Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Maybe I have good reason to be scared.”
“Maybe you do. But hiding isn’t going to fix whatever you’re afraid of.” Zara shifts to face me fully. “What happened earlier?”
The question cuts close. “What makes you think something happened?”
“Because you look like someone who got exactly what he wanted and immediately started planning his escape route.”
Christ. She really does see everything.
I groan and run my hand through my hair. “I did something she didn’t like. We argued. I made a move, and she reciprocated. We slept together.” The admission comes easier than expected. “She made it clear afterward that it was just physical. I got up to use the bathroom, mostly to hide my disappointment, and she left.”
“What did you do that she didn’t like?”
I stare at my sister for a minute and then shake my head. “Long story short, I took some of her lyrics and a melody I heard her play, added to it. If I hadn’t left my notebook at The Songbird the night before, she wouldn’t have known.”
“But she found it?”
I nod, feeling a tad uncomfortable talking about all of this.
“And then?”
I glare at my sister. “And then she confronted me. Rewind to what I already said, and here I am.”
“She sounds like a smart woman.”
“Yeah. Smart.” I stare out at the pasture where horses graze in moonlight. “And exactly what I expected. One-night stands aren’t exactly foreign territory.”
“But this one bothers you.”
“This one was different.” The words come out before I can stop them. “She’s different.” I shake my head and sigh. “I don’t even know her, Z. We’ve had maybe three real conversations.”
“Sometimes three conversations are enough.” She reaches over to squeeze my shoulder. “What’s she like?”
The question opens something in my chest I didn’t realize was locked tight. “She’s . . . careful. Protective. She manages this venue like it’s sacred space, making sure every musician who plays there feels heard. And she used to write songs, but something happened that made her stop.”
“Something or someone?”
“Someone, I think.” I shrug. “She won’t talk about it, but there’s this wariness when she mentions other musicians. Like she’s expecting to be disappointed.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“I’m not like Van,” I mutter. “Levi isn’t either.”
“No, he’s not,” she says with a long sigh. “But many of our friends are exactly like Van. People like him make it hard for others to trust. You and I both learned the same lesson about trusting the wrong people. The difference is she’s protecting herself by staying put and creating something meaningful. You’re protecting yourself by running every time things get real.”
The observation lands like a physical blow. “I don’t run.”
“You don’t?” Zara’s voice carries a gentle challenge. “What do you call leaving LA without telling anyone where you were going? What do you call avoiding family dinners for three weeks? What do you call sleeping with someone and then immediately looking for reasons why it won’t work?”
“I call it learning from experience.”
“I call it hiding.”
We sit in silence while her words settle. In the distance, a horse whickers softly, and crickets chirp in the evening quiet. This place feels peaceful in a way LA never did.
“Maybe I am hiding,” I admit.
“From what?”
“From getting hurt again. From trusting someone who’ll use that trust as a weapon. From wanting something I can’t control or predict or fix when it breaks.”
Zara nods slowly. “All good reasons. All completely human. And all completely useless if what you’re hiding from is worth having.”
“How do I know if it’s worth having?”
“You don’t. That’s the whole point.” She finishes her wine and sets the glass aside. “Love isn’t a business plan, D. You can’t research your way into it or protect yourself out of it. You just have to show up and see what happens.”
“What if I fuck it up?”
“Then you fuck it up. And maybe you learn something about yourself in the process. Or maybe you discover that the right person sticks around even when you’re being an idiot.”
I think about Rye’s careful boundaries, how she defined exactly what we were and weren’t to each other before slipping out of my apartment like smoke. How she treated our encounter like a business transaction—satisfying but ultimately meaningless.
“She’s not exactly asking me to stick around.”
“Maybe she’s as scared as you are.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been so focused on my own terror of getting too close that I hadn’t considered she might be fighting the same battle from the other direction.
“So what do I do?”
“Whatever feels true. Not safe, not logical, not guaranteed to work out perfectly. True.” Zara stands and stretches. “And maybe stop trying to solve everything in your head before you give it a chance to exist in the world.”
Before I can respond, the back door opens, and Levi appears with fresh beers. “Mind if I join you, or is this a private counseling session?”