Darkness shifts into gray.
Every day I watch you fade.
So tell me how this goes.
How our song comes to a close.
How much time does it take
To end this heartache.
Because what was once is now gone.
What should have never been is done.
I read the words again and again and again. It’s short. Some of the verses need a little help. But…it’s so raw. So pure. So goddamn real and ready to become something incredible. A duet. A convergence of two voices. Jasper was right. It cannot be him singing this. It has to be Gus.
And goddamn him. I should have never picked up this paper. Never agreed to dinner or going into that booth.
I want this song. I want its emotion and lyrics. I want it to become part of my story. My heartbreak. My legacy. My next chapter.
Gus is right about me.
I’ve ignored and pushed aside without entirely dealing with my past because dealing with it felt impossible and ignoring it easier.
But who am I now because of that? Am I still that woman? The one stuck in limbo who never healed because she never got closure on anything?
“It’s beautiful, Gus. God, so beautiful. But I don’t know if I can be her,” I admit. And the second the words leave my lips, I hate the way it sounds. Her? Who’s her? The woman singing the song, writing the words, and letting herself bleed until she’s dry? Or the woman who was loved and lost? Forsaken.
I’m terrified of allowing myself to become the counterpart to his heartbreak. What will be left of me after that? Am I ready to face this midnight, wild and dark, anxious to take back the dawn?
Or is it too late for something like that?
Am I’m eternally stuck in this purgatory, drawn between night and day—a muted light bright enough to see by but too dark to navigate through?
He shakes his head adamantly. “You’re not her, Naomi. You’re charting a new course.” I blink at him, stunned at how he seems to read my mind when I’m positive I kept my thoughts hidden. “The point is, we’re singing about the heartbreak because we can. Because it’s our past, and we refuse to let it live on as our future.”
I clear my throat, pushing all that away and focusing on the work. On the business of it.
“It needs more. If it’s a duet, it needs another side to it.”
He nods emphatically. “Yes. It does.”
“Is this the chorus?” I ask, pointing to the repetitive lines. Honestly, they feel like they could almost be part of the bridge, but there isn’t a real chorus to this. It’s a bit disjointed. The words mean different things in different places. But I want the chorus to slay listeners to pieces. To rip them to shreds. This song has that potential. Everyone thinks music lyrics must rhyme, but it’s more about the timing and spacing of the words, especially when paired with the complementary notes.
That might be something he and I work on.
“I don’t know, babe. I might leave that for you to figure out. Jasper is the poet, I’m the music and that’s just how our shit goes. I never know from verses or bridges or choruses until we work that out together with it all in front of us. I’ve never done something like this before without him.”
I have to wonder how much Jasper and the rest of the band will be involved with this song or if this is a solo that Gus will put out instead of being on a Wild Minds album.
“Can you give me whatever is missing?”
Can I?
I swallow a world of shit down and say, “Yes. I can.” Because writing is in my blood. So is creating music. And I can already hear and feel things about this song. It’s coming to life in my head. A brewing storm. A percolating thought. A flurry of disjointed words and sound.
A smile illuminates his face. And with it comes some burgeoning hope. Some swell of exuberance. Some hint of…life. Not of tragedy. Is this song going to hurt? Fuck yeah, it will. But that’s not what it’s about. It’s about starting again. About rebirth and refitting yourself after you’ve lost all your pieces.
At least that’s how I’m going to sell it to myself.
He emits a small chuckle, leaning forward as far as the table between us allows. His eyes sear into mine, smoldering charcoal with a hint of mischief. “As much as I’m desperate for you to say yes, suddenly, there’s a part of me that wants you to say no.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Why’s that?”
“If you say yes, it’s like we said. I officially cannot hit on you? No awesome sex between us.”
“I don’t remember anything about awesome sex. Just meaningless intercourse.”
He grins like the devil. “I can’t imagine anything between us ever being meaningless. It could never be just intercourse.”
A nervous bubble of energy pools low in my belly, and I can’t stop the smile as it blooms across my face. I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “That alone is reason for me to say yes to the song.”
He laughs louder now, shaking his head. “That’s such crap. We all know you want me.”
“Sure. Yeah. Especially when your arrogance is so appealing.” I roll my eyes dramatically, and he grins smugly in return. “Knock it off. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me again.”
“I can’t help it if your reaction to the simple suggestion of sex between us is the greatest thing ever. Have you seen the way you blush, babe? It’s fucking gorgeous.”
Ignoring everything else that he just said, I ask, “Do I strike you as the babe type?”
“I don’t know. You’re as dark and beautiful as they come. Deep cerulean blue.” His eyes meet mine. “Fire red.” My lips. “Rose gold.” My cheeks. “Delicious espresso.” My hair. “A babe you most definitely are. But if you don’t like that particular term of endearment, I have a lot of material to work with.”
“Gus,” I warn.
He groans playfully. “Professional only?” I nod. “Shit.” He laughs, rubbing at his jaw. “Does this make us friends?”
I grin at that. Kinda big and bright. Being friends with Gus almost feels like a joke when I need it to be anything but. Attraction is funny that way. Doesn’t change the facts as they are. “I suppose it does. Can you live with that or should I get up and walk now?”
“Killjoy,” he grumbles, and I laugh. “I can live with that, friend. Does that mean you’re saying yes?”
“It’s not so simple, friend. We need to discuss expectations.”
He eyes me warily. “Such as?”
“Such as, I’m not going on tour with you.”
“We’re not going on tour for a while. The last one took a toll on all of us, and with Viola being pregnant, I can’t imagine us going anywhere anytime soon.”
Well, that’s a relief.
“So, it’s simply writing and recording?”
He tosses his hands up helplessly. “I can’t make that promise for the future. I have no idea if we’ll ever be asked to perform live somewhere. If we’ll do a random show and want you to be there to sing it with us. But for now, I’m asking you to work on this song with me. To help me write some more to it because clearly writing isn’t my thing, and to sing it with me.”
I don’t know about writing not being his thing. I think he sells himself short on that.