I grind my teeth, wanting to give my dad a big piece of my mind. But it’s late, and my thoughts are too scrambled to have this argument.
“I’m tired,” I admit. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Of course, sweetie.” He kisses me on the forehead. “Good night.”
I head up to my room and the tears drip out. I keep them quiet, so no one will hear me. I don’t want Pop and Lisa knowing that they’ve gotten to me.
The next morning, I wake up surprisingly early for having gone to bed so late.
I hug my pillow and wish it could be Zach next to me.
God Almighty, that was a hot make-out session we had last night. Zach is so damn handsome—no, he’s definitely a step up from handsome. He’s plain dress him up in a suit and he’s as good looking as any actor hot. As I stir awake, an idea for a song hits me, and I race to my desk and grab my journal to scribble it down.
Three Year Girl, I begin to write.
My heart pounds as I write the words. They pour out of me like a stream.
When I’m done, I’m a little drained. I haven’t felt like this writing music in forever. It’s been, since . . . well, since “Tomorrow Never Comes.”
An eerie calmness settles over me, though I feel a rush of excitement as I reread the words I wrote. I’ll have to get my guitar and come up with a melody, but the bulk of the work is there. The music will flow on its own.
Just then, I glance at my phone, remembering I need to text Zach.
Liquid heat fills me just thinking about him. Taking a picture of my journal to send him, I scroll through the names in my phone. I get to Z, and there’s my friend Ziggy, followed by the Zoo in Chicago that I needed to call once.
Squinting, I look closer. What the heck?
Did I not save his number? No, I definitely did. I remember staring at it as I walked into the house last night.
My jaw drops and despair fills me as the realization hits.
Last night, Dad took my phone out back to “check something.”
He didn’t check anything at all. Instead, he deleted Zach’s phone number.
I force deep breaths in and out as my rage spirals upward.
Guilt surges through me as I think about what Zach will feel when he doesn’t get a text from me. Not that it’s the end of the world, but I’m the kind of girl who texts when she says she will. Especially with a guy like him. I rake a hand through my hair. If he’s telling the truth—and why wouldn’t he?—I’m the first girl he’s been with in years. The first woman he’s trusted to even come close to touching him.
My breaths get shallow as I throw on shorts and a T-shirt and try to think of what to do next.
Chapter 9
Zach
Saturday afternoon, I’m smiling and whistling during my shift when my co-worker arrives. “The hell has you all smiling today?” Angel barks the instant he walks into Le Ral’s.
My gaze drifts up from the carrots I’m cutting to prep for the Saturday dinner crowd.
The corners of my lips turn down, the smile falling off.
“Don’t you worry your sweet little heart about that, Angel.”
It’s been two days since I last saw Harmony. But just the thought of her gets me going.
He walks up to me, grinning. “Oh, jefe, I always worry about you,” he says, putting his hand on my back.
Le Ral’s is my second job. My day job, so to speak. Most days, I log a few hours here as a prep cook in the afternoons. Then I head to the pizzeria for the night shift. It’s a lot of work, but when I got out of jail, I vowed I would keep busy every day so I wouldn’t think too much or have too much time on my hands. It’s always the thinking and idle hours that gives me problems.
“So you gonna stand there like an idiot, or are you gonna unshell those avocados for tonight?”
Angel fakes like he’s mad. “All right, all right, jefe. You still haven’t told me why you’re smiling, though.”
I shrug and continue to chop up the carrots. “Just thought of a funny joke is all.”
Angel comes back from the walk-in fridge with a box of avocados.
“So what’s the joke?”
“What kind of music are balloons afraid of?”
“What kind?”
“Pop music.”
He represses a smile at the corniness of the joke. “That’s it? That’s not very funny.”
I smirk. “Guess we just have different senses of humor.”
We shoot the shit for the next hour while we prep the food for the line cooks. I’ve come to truly enjoy our chats—which usually run the gamut from women to sports to food.
Today, though, I’m distracted. I wasn’t thinking about any joke when he walked in. I was thinking about Harmony and how much I loved the feel of her body pressed against me, underneath me.
She’s the first person I’ve touched in, well, too long.
But more than the physical part of what we were up to, I felt like we were connecting on some level that I haven’t experienced in a long, long time. Something about her puts me at ease, making me feel like I’ve known her for much longer than I actually have. It wasn’t like we were getting to know each other or exchanging pleasantries. Instead, we dove right into each other.
I nod at Angel as I chop carrots, but my mind wanders as a certain song comes on the radio: “Tomorrow Never Comes.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I stop chopping.
Harmony wrote this song.
This is a top-forty hit. It’s a classic. People will be listening to it for years to come. Generations, even.
Why the hell is she still doing gigs at a place like The Hungry Burger? She should be selling out more stadiums than Taylor Swift, and not just because she’s an amazing songwriter, but a performer too.
And if she did write that song, shouldn’t she be rich off the royalties?
“You okay, man?” Angel asks, noticing I’ve stopped working.
“Oh, yeah.” I swallow. “Totally fine.”
My skin tingles with excitement as my phone buzzes on the counter. I rush to check it.
The wind goes out of me. It’s only a notification from my boss at the pizzeria, telling me I don’t have to come in tonight, that someone double-booked. I bite my lower lip as I set my phone down, and my stomach churns.
Harmony said she’d text me Friday morning and she hasn’t. Part of me wants to pretend it’s no big deal, and that I have a heart of stone—which I usually do.
But Harmony managed to break through that hard exterior. I have no idea how she did it. I didn’t take her for a bold girl after that first night—she seemed much more on the shy side.
Angel stops halving and spooning out the avocados. He turns to me.
“Something’s on your mind. What is it?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Don’t be a mentiroso with me,” he comes back. “You’re all weird today.”
I shrug. “Fine. It’s a girl. Some stuff happened a couple of nights ago.”
He points at me with the spoon. “Zach found a lady! Oh my gosh!”
I roll my eyes. “It was one night, man.”