me," his voice pleads, and I raise my
gaze to his.
"What do you want me to do? I can take you back to your hotel room.
Whatever you need. "
"Can you help me find him?" I ask, hating to do it. It's not fair to him,
but I don't really know anyone else to ask or what I should do. I guess I
could call Josh, but then it might be too late.
I watch the hesitation in his eyes. At first, I'm sure he's going to

tell me to jump into the nearest lake, but then, he gently reaches for my
elbow and steers me toward some doors in the back.
"I' m pretty sure I watched the bastard go into one of these rooms
earlier. That's when I knew you had to be here, and I went to find you,"
he says, trying a door that is obviously locked.
Walking to the next one, he turns the knob, and it opens. I follow
closely behind him into the room, to see people sitting on couches,
laughing and talking. I notice several publically married people, with
someone other than their spouse, doing more than I feel comfortable to
watch. Tag stops to talk to someone, but I can't hear what they are
whispering. My eyes search each face, hoping it's not Rhye that I find.
"C'mon," he says harshly, reaching for my hand to tug me through to
another room. This one looks much the same. Black draped material
adorns the walls from ceiling to floor and matching chairs, couches,
and tables are scattered around; however, this time, different drug
paraphernalia covers the tabletops.
"Stupid fucker," I hear Tag mutter beside me.
Looking up, I see him staring across the room to where Rhye stands
with his bandmates, obviously arguing about something. Before he can
see me, some starlet walks up to him and kisses him full on the mouth,
laughing as she pulls away. He doesn't become upset with her. He
doesn't fuss at her for taking something that is mine. No, instead, he
swats her behind with a smile and goes back to saying something to
Jared and Ian.
He's killing me inside with his careless behavior. I know he isn't
intentionally hurting me; it's just his life. I'm the invader, the clear
intruder in his chaotic lifestyle. I hear Tag saying something to me, but
at the same time, I hear Rhye's voice from earlier telling me to come to
him when I have concerns about him. I walk towards him, leaning
down to sit my drink on a table as I go.
The closer I get, I hear Jared talking to him.
"Listen, Rhye. No drugs on tour, man. I'm not going to go through that
shit again. You are either cool with that or we have a big fat fucking
problem. So, which is it?"

"Jared, I just smoked some weed. Don't fucking take it there."
"Weed today, smack tomorrow. You are either clean or you're not. It' s
that simple, Rhye. "
Rhye starts to push Jared in the chest when he happens to see me. His
eyes don't waiver from mine, until he shakes he head and looks down. I
walk until I' m in front of him; his band members stand to one side, and
I'm on the other.
"Do you love me?" I ask, bending to look at his downcast face.
"Syn. Don't. You can't understand what it's like. I'm trying the best I
fucking can," he says, looking guiltier by the minute.
"Have you been with another girl since you and I decided to date?"
"No," he replies, and I nod, believing him.
"Have you done any drugs?"
"Don't fucking go there. Not many can be perfect like you, Syn. Don't
drink, don't smoke, what do you do girl?" he sings, making a joke of
me.
"That's not fair, Rhye. Answer my first question. Do? You? Love? Me?
I have a right to know," I command, wrapping my fingers around his
forearm. I don't care who is listening.
He leans into me, bringing his mouth to my ear. "And I said 'I want
you.' I still do. I'm doing my fucking best here. I gave up the girls. What
more can you ask for?" he says through gritted teeth.
"Did you give them up? " I ask, hurt and confused. What now, what
happens? "And I can ask for more. A hell of a lot more from you. I
deserve better and so do you. I'm willing to stand with you as long as
you are trying to stay clean, and if you don't feel the same way about
me as I feel for you, then let me know now. Don't pretend, Rhye." I see
the anger now. This is what Josh warned me about, but I can't ignore
what is happening. I love Rhye way too much.
"You don't want to fucking do this here," he says, jerking his arm away
from me.
"Promise me then, no more drugs of any kind. Say it," I beg, not caring
how I sound.
He shakes his head and starts to speak. "Don't make demands, Syn.
You won't like what I pick, and I've already gotten from you what you

willingly gave. "
For once, the tears don't come because I'm honestly too emotionally
spent. Jared and Ian finally excuse themselves, done witnessing my
pain and dismissal. I look down and glance back to see Tag's boots in
my view. I'm embarrassed, knowing that he has witnessed this.
Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I tell him, "I've only ever
wanted you to pick me. Over the women, over the drugs, over your own
selfish pain. "
Turning, I rush by Tag and hear him call out my name. I run swiftly
away, not knowing my destination. I just need to be away from
everyone, from Rhye. Finding an exit, I walk outside, glancing up at
the clear night sky. I'm so angry at him, at his choices. For the first time
in months, I question if this love can make it. If I'm strong enough for
him. It' s all confusing inside my head, leaving me with too many
unanswered questions.
"You need a ride?"
"Go back to the party, Tag," I say, not turning around to look at
him.
"He doesn't care about you, Syn," he says, whispering close behind me.
"As soon as you ran out, he went back to talking to someone, like
nothing ever happened. He's not our kind of people."
Whirling around, I ask him, "What does that mean, Tag?"
"It means, Syn, that this fast way of life is not for you and me. We are
meant for slow and simple. It's what makes us country folk happy.
Long walks on green stretches of land, sitting out on the front porch
playing our guitars, and high on life instead of whatever shit that boy is
on. That's you, Syn. That's me."
My tears finally make an appearance, seeping out of both my eyes,
falling straight to the ground. "No. I love him. "
I hear him take a deep breath before blowing it out heavily. "It doesn't
mean anything if he doesn't love you back."
Staring at the ground, I watch his boots come to stand in front of me,
and he reaches for my trembling hands, capturing them with his. In a

low voice, he speaks to me. "I know I messed up, and I know now that
you probably will never forgive me, but I can' t stand the thought that
you let him hurt you. Cut your losses, Syn. He's going to lead you on a
chase, possibly ruining your career, while he gets high, not caring what
it does to you. What happened to that feisty country girl that I met? She
would never have put up with this horse crap from me. Where is that
girl?"
Glancing up at him, I can't hide the tears running rivets down my face
and the uncontrollable sobs shaking my frame. "She fell in love with a
broken boy. "
He grabs me to him, shielding me from everything but myself, my
worst enemy.
"Let me take you away from here. I promise we will only go
somewhere to talk. Give you some time to think things through. "
I need to leave. I need to get far away, so I can digest everything
clearly. Nodding my head, I say, "Yes. "
Tag drives me to a diner at a rundown truck stop miles out of town.
Sliding into a booth, we both order coffee. At first, we don't speak, but
as the night turns to morning, I start to tell him everything. All of my
worries of never being what Rhye needs and praying that he will love
me enough one day to change. Tag stares out the window, at first not
responding, but then, he turns to me shaking his head.
"Then you can't give up on the bastard. But damn, Syn. You really need
to decide if all of this pain you are obviously feeling is worth it. You
need to realize that you can't change him. So you better be able to love
him like the jackass he is. "
I nod and turn to stare out at the rising sun. Tears fall freely at the words
of the boy I first loved. I question if Rhye's actions can ever corrupt
what I'm feeling for him? Do I want to walk away now, before
everything becomes blackened by his inability to love himself? Part of
me says yes, but then the other part, the one that knows he's the one for
me, whispers to hold on and fight. I have to make a decision now and
never look back.

"Where the fuck is she? " my voice booms at her manager for the
hundredth time. In only twenty minutes, we are supposed to go on stage
at the Staples Center for the Grammys, and no one has heard from her
since last night. "Goddamn it to hell," I say to the wall as I slam my
balled fist into it. FUCK! My fingers throb from the impact, but the
pain doesn't come close to this knee-dropping agony aching in my
chest.
"Rhye, I don't have a clue where she is, and I'm really worried. This
isn't like Syn. Maybe you can explain to me what really happened last
night?" her manager, Trina somebody, says.
What happened? Shaking out my hurt hand, I turn away, running my
good hand through my hair. Fuck! Things were going great between us
yesterday. More than great, fucking amazing. She gave herself to me,
and for the first time, I knew what making love was, but it also scared
the fuck out of me. I've never not put a rubber on, and the scariest thing
was that it never entered my mind until afterwards. That's what she
does to me. She gets under my skin, seeing everything that no one ever
should.
I got caught up in her, and it freaked me the fuck out. For the past
several weeks, the nicotine hasn't been cutting it to help with my
jitteriness, so I've been smoking a joint or two to get by. Nothing
serious, but damn, everyone was making a big goddamn deal out of it.
Yesterday, when I got the chance, I went out to burn off some of the
freaked out shit in my mind. No big deal.
Last night at the party, things were going great until I majorly

fucked up. I knew where all the good shit would be, and after using the
restroom, I told myself I was just going to drop by to take a toke to get
me through the night. You name it, and I could have easily scored it,
but I only took a hit off a joint that this girl had burning and was
heading directly back to Syn when Jared and Ian spotted me, and I got
cornered to listen to their bullshit.
Syn must have seen that chick come by, right before she came over to
me. What was I supposed to do? She was just being friendly, and I
honestly didn't even get a hard-on at her offer to give me some head.
Then, Syn came storming in, blowing things up, and I was just pissed. I
don't need a momma, and I sure as shit don't need her threatening me
with her love.
When she ran out, I was going to run after her, but one of the record
label suits saw what happened and was giving me a lecture on keeping
our bullshit private. I watched that fucking bastard, Tag, go after her. I
guess she left with him because they both seemed to disappear after the
party. I went straight home, and Josh and I tried to track her down.
Josh told me about her knowing I was smoking pot. He reminded me
that, sometimes, when you love something or someone, the best choice
is to let them go. Putting them through hell, day after day, isn' t fair.
Maybe, after I get my shit together, we can make it work.
I laid in bed all night, the same bed that still smelled like her, the same
bed where she made me part of her forever. I love her and need to let
her go. I sat up in the bed and grabbed my guitar. Josh's words
reminded of a song I heard recently called "Let Her Go," and by
memory, I tried to play it. The lyrics came to me as I strummed the
guitar, and the words connected to the heart that Syn found inside of
me.
All night, I stayed awake, waiting for her so that I could tell her that she
needs to go before I destroy her. I knew she would fight me, and I was
ready for it, but the hours passed, and Syn didn't return. Suddenly, I
started to realize that maybe I needed to talk to Syn about what she
wanted, make sure that she truly wanted me out of her life, because I
don' t want to hurt her. I need to tell her how much I love her. I fucking
love her. What would I do without that crazy girl in my life?

This morning, I woke Josh up, pounding my fist on his bedroom door.
When he opened it, the fucker only had boxers on, which was a scary
image, but I did what I came to do and handed him my pound of weed.
He didn't say anything, just patted my shoulder and closed the door in
my face. He was proud of me. I could tell. It's how we are.
Nobody has heard from her today. Not me, not Josh, not her manager,
and not even her band. Our performance is supposed to be an acoustic
version of our song. Both of us will be playing our guitars while sitting
and facing each other on stage. I can't see her missing it, but maybe I' m
wrong. Maybe I finally pushed her away for good. I have to live with
that. Fuck, I love her, and now I have to let her go without it being what
I want. "Damn, Rhye. Good job fucker," I quietly murmur to myself.
I've never wanted to cry so fucking bad, but I guess it's never too late to
develop a sensitive side because, right now, I want to bawl like a baby.
"Rhye, we are going to have to let them know to cancel your duet. We
can't hold off any longer," Jimmy, my manager, says to me.
Jimmy has also been proud of me. I know this because he tells me every
damn day. He wouldn't be so proud if he knew the truth would he? But,
it' s in the past now. I restarted my sobriety again today, and I can do it
this time. It's all about not giving up, starting over until it takes. That's
what Josh says anyway.
"Give her a couple of more minutes, Jimmy. Please," I plead with him.
I can't miss the surprise on his face at my request. It's not the Rhye that
he remembers. He nods his head and walks away to speak with her
manager, still on the phone trying to find her.
I see a commotion at the door, and my stomach sinks, knowing they're
coming to get us, and now I'll have to cancel. Instead, a beautiful
blonde walks through, an angel to my rescue. Her fancy dress and
matching makeup make her look fucking gorgeous, but again, it's
what's on the inside of Syn that shines. The only non-perfect thing
about her are the pink eyes she sports. You can tell she's been crying.
She glances around at everyone until she finds me.
With one single solitary action, she brings me to my knees. She smiles.
And I smile back. I watch her take a step towards me when they

call us to the stage. Everything happens fast. Her manager grabs her by
the waist and says how worried we've been. So many people start
ushering us to the stage at the same time. I grab my guitar and watch
her pick hers up by the door she just walked in.
After they go through all the directions, I try to make my way to her,
but before I can speak, we enter a silent zone where a television camera
could easily pick up any backstage conversation. We stand in hushed
tension then follow the ushers, holding small flashlights, as they guide
us to the blacked out stage. I sit down on the chair they have set up, and
Syn takes a seat diagonally across from me.
At first, we both stare at each other through the semi-darkness, and I
see her open her mouth to speak, but before she can, we hear a
thunderous applause as huge curtains move to reveal us on the stage.
The lighting is hundreds of lit candles in the background to set the
scene. She looks at me and begins to play, my cue to join in.
We play the first few music lines of "Wasted Heart" before Syn' s pure
country voice starts in. She looks at me and sings, "When I say that I
love you, boy. And you still walk away. I'm not sure what to do. Or
even what to say. Do you know how much I care? How can you
possibly know? You take me to my highest high. And bring me to my
lowest
low."
I watch the tears gather in her eyes, and my heart skips a beat, knowing
that she means every single line. She is speaking directly to me when
one tear falls, but her voice never halters.
"I don' t know how to revive the ceaseless beating. Or even a way to
make it start. I' m lost trying to find my way, inside your wasted
heart."
For a second, I forget my words, and then I'm afraid they'll come out in
a squeak when I do remember them. The emotions that she brings forth
in me run too deep, making our lyrics heartfelt apologies and promises.
I glance into her eyes and sing straight from my heart. "There is nothing
you can say. When I can't hear your words. Especially when my heart
no longer feels the rhythm or the chords. My eyes don't see the beauty
or the wonder you possess. When everything within me is devoured in
this emptiness. "

By the time I reach the chorus, she joins me. Our voices blend, melding
together in harmony, and I know that our lives would do the same if we
would just let them.
When the bridge starts, I sing only for her, "If I could have relinquished
this fear, it would have been for you. Given my demons up, if I only
knew how to find my way to you." I play my guitar riffs and then
glance into her beautiful eyes to finish. "And I don't know how you
revived the ceaseless beating. And made it restart. I want you to stay,
inside this once wasted heart. "
She stops playing when she hears the altered lyrics at the end. I finish
the last chord and look into the eyes that have changed my life forever.
"I love you," I say to her, leaning in until our lips touch. The sound of
everyone cheering for our performance is deafening, but we don' t let it
bother us. Syn lets her guitar drop to the ground and rushes to sit on my
lap, deepening the kiss.
Pulling away, she whispers over the crowd and into my ear, "I love you,
and I'm going to fight for us. It doesn't mean I'm going to let you get
away with your crap. I' m going to call you on it, and we are going to
fight, fix it, and get over it. Agreed?"
"Whatever you say," I tell her, knowing I would agree no matter what
at this point. She is my beating heart.
"Room Service," a male voice calls outside of the hotel room. I stab my
cigarette butt out in the ashtray and walk through the open

balcony doors to let him in. The uniformed attendant wheels in a silver
tray piled high with the breakfast I ordered. I'm starving after a full
night playing with Syn. That girl knows how to get me fucking going
and doesn't let up until I beg for mercy. I may have created a monster.
After he exits the room, I lift one of the lids to sample a hot piece of
bacon. My stomach growls at the thought of food, and I smile thinking
how nine months can change so much but leave just as much
unchanged. It's not been an easy road, or does it continue to be. I've had
a couple of relapses, one that completely fucked up my relationship
with Syn. She actually did the right thing by leaving my sorry ass for
several months. Josh, of course, kept her updated on my status, and
here we are again, back together for now.
The road is fucking hell without her. We thought we would be able to
see each other more, but it turns out it isn't that fucking easy. Syn has a
hard time dealing with the press detailing what is going on when she
isn't with me. Hell, I have a hard time dealing with what is going on
when she isn't with me. Touring doesn't change just because I'm trying
to. In actuality, it becomes innately harder. The women, the drugs, and
the partying. If they could make a pill that would make the desire for
each of those things to disappear, I would be first in line to take it.
So, for now, I continue to fight my demons on my own and with Syn.
Oh, and Josh. I can't get rid of that fucker. I have this fear of being in an
old folk's home one day with Josh sitting beside me. True story. Syn
loves him and treats him like family, so I try to be nice to him for her
sake. That is my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Both of our tours are on their last leg of dates, so we both flew into New
York to celebrate. Last night, we were able to pull our hoodies up and
walk around Times Square incognito. We probably looked like some
emo kids in our black jeans with black hoodies cowling around our
face, but it was great to be normal for two damn minutes.
We have both decided to take a month off after our tours to spend
together at Syn's house in Nashville. I'm more hesitant, and a little
worried, that I might go fucking stir crazy, but at the same time, I look
forward to having private time with Syn. Josh is going home to
recharge also, so I will actually be without the old ball and chain for a
bit.

I don' t know how everything will continue to work for us. I wish I
could promise Syn everything, something, hell, anything about a
future, but the truth remains that I can't. In fact, in all honesty, I can
barely promise today, but the difference is that I'm trying, and that is
all she says she can request. We will work it out as it comes, or doesn't
come, she says.
Life is hard. Sometimes it gives you hell, and you have to decide what
you are going to do with it. Let it rule you or you rule it. I'm trying to
rule mine. Shape it into something that makes me happy so it makes the
days passable. I hold my breath most times when I wake up, knowing
it's going to be a tough day, but I keep to the promise that nothing is as
bad as it seems, and I trudge on.
Time will only tell about Syn and I, but damn if I will not try my best to
keep her. She keeps me grounded in this chaotic life most days,
keeping me real, including making me clean up after myself when we
are together. It's going to be a long month spent with her.
Knowing that the food is getting cold, I walk into the bedroom to wake
her. She is stretched out over the bed, butt naked, wrapped mummy
style in the sheet. Syn is a cover hog, and we fight all night over the bed
spread. I sit on the edge and quietly lean over her.
"Wake up. Food is here, and I' m hungry," I say, letting my fingers run
softly over her cheek to brush back her hair.
"Go away. I just want to sleep," she says grouchily, slapping my hand
away.
"Girl, fucking get your sweet ass up. Now! " I say moments before I
tickle the sensitive sides of her stomach, which she hates.
She struggles against me, laughing like a hyena. Once, I stop, I glance
down at Syn. This beautiful woman that I hold in my arms is the main
reason I keep fighting my demons every day. "I love you, Syn Landry.
My little country girl. "
Looking up at me, she smiles, lifting her hand to caress her name inked
across my heart. "I love you, Rhye Clark," she whispers with love in
her eyes. "My wasted heart. "
Coming November 2013

USA Today Best Selling Author
Erin Noelle
EUPHORIA
(Book Boyfriend Series #3)
PROLOGUE ~ Christmas Night Reminder ~ Mumford & Sons Lips of
an Angel ~ Hinder ASH
Frustrated. That summed up my mood in one word. I was so frustrated
with Scarlett for bailing on our Christmas dinner, so damn frustrated
with my sister for standing up for her, and extremely fucking frustrated
with Mason for being such a stupid ass to get himself in this mess. If I
didn't know better, I would've thought he did it on purpose just to see if
she would come running to him. Which of course she did. Fucking
always. I'm not a violent person, but I really wanted to beat the shit out
of someone that night. It was a good thing that he was in a different
state 'cause if he had been close, I may have finished the job for him.
The frustration was eating me from the inside out as I sat alone in my
house after the awkward holiday dinner with my family. My mom
hadn' t said much except that she understood why Scarlett left. Will
commented that the situation was jacked up, which led to Crys getting
mad at him and telling him he was insensitive ass. He shut up shortly

after that. Oscar and Evan were oblivious to it all ~ they ate as quickly
as possible so that they could get back to playing the Xbox. I sat
silently eating the food that she and I had prepared the night before,
trying not to think of the reminder fuck I had given her at the kitchen
sink. Obviously it wasn't a reminder enough.
I decided I needed to do something except lie in bed alone thinking
about what could possibly be happening in Florida. The frustration was
quickly turning into anger and I needed to cool off. I got up and threw
on some jeans and a long sleeved Henley, ran my fingers through my
hair, and slipped my feet in some flip flops. Grabbing my keys, wallet,
and phone, I called Nicholas as I headed out to my car.
Five minutes later I was pulling up to his house, and it appeared I
wasn't the only person looking for a place to hang out for the evening.
The driveway and street were packed with cars and the music was
flowing from the house. The scene reminded of the many Saturday
nights that I had spent there- drinking, playing the guitar, and hooking
up with random girls. It also reminded me of the first night I met
Scarlett. Fuck, I couldn't escape thinking about her. I shook my head at
my pathetic self as I walked up to the front door. I needed a drink... or
twelve.
As I made my way through the living room to the kitchen, I spotted
Nicholas and Jess standing at the island and headed in their direction.
We exchanged hugs and wished each other Merry Christmas before
Jess asked where Scarlett was. I knew it was coming, but I really just
didn't want to talk about it.
"Something came up," I answered vaguely. "Now where's the whiskey?
I need a shot stat. "
Jess raised her eyebrows at me and was about to say something else,
but Nicholas whispered something in her ear and she closed her mouth.
He gave me a knowing look and I made a mental note to thank him
later.
"The liquor' s at the bar and the beer' s in the fridge dude. Help yourself.
It's good seeing you here; we've missed you coming around," he
replied.
"Thanks man. "

"You gonna play tonight for us?"
I hadn' t really thought about it, but now that he mentioned it, it
sounded like a great idea. Music was always a good prescription for the
soul.
"Yeah, I think I will. Let me get my buzz on and I'll grab your guitar."
Three shots and two beers later, I was sitting on the back deck, acoustic
in hand with most of the house guests sitting around me. I loved winter
nights in Houston. It never got that cold, the air had just enough chill in
it to make you feel alive. Couples were cuddled up to each other
watching the flame inside the chimenea and a flicker of jealousy shot
through me. Scarlett should have been there with me, not sitting next to
Mason's hospital bed taking care of him.
I took a long gulp of my beer and settled the guitar in my lap. I went
through my usual favorites, a little Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, and such,
before taking requests from people. After a couple of more songs, a
familiar-looking blonde girl that had been trying to catch my eye all
night asked me to play Lips of an Angel. Not thinking much about it, I
began playing the popular Hinder song, but by the time I finished the
end of the first chorus I thought I was going to be sick. It wasn't that the
song's lyrics really applied to my life or situation exactly, it was just the
subject matter of cheating and the fact that I kept having to saying the
word Angel. Knowing that's what Rat called Scarlett, I could totally
picture him singing it to her and I suddenly despised the song that I had
never given a second thought to. As soon as I spat out the last verse, I
abruptly rose to my feet, setting the guitar in my chair, and claimed I
needed a drink break.
I walked back in the house to escape everyone for a minute, especially
Blondie who had kept inching closer to me throughout the song, and I
poured another shot. Throwing the glass back, the warm liquid tingled
my throat and chest as it settled in my gut. After repeating the motion
two more times, I heard the back door open and close and I assumed
Jess had come in to ask me what my problem was and where Scarlett
was exactly. I closed my eyes and grabbed the counter to steady myself
in the somewhat blurry room. However, the hands that wrapped

themselves around my waist from behind and the voice that whispered
in my ear didn' t belong to Jess.
"My lips are soft as an angel's... especially when they're wrapped
around your cock. Don't you remember, Ash?"
Oh fuck.
Metamorphosis (Book Boyfriend Series #1) & Ambrosia (Book
Boyfriend Series #2) by Erin Noelle are both currently available at

www.amazon.com

and

www.barnesandnoble.com

I love angst.... I thrive on it, but only the fictional kind. I adore a
story that grips the reader from the beginning and doesn't let
go...EVER. I'm an avid reader who just recently discovered my love of
writing. My favorite things in life include my three wild & crazy kids,
Reese' s Pieces, and every genre of music. Please come find me @

nicolereedbooks.com

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