It still baffled him that she had moved here to New York. She did it. Left Charleston, the place she had refused to give up just six months ago. Why couldn’t she have done so before? He slumped back in the chair, leaning his head against the wall behind him, and sighed. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? For me to move with you? Yes, it was exactly what he wanted, so why did he feel so torn?
Max burst through the door, interrupting his thoughts. “Awesome show!” He clapped his hands together. “I take it Benny’s on his way to the hospital?”
“Yeah.” Shawn nodded.
“Good. Lacey was panicking when she called me.”
Ollie sat up straight, glaring at Max. “Remind me why they changed the tour schedule and we have to leave first thing tomorrow morning? I had plans tonight.”
Max rolled his eyes. “To go drinking, right? It’s in your contract—nothing in excess, remember? Black Diamond doesn’t want its people giving them a bad—”
A brief knock sounded at the door. It opened a crack for a moment, then a woman’s head poked through.
“Um, hi,” she said awkwardly before stepping in. “There was a bit of a situation in the north lobby, but it’s taken care of now. Security wanted me to inform you.”
Max frowned. “A situation?”
“Yes, two girls tried to come backstage. They said they knew you guys, but security saw them out.”
Adam frowned, brows scrunching together, and he sat up. “One of them wasn’t named Kylie, was she?”
The woman adjusted her headset and cleared her throat. “Well, um, yes.”
He froze. The muscles in his legs tensed. Something clicked in his mind, the very last piece of a puzzle snapping into place as intuition took over. He had to find her. If he didn’t, he’d never see her again.
Shawn and Ollie glanced at him.
Without a second glance, he launched himself out of the chair, passed the woman, and sprinted through the doorway. He darted down the narrow backstage hallway and burst through the double doors and into the lobby.
A guard beside the door jumped. “Whoa there.”
Adam spun around, already out of breath—he should exercise more—and nearly yelled, “The two girls trying to get backstage, where did they go?” The words came quickly, all tumbling together.
“Out that door.” The guard nodded down the hall.
He mumbled thanks and rushed down the lobby, ignoring a few gaping stares from concertgoers. The exit door crashed against the wall as he flung it open and raced outside. Flashing marquees and car headlights lit up Times Square. The bitterly cold rain pelted him, freezing on his skin, soaking through his t-shirt, jeans, even into his shoes. Ignoring the cold, he paused to look around, glancing from face to face. Where was she? Frantically, he shoved his way through the unending flow of people around him. She could be anywhere. She could have already hailed a taxi or taken the subway. I’m about to lose her for good. His heart pounded while his skin prickled with gooseflesh. I can’t let it happen again. He wished he had said what was on his mind when they met for coffee a few days earlier—that he missed her, too, that he still didn’t regret saying he loved her.
But she was nowhere in sight.
He stopped. His arms went limp. His heart sank. Tears stung in his eyes. He’d lost her, lost the love of his life. She was gone. For good.
I screwed up.
Heaving a deep breath and with his eyes on the ground, he turned to head back inside. Every step felt stiff, his legs heavy.
Kylie was gone.
“Adam!”
It sounded faint, drowned by the constant buzz of city noise—honking cars and voices in the hammering rain. His stomach flipped, and he glanced around. No one was waving at him. Merely a crowd of people, all bustling about. Just as he turned to head back inside once more, it came again.
“Adam!”
There, on the other side of the street, past the passing vehicles and jaywalkers, stood Kylie. His expression lifted while his heart fluttered. He dashed into the street, dodging cars and ignoring the blaring horns and angry cusses from drivers.
“Kylie!” he called, leaping over a puddle and onto the sidewalk.
Her entire frame trembled. “I’m sorry,” she burst out, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Her wet bangs plastered to her temples, and rain dripped from the ends of her hair.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Kylie interrupted. Despite her shivering body, her tone was fierce. “I’m sorry I didn’t come with you when you left Charleston. I regretted it the moment I knew you’d be gone for good. You never gave up on me, but all I ever did was shut you out. I’m sorry. I was scared. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”
“See what sooner?” His eyes locked onto hers, studying their brightness—just as he remembered.
“How much you mean to me. So…thank you.”
He stared at her. Thanking him for what?
She smiled and shook her head. “For all the times you were there for me. For all the times you tried. That’s why I’m here trying. That’s why I left Charleston. I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing you again.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you, Adam.”
“Kylie,” he murmured, stepping toward her. His hands cradled her face. Even wet with the cold rain, her cheeks warmed under his palms as he leaned down to kiss her. She wound her arms around his neck, leaning into him. Gently pulling away, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you, and I’m glad you came.”
The months passed Kylie by in a blur while Adam was away. He sent pictures every day of passing scenery, of venues where they performed, or of himself being silly, blowing kisses or making faces. She gave up her studio apartment in Queens and moved into Adam’s Upper West Side loft. Enjoy New York while I’m gone, he had told her. So, she explored the city, took in the museums and Broadway shows, and tasted cuisines of all palettes; she learned to navigate the streets and subway system, and on rainy days had long phone calls with Cat.
On one Monday morning, after Adam had returned from the band’s tour, Kylie’s feet hit the floor earlier than usual. She showered and dressed—a blouse, blazer, and slacks—while Adam lay in bed.
“I’m just nervous,” she said, fighting a stray wisp of hair in the mirror.
A warm summer breeze blew through the open windows, the drapes around them fluttering. From the street below sounded car engines and city noise, all wafting in on the breeze. It had surprised Kylie how hot New York could get in July.
She finally gave up her battle and tied her hair in a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
“You’ll do fine,” Adam said, smiling as Kylie blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “You wouldn’t have gotten the job if they didn’t think you were qualified.”
“I know, but this is going to be completely different from the job in Charleston. And it’s been what, nine months since I quit Charleston Charm?”
She fidgeted with the lapels of her blazer, smoothing them, and cuffed the jacket sleeves. Turning to Adam, she held her arms out and raised her brow, giving a please-tell-me-I-look-fine sort of glance. He gave a thumbs-up.
She stepped to the side of the bed and sat on the edge, taking his hand. “It’s barely been a week since you’ve been home.”
“And I’ll still be here when you get home.” He took her hand, and she leaned down to kiss him.
Her heart thrilled at the thought.
About the Author
Skylar Wilson is a Contemporary Women’s Fiction and Contemporary Romance author, mental health blogger, and all around nerd. She is the owner and operator of The Lithium Writer, a blog dedicated to both the craft of writing and to mental health.
Her most important goal in her writing is to craft real, flawed people in her characters, ones whose experiences are those that everyone can relate to—the human experiences of hardship, loss, grief, joy, elation, and of being our own worst enemies. Although she began experiencing symptoms of Bipolar Disorder as
a teenager, Skylar was not properly diagnosed until 21. Her personal experiences with suicide, addiction, hospitalizations, and the turmoil of finding stability with an illness have lent themselves to her desire to show that we, as humans, are all struggling to find our place in this world.
Originally from Upstate New York, Skylar now lives in Upstate South Carolina with her husband and their dog. In addition to writing, she is a mental illness awareness and suicide prevention advocate. When not glued to her writing or with her nose in a book, she enjoys exploring coffee shops, watching movies with her husband, and hunting for antique books.
You can follow Skylar on:
https://thelithiumwriter.com
The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief Page 23