Page 54 of Licks

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Finch whispered.

He should have directed his aggravation at me.

I’d forced August’s hand. We had less than two days together, and I fought us every step of the way, giving him my body, not my soul. If this was him ending things now, because I couldn’t offer him that chance, trust him with my heart, the fallout could be catastrophic. The type of regret that led to losing the music from your world. Sucking the dance and color from your life. Even so, I wasn’t sure I could give him what he wanted: all of me.

The song shifted, the chorus changing from the one I’d memorized. I frowned. Then I bit my lip.

She turned my world black

Because she owned my heart

A connection deeper than forgiveness

The kind that brings a fresh start

He’d rewritten the next stanza, too, singing of his blindness, his stupidity, his regrets. August’s lyrics were always simple. His voice set him apart. The deep rasp crooned with such emotion the listener couldn’t help but be swept away.

The final chorus threatened to shatter me.

I’m hers to break or fix

A timepiece of fragile parts

My hour always set to her

The girl who owns my heart

“Wow,” Finch said.

That wasn’t wow. That was everything.

August’s gaze was fierce, locked on me. I couldn’t look away. Maybe I could do this, be with him while apart. Climb that gnarly wall of fear, a treacherous drop below, and trust I was strong enough to make it. Maybe.

A roadie took his guitar. August leapt off the front of the stage, took one step toward me, but fans reached for him, wanting to shake his hand, pat his back. Two women hung at his side, too close for my comfort. One whispered in his ear. The other swished her hair from side to side, fluttering her eyelashes.

That was my man. That song had been mine, angry lyrics and all.

Who do they think they are?

Except he wasn’t mine. This was his life, a startling glimpse of the tours and shows and hungry women. A life oceans apart from mine.

My saliva turned hot and sour, pooling in my mouth. I grabbed my journal and purse, but paused and faced Finch. “Can we go for coffee sometime? I’d like to catch up.”

He tapped his fingers on the bar top, considering me. “Sounds great. I’m sure the past nine years could fill at least an hour of coffee time.”

And then some. “Also, my birthday is tomorrow.”

“You think I don’t know that date?” His raised eyebrow held an air of rebuke.

“I guess it’s kind of hard to forget.” The anniversary of our epic bad decision would go down in history. “Anyway, as awkward as it might be, I’m going out with August and friends and would love for you to come.” For us to fully move on, not agree to a coffee encounter that might never happen.

He deflated slightly. “I’d actually love to, but I have plans. Also might be too soon for August and me.”

His genuine disappointment meant as much as if he’d said yes, another part of my past knitting together. I kissed his bristly cheek. The impetuous move surprised him, judging by his slight jolt, but he smiled in earnest.

I could barely see August now, flanked by bodies. He pushed up, probably on his tiptoes, and nodded at me. A move to explain his delay. I understood, but I didn’t like it. Waiting for him, being a hanger-on in his outer circle, wasn’t appealing. “Let him know I’m outside,” I told Finch.

Without another glance, I worked my way to the door. Fresh air was needed, along with a juicy hotdog. Food. Oxygen. Space from August and his perfect hate-love song that had me wanting to tear back into the club and drag him away from his harem of admirers.