Smoke and Lyrics

by Holly Hall

  “So. Jenson,” Landon says after we’ve ordered another round. An hour in, and he still hasn’t warmed up to him.

  Jenson sits back and rests one ankle on his opposite knee, unbothered.

  “How’d you and my little cousin meet?”

  I shoot him a glare. He used the word “little” on purpose. Vindictive little—

  Jenson looks over at me fondly, and though he hasn’t touched me the entire time, other than the secretive press of our thighs under the table, my skin flushes scarlet. “Uhh, we just ran into each other, didn’t we?”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah. Just ran into each other at a bar near Broadway,” I say.

  “Interesting. Strange thing, you hanging out in the center of Nashville. I’m sure that can get chaotic.” With one hand loose around his glass and the other arm over the back of the booth, Landon appraises Jenson as if he’s an adversary.

  “I try not to, but my buddy owns a pretty chill place where I can keep my head down. We just happened to meet there one night.”

  “Let’s not use this occasion as an excuse to grill the guy we only just met,” Blake chides, and I snap my head around. I’m grateful for the distraction, but also on alert.

  “Occasion? Are you guys leaving the country again? Going to climb mountains or explore rainforests or something?” As a landscape photographer and travel buff, Landon is almost always taking Blake to some foreign place, sending back candids of them feeding monkeys in temples, or sunning themselves on an island in Thailand.

  “No. Well, not in the immediate future, but—” Blake fumbles with her hands in her lap and catches Landon’s gaze, and his tight expression melts into a smile, one he falls into easily when he looks at her. For a wandering heart, I’m envious of them. Then, I begin to catch on.

  “No,” I say, eyes widening, at the same time Blake pops a ring on her finger and waves it in front of my face.

  “We’re engaged!”

  “Oh my God!” Our squeals harmonize, and Jenson extends his glass across the table in a toast.

  “Wow, congratulations to both of you,” Jenson says.

  My mind reels with happiness and endless questions. “When? Where?” I ask, holding up Blake’s ring finger. The oval solitaire glints in the light, and from my left, I see Jenson glance at it and take a long chug of his beer.

  “We’re thinking next year in Bali!”

  Of course they are. It’s classic Landon Farrar.

  Jenson orders a celebratory round for us all, and Blake rehashes the proposal and the details of their upcoming wedding. I didn’t know it was possible for my heart to be filled with such joy, but it inflates inside me and I’m sure I’m glowing. After everything Landon’s been through, after what Blake’s been through, it’s really something to see them find happiness in each other. Each of their pain somehow healed the other’s. I guess love is weird that way.

  On the short walk back to my apartment, Blake loops her arm through mine and pulls me ahead, keeping up a steady stream of questioning about the lives of my roommates. I get that they’re entertaining, but I don’t know why the sudden interest. Until I see Landon and Jenson lagging. From the looks of it, Landon’s speaking and Jenson’s stone-faced, taking whatever Landon’s giving. I would be more worried about him if I didn’t think he could handle it, or if I thought my cousin didn’t have my best interests at heart. But Landon can see through bravado better than anyone, even me. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in hearing what he has to say about the smooth-talking musician who’s alarmingly good at figuring me out.

  Jenson

  Meeting Lindsey’s family came out of left field, but dinner was surprisingly comfortable. I didn’t feel like the real me was clawing the inside of my skin, begging to come out. They were all so close it was impossible not to meld seamlessly into their conversations. Even Landon and I came to a precarious understanding. It wasn’t stated explicitly, but I started to catch on that his no-nonsense body language and clipped words were just a show of protectiveness. I respect that. And although he’s reserved, clearly self-assured, and only speaks after each sentence is measured and carefully arranged, I think I understand him. The bald adoration I saw when he looked at Blake, and the interest he took in Lindsey’s work, told me what his words didn’t.

  So I’m not completely surprised when he pulls me aside and lets the girls walk ahead. Lindsey glances at me worriedly, but I catch a wicked gleam in her eye when Blake whispers something in her ear.

  Landon turns to me, affixing me with a pointed gaze. “I can’t figure out what exactly is going on with you and my cousin. The few times we’ve talked, she hasn’t mentioned you.”

  He’s straightforward, throwing words at me like darts, and when he pauses, I get the hint he’s waiting for an explanation. “Yeah, we’re not really dating.” I glance up ahead at Lindsey, who looks uncharacteristically unburdened, like she’s not carrying the weight of the day on her shoulders. Looking at her, I can’t stop the truth from coming out. “Not that I wouldn’t like to, believe me. She’s . . . something else. But I don’t think she’s interested in commitment. She’s too driven for that. I don’t think she’ll let anything distract her.”

  Landon smiles to himself, then forces his features into indifference. “You mean something, or else she’d never have introduced you to me. She knows how much of a dick I can be. I can’t tell you what that means, though. Whatever you are to her, I need you to do something for me.” He pauses again, brow furrowed, examining me like he hasn’t yet decided if I’ll measure up. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m stoked about this, because I’ve seen the headlines—all the fuss about you and whatever’s going on in your life—and I’m not sure I could rely on you to keep a houseplant alive. But you’ve seen her roommates. I don’t have anyone else to ask, so, here it is. I’m gonna need you to look after her. Legitimately watch her back. She’s the sister I never had, and against everyone’s advice, she came out here by herself for opportunities we don’t have back at home. I wouldn’t mind relocating temporarily, but as you can see, I’ve got my hands full.” He juts his chin toward Blake, who’s taking selfies with Lindsey on her phone as they walk.

  I nod, and it’s sincere. I’m a man chased by storm clouds; no matter where I go, the past will always be lurking overhead, dark and heavy. But she’s pure sunshine—unbearably bold, but warm nonetheless. I can look after her.

  “I can do that,” I say with a nod.

  Maybe the words are in vain. Maybe I believe that if I shelter her from everything else, she won’t notice I can’t save her from myself.

  Chapter 13

  Lindsey

  After hugs and last-minute congratulations are exchanged outside my building, Blake and Landon leave for their hotel, and Jenson takes off soon after. He doesn’t mention anything about my family, just that he enjoyed the night. And, amid the glow of merriment, he managed to secure a raincheck for our dinner, stating he still owes me Thai. How is a connoisseur of Thai like myself supposed to turn that down?

  With the goal in mind to spend the rest of the evening editing, I enter my room and see Anika’s still home. She’s in her bed with her laptop on her legs, but the expectant look she gives me says she isn’t paying any attention to whatever she’s working on. Predictably, she sets aside her laptop the moment I drop my bag on my bed.

  “What was that?” she asks, her voice insinuating.

  I hide my face behind my hair, pretending to take a closer look into my bag. “I just got home. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh yeah, is that what our friendship is now? I see. Does Jenson freaking King ring a bell?” There’s a nudge in my back, and I look over my shoulder to see her leg outstretched, poking me with a toe. That’s how small our room is. We’re practically within arm’s reach.

  “I photographed him,” I supply lamely.

  “You were with him the other day, weren’t you? Yeah, you were! Spill it. Is he still in love with his ex? Did
he take his shirt off? Is he the one you ditched us for that one night?”

  “Can we not?” I ask, but it’s a halfhearted attempt. She’s picked at a loose thread and now she’s intent on unraveling my secrets.

  “Step into my office,” she says. I slide my arms out of her jacket and toss it to her over my shoulder. “No. I don’t have time for you and your performance evaluations.”

  “But we haven’t had one in sooo long. I miss girl time. I’ve been working so much I’m beginning to think that all normal human interaction begins with ‘Hey, sugar tits, can you get me a Corona?’ ”

  I bite my lip, staunching a smile. Silence. Resist her.

  “Last time I had any fun was Crazy Town, and you didn’t even stick around long enough to see Lara’s dancing. You know how she gets—like one of those wind puppet things outside of the car lots.”

  I sigh. She isn’t wrong. Both employed in the hospitality industry, our schedules rarely line up for a night out. She’s the only friend I have here, including Lara and her wind-puppet dancing. As bad as it sounds, the extent of Lara’s usefulness is providing great stories that get us through our day-after hangovers.

  Anika must recognize my crumbling resolve, because she crawls onto the floor and slides her torso beneath her bed. All I can see are hips and legs coming from beneath the bed skirt. I drop to my hands and knees, lifting the fabric to join her.

  You’d never guess that beneath the ball-busting exterior, Anika is basically a ten-year-old. She lives in a constant state of ’90s nostalgia, watching cartoons like Recess late at night, listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers—which I can get behind—and eating macaroni shaped like cartoon characters. And beneath her bed is a whole solar system of green, glowy stars, moons, and planets stuck to the underside of her box spring. We used to come under here to discuss life and bitch about our roommates because we assumed the mattress would make it soundproof. Turns out Sebastian and Isaac could hear every word, but we haven’t stopped doing it.

  “Out with it,” she says from beside me.

  I roll over on my back, paging through the memories of the past few weeks. I’m not sure when exactly it happened, but I’m no longer surprised when he shows up at random moments anymore. In fact, I get a little thrill in my belly that I have someone to pick on. It’s instinctual to guard that vulnerability, the tiny chink in my armor, but this is Anika. I can say anything to her and it will make sense.

  “I like him.” The words rush out like they’ve been eager to escape.

  “Well, that’s obvious. He is fucking hot, and kind of famous.”

  “That’s what I hate. It’s so predictable. Move to Nashville, meet a musician, almost instantaneously fall for said musician despite all reason and sense, introduce musician to family, yadda yadda yadda.”

  She turns her head to look at me. “Literally none of that is predictable.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Wait, you said fall for him. Are you falling for him, Miss ‘I Don’t Have a Heart’?

  I grit my teeth. “That’s not what I said. I said it’d be predictable.”

  “It’s what you kind of said.”

  “He has issues.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “He has married issues. And rich musician issues.”

  “And you have intimacy issues.”

  I peg her with a glare. “I do not. My intimacy is all lubed up and ready to go, thank you very much. Intimacy issues,” I snort.

  “I don’t mean fucking, Lindsey. We share a bedroom. I’m well-aware of your physical capabilities. Remember Alex?”

  “You were supposed to be asleep that night.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “What were we talking about again?”

  “Your issues. You won’t let anyone in. It’s your schtick.” She says this decidedly, as if it’s a fact.

  “My what? And anyway, it would be pointless. We’re on two separate paths, we have different trajectories.”

  Her sigh is dramatic. “You like music, he likes music. And it’s obvious he likes you if he was ambushed by your family and didn’t freak. He keeps coming around. He wrote you a song—”

  “How do you know about the song?” I snap.

  “There’s a note on your bookshelf. I thought you saw it. Anyway, they’re lyrics.”

  I brush aside my irritation that she read something of mine—we are roommates, after all, and nothing in this place is sacred—and scoot out from under the bed. Sure enough, there’s a lined sheet of paper on top of my bookshelves, creased as if it’s been folded and unfolded a hundred times. Inked across most of it is slanted, half-cursive handwriting—an artist’s scrawl. It suits him.

  The words, though, are entirely new. It’s not the song he sang by the fire the other night. It’s something about a black heart coming to life. Just reading the words sparks something, a melody that dances across my skin. I can envision the beginning being slow and enchanting, before picking up and packing a punch during the final verse—the one where the heart finds a rhythm, a heartbeat. The symbolism is clear; he thinks of me as his revivor, in a way. The one who breathed life back into his dreams. I can’t imagine possessing that kind of power.

  Anika reads it over my shoulder, though I’m sure she knows the words by heart at this point. “It’s kind of intense.”

  “It is,” I agree.

  “It also kind of makes you sound like a complete badass.” She chuckles as if the thought is ridiculous, and I hear her bed creak when she plops down onto it again. “If only he knew that his fiery little temptress had a marshmallow heart.”

  I grab my pillow and chuck it at her, satisfied when it thumps against her head and sends her hair flying.

  “You know it’s true,” she chides, tossing it back.

  I don’t correct her. I know it’s true. And though I try to ignore it as much as I can, I can feel it softening every day.

  Jenson fucking King.

  “Mom, hi, what’s up?” I say breathlessly. The ringtone I set especially for her had me dropping everything to rush into the supply closet at work to answer. Four ceramic mugs came very close to being casualties.

  “Hi, honey. What are you doing, running?”

  “You know me, I don’t run. What’s up?”

  She sighs, and I hear a smile in it. Is that possible? “I try not to bother you too much, but I wanted to check in. How are things going?”

  I’m tackled by a wave of guilt when I think back to the last time we had a conversation that wasn’t over text. “Fine. Good. What about you? Any more news from your doctor?”

  “Oh, I’m not calling to talk about that. I want to hear what you’re up to.”

  I roll my eyes in exasperation. She’s living with an incurable illness, I don’t want to tell her about my struggles. “Just working. You know. Trying to get my stuff in front of more people.”

  “What about your work for the paper, how are you liking that?”

  I slump back against the shelves, bumping a box of flavored syrups. “It’s fine. Semi-regular work, which I guess is better than nothing. Nothing’s come of it, though.”

  I started freelancing for the local paper to get my name in front of as many eyes as possible. People like what’s familiar, and I want to stay relevant in their minds. This place is a cache of opportunity, if only I knew where to find it. I’d take almost anything outside of Craig’s influence.

  “But that’s a great start. Take advantage of those connections. Get your name in people’s mouths. I know you know these things.”

  “Yeah.” My tone is heavy with reluctance, and she catches on.

  “Aren’t you enjoying Nashville?”

  I tuck an unruly strand of hair behind my ear and drop my head back against the shelving. “Nashville, yes. What I’m doing is just very . . . domestic. I don’t want to get too comfortable. I came out here with a purpose, you know?”

  “I know. You’ll make it count, I have all the faith in the world
in you. Just take every chance you’re given and make the most of it, okay?”

  “I know. I promised you that.”

  “You did. Well, I’ll let you go, darling. I just wanted to make sure my favorite girl was doing okay. I could come visit, you know. Have Aunt Cathy come with me.”

  I swallow hard, craving her company but knowing the trouble it would be. “It’s okay. I’ll be home as soon as I can. You’ll let me know if anything changes?”

  “Of course. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  I emerge from the storage closet feeling wearier than I did before my phone rang. I should’ve guessed she’d have no desire to talk about her difficulties with multiple sclerosis, and I’m disappointed I don’t have any victories to celebrate with her. My mom is a doer, and she won’t let something like an autoimmune disease hold her back. But despite all her determination, she’s had to relinquish some control of her event-planning business, putting most of her focus on marketing and coordinating, and hiring help for some of the execution. Instead, episodes of numbness, falling, pain, bouts of fatigue, mild memory loss, and appointments with neurologists have all done their best to infringe on her active and vivacious life.

  I would worry less if she had someone looking out for her, namely my dad. But he left her. Six months after the diagnosis that would alter our lives, he abandoned her in her greatest time of need. Mom tries to defend him to me, but I won’t hear it. I’ve never seen failure like that. He’s the reason my example of unconditional love fell to pieces before my eyes. I haven’t seen him in five years.

  In addition to worrying over my mom, I’ve spent every waking minute this week either working at Rhythm or on my photography—editing, updating social media, and submitting photos to the paper. I don’t talk to Jenson for several days. Dinner with Blake and Landon went well, but I don’t know how to process it. It was by default that Jenson met my family. Still, I won’t forget the stolen glance over my shoulder, of Landon shaking Jenson’s hand before they left for the night. A handshake from Landon is like a Medal of Honor. He doesn’t mean to be so guarded, he’s just careful. He’s been taught not to expect people to stick around forever, and because of that, everyone who comes into his life and expects to stay has to earn a spot on his good list. Blake did the impossible. When he was so consumed by grief after the death of his fiancé, she did what no one expected and pulled him from the darkness.