Two hours later, we pull up to the apartment we rented this year. I couldn’t be fucking happier about no dorms. I’m just glad my dad agreed.
After moving in and a dinner of pizza and beer, Drew disappears to find some girl he’s been talking to all summer.
Silence fills the apartment, and I stare at the blank sheet of paper in front of me. An hour has passed and nothing.
Closing my eyes, I run my hand down my face and will the words to come.
Write about the pain.
About what happened.
About the guilt you feel.
How you couldn’t save her.
Write about it all.
Yet nothing comes.
Not one fucking word.
I slam the pencil on the desk, and it cracks in half. Fuck. Tossing it behind my back, I stand in a huff, my chair falling behind me.
I pace the entire length of my room, the plain white walls mocking me with their blankness.
Fuck this shit.
There have gotta be more beers left. I storm to the kitchen and pull the fridge open, finding an unopened six-pack. Perfect. I can always pay Drew back.
Maybe I’ll find inspiration somewhere in these cold cans.
Drew hits pause for the umpteenth time, and I blow out a breath.
We’ve been at this song for days, and it still sounds like shit.
“I need a break,” Drew mutters before collapsing on the couch in our spacious living room. His drumsticks fall to his side as he leans his head back. Our bedrooms may be small and the kitchen the size of a hallway, but I like this big space. Perfect for my guitar and Drew’s drums.
I run my hands through my sweaty hair and place my guitar down with a thunk. Band tryouts are in two days, and we aren’t ready.
Far from it, honestly. We’re rusty as fuck, not having played much this past year. Drew said he’s still hitting the drums, but I can tell he’s not as practiced as he claims to be.
“We need to nail this shit, and I don’t think it’s possible. We’re nowhere near the level of that demo tape,” Drew laments.
With a sigh, I head to the kitchen for some water. I swear I’ve easily sweat ten pounds away this past week. “You’re putting too much pressure on it, bro.”
“What?” Drew explodes. “More like not enough.”
“I want this as bad as you,” I say between chugs of cold water, “but all of this buildup, this jamming ourselves exhausted, it’s not good. I’m gonna be nerved up and in my head.”
“Fuck, I know. Me too. Maybe some beers will help?” Drew asks when I hand him a bottle of water.
I shrug. “Doubt it. It certainly didn’t help me the other night.”
Drew chuckles. “Yeah, never mind.”
It wasn’t a pretty scene. Lying in a pile of your own vomit on the bathroom floor isn’t fun. I forgot not having beers in a while really lowers your tolerance. Add in some hot wings and you’ve got yourself a lethal combination.
“If we relax a bit, I think we’ll flow better. We know this song inside and out, man. Pretend we’re back in high school. Remember the gig we played on prom night?” I close my eyes and bring myself back to that night. The heat, the loud sounds, the music pumping through my body. One of the best nights of my life with our band.
I can still picture it so clearly.
And I need to get back to that headspace.
Back to who I really am.
“That was the best fucking night.” Drew claps his hands and stands, interrupting my thoughts. “Let’s do this.”
Nodding, I stand back up, my feet groaning in protest. Fuck it, I can soak them later.
Now, it’s time to play my fucking heart out.
Chapter Three
Raina
“I know you’ll love this place. And the coffee? To. Die. For.”
My mouth waters the moment we enter the cafe. Rich coffee mixed with hints of chocolate fill my nose.
The ambience in the place is soft with low lighting. There are big cushy couches and armchairs, the roaring fireplace, and a chill atmosphere. It’s relaxing and reminds me of home. My heart twists, thinking of my childhood bedroom and my family.
“Isn’t it nice?” Mable asks as she pulls me farther in. We reach the counter, and my eyes widen as I take in the massive number of desserts on display.
Oh. My God. I’ve died and gone to dessert heaven.
Chocolate cake, strawberry cheesecake, and so many more line the shelves.
I love them all. Growing up in a big Italian family means my love for food is strong. It’s sick how much I chow sometimes.
“Wanna share a slice?” she asks, and I nod.
My stomach rumbles, and I lick my lips. “Hell yeah, I do.”
We order drinks and a huge chunk of chocolate cake, and it’s ready in less than five minutes. While we wait, Mable talks nonstop about how she’s in love with this cafe and only stumbled upon it last year.
“You just never know what else there is to discover.” Mable takes our drinks, and I grab the cake. “Let me show you the best part.”
“There’s more?” I ask as I follow her through a door at the back end. It leads into a hallway with an elevator and bathrooms in the corner.
“At night, they open the rooftop patio. It’s gorgeous, and they serve yummy cocktails. Not just coffee.” Mable ushers me into the elevator and presses the button for the third floor.
When the doors open, we step out into a small foyer with a set of French doors ahead. They’re open with long flowing curtains that grace each side.
Stepping out into the patio, I see outdoor sofas and chairs scattered around that match what’s inside the cafe. White sparkly twinkle lights are strung everywhere. A bar is on one side, and on the other is a coffee and dessert counter similar to the one downstairs. An open firepit in the middle provides warmth for the relaxing atmosphere.
“Wow, it’s even nicer up here.”
Mable grins. “I know, isn’t it? And look!” She walks me over to the edge of the building. “Perfect for people watching.”
I peek over the railing and am met with a perfect view of the streets below. People and traffic rush by, the city bustling in the early evening.
“Wow,” I breathe, taking it all in. This is exactly what I needed.
We find the closest open table to the edge and have a seat. Shoving cake down our throat with sips of coffee between, we people watch and joke.
“You’ll love writing here. It’s quiet and conducive to creativity. I draw here sometimes. There is one night a week here that’s not quiet. And that’s poetry reading night.”
“Poetry readings?”
“Yep, I’ve gone to a couple. We should—oh! I have an idea.” Mable’s face lights up, and my stomach clenches. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to…
“You should read your lyrics here!”
“Whoa, no way, Mable. No way.” I shake my head and hold my hands up in surrender. “No way would I get up in front of a crowd and read my work. I can barely read it again myself.”
“Oh, c’mon, Raina! It’ll be a great way to overcome your fear, and you never know—”
I cut her off midsentence. “No.”