Page 165 of Before You Fell

At one point, I lean over to write a line and my hair falls across my face. Phoenix reaches out without thinking and pushes it back behind my ear.

His fingers linger and I stop writing.

His eyes are on me and there is something in them I don’t have a word for. Something that has nothing to do with sex, songs, or any of the complicated shit between us.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, dropping his hand. “The band will love it.”

I look down at the notebook. “I don’t work with the band anymore.”

Phoenix’s fingers freeze on the strings. His gaze drops to the guitar for a moment before coming back to me.

“If you want your job back,” he says, “it’s yours.”

“That’s not your decision.”

“It is when the band has already made it.”

“What?”

He looks out the window. “The guys and I had a meeting with the label. We told them we wanted you.”

His fingers drag once across the strings. Not playing. Just making noise.

My heart starts to beat faster. “When?”

“Before the tour.”

I stare at him and he looks down at the guitar.

Something shifts within him as the air grows heavier.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

A shutter falls over his face, not fully, but enough for me to feel it. He reaches for his coffee and takes a drink he doesn’t want. His fingers tighten around the mug until his knuckles turn white.

“Phoenix.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly does.”

The morning light has shifted, growing brighter across the floor. It catches on the guitar strings, the notebook, and the curve of his shoulder. He looks younger for a second.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I say, closing the notebook slowly.

He keeps his eyes on the guitar. His fingers rest on the strings, but he is not playing. There is tension in his shoulders.

“Talk to me,” I say, setting my coffee aside. “Phoenix.”

He lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”