Coming here tonight was a mistake. It becomes abundantly clear when each new song replays another memory of our past, that I made the right decision all these years to avoid Segan’s music like the plague. He’s a beautiful songwriter, and even more talented musician, just like I knew he would be, but the pain, the longing, the ache… the desire, in his voice is too much.
It isn’t until his set is finished, and he’s exited the stage, that I allow myself to take a full, deep breath. Glancing over at Ash, they’re already watching me. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter.
They nod, laughing again. “Fine. But Monday at work, you’re spilling all the details.”
I groan, downing a swig of the water in front of me. Ash’s eyes lift, focusing on something behind me, and I know even before I hear that raspy, overused voice who it is.
“Josiah.” My name is spoken as a command. A demand to turn around and face the music, so to speak.
Cursing under my breath, I take one last look at Ash before turning to meet a sweat-soaked, red-faced Segan. I square my shoulders, though I’m not entirely sure why. This feels uncomfortably like some sort of showdown or the beginning of a brawl.
“Segan.”
His body language is tense, jaw clenched. His gaze shifts to look behind me, presumably at Ash, before focusing back on me. “Step outside and have a smoke with me?” he asks.
The question takes me by surprise, but I nod anyway. “I’ll be right back,” I offer to Ash over my shoulder, who just smirks at me.
On our way out, he says something to the dude who was with him at the coffee shop. Probably telling him we’re going outside. The guy glances at me, eyes hard and narrow, before he nods, seemingly reluctantly. As we step out into the warm night air, I pull the pack of smokes from my pocket, plucking two out, lighting them both before handing one to Segan. We round the corner of the bar, into the side alleyway, and smoke in silence for a while, taking drag after drag side by side, the tension between us thick, and only growing by the minute.
Finally, Segan blows out a cloud of smoke, turning to face me. “Why did you come here tonight, Josiah?”
“I came with a friend,” I reply, not missing how dejected he sounds.
He takes another drag, sage green eyes fixed on me. “Not what I asked.”
Considering playing dumb for a moment, I blow out a breath, deciding to just be honest instead. “I want us to talk, Segan,” I admit, nerves dancing along my stomach. “There’s no reason we can’t be there for each other in a way we should’ve been years ago.”
Clenching his jaw, he doesn’t say anything for a moment. He looks away, watching the pedestrians walk past the alley, minding their own business, oblivious to the turmoil taking place mere feet from them. Segan rubs a hand over his mouth as his eyes find mine again.
“We aren’t the same people we used to be.” His tone is hard, voice deep. “I don’t need you in my life, and I certainly don’t want you here either. I thought I made that clear.”
Ouch.I can’t even deny how much that fucking stings, even if I think it’s just a front to protect himself.
Taking one last drag, he drops the cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with the toe of his boot before he turns to walk away. Before he can, though, I grab him just above the elbow. Segan’s head whips around, fiery gaze locking on mine in question.
I reach into the pocket of my jeans, hands shaky as I hand him a business card. When he doesn’t immediately take it, I urge it closer. “Please take this. Call me sometime. Or text. I’m serious, Segan.”
Heaving a sigh, he grabs the card out of my hand before walking away. I can’t help but hope like hell he really will reach out, while knowing he more than likely won’t. Finishing my cigarette, I replay every word he said, the tone he used, the way he looked at me when I gave him the card. All of it staying with me long after Segan’s gone.
22
SEGAN
Iremember the first time I ever performed on stage. It was an unusually slow Friday night at Neon Dreams Saloon. Rain had been coming down hard all night, with only the regulars and a few stragglers in the bar. The band Chesney had set to play had to cancel, so he suggested I go up there instead.
It had been months at that point of me practicing on the guitar and writing music in my free time. I was more than ready, and he knew that.
But I didn’t.
I was terrified. My legs were trembling so bad as I stepped onto the stage, I thought I was going to fall over, and I fucked up the first couple of chords on the guitar from the shake to my fingers.
There weremaybeten other people in the bar, aside from Chesney and the guys on stage with me, but I was nervous enough, you’d think I was about to perform for a sold-out Madison Square Garden. My voice cracked as the song began, but after a few moments, my nerves calmed, and my body relaxed. It was like I’d done this a million times before, everything feeling so natural.
After that night, performing and making music wholly felt like what I was meant to do. Nothing had ever felt as right as that. Like I’d truly found my calling. Which, when you grow up in the type of community I did, never knowing where you belonged or where you were going to end up, feeling sure about something felt nice.
I’ve been at the studio with the guys all morning, recording the new album. Thanks to Josiah’s unannounced arrival back into my life, writing the songs I should’ve written months ago finally came easy. I hate how much of a muse he is to me. As much as I’ve tried to forget about him, my brain chemistry is altered because of him. He’s burrowed in my soul, no matter how much I wish he wasn’t.
The business card he gave me last week at the bar is burning hot in my pocket. I don’t know why I’m even carrying it around in the first place, but it’s gone everywhere with me since he forced it into my hand.
