Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,35

were eight we had been living in a group home, and he'd been the shit head who picked a fight. We beat each other senseless, but when it was time to take the fall, neither of us was willing to throw the other under the bus. It was the first time in my life someone had my back and I never forgot it.

We were separated a year later, tossed into separate foster homes that got progressively worse. But for that six months, we had each other. We weren't so fucking alone.

We were miserable little shits the world didn't want, but we were fucking happy.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding and nod at him. "Thanks, Scott."

***

The crowd is high on the music. Scott played through our first set, setting the tone and getting them riled up with anthem after anthem, an ode to the summer that is fading away. Lindsay is swaying in the corner booth, next to a pale Peyton in a tiny dress that's driving me to distraction. She's got a drink in front of her, but she hasn't touched it.

Scott flicks a look at me when the song ends and his eyebrow lifts in question. I nod, and hit the cymbals. The girls on the dance floor sway and scream, and he laughs, a low, husky noise that will have them squirming in their skirts.

Fucking player. If he's not careful, Lindsay will rip his balls off and feed them to him.

I laugh at that thought.

“We’ve got a treat for you tonight. My boy Rike has been working on a new song. Most of the time, he lets me do the singing, but I think it’s time to remind you all that the boy has mad skills that don’t involve the sticks. So. Give it up, ladies. Rike it’s all you, brother.”

I come out from behind the drum set and Scott wraps me in a quick, rough hug. “Kick ass, bro,” he mutters before dropping off the stage.

I let out a breath, and sink onto the stool. Adjust the mic. I can feel the entire room, all of them waiting for me to say something. Anything. But I can’t see past the glare of the house lights.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to see to know where she is and that she’s watching me with big, sky blue eyes. I close my eyes, picturing her.

And I sing.

I’ve always been good at creating and shit at saying what I feel. Maybe because of how I was raised. But tonight, I’m trying my best to let go of that.

Perfect girl,

She sits and listens,

And I can’t help but see everything that she’s hiding.

She’s beautiful and broken,

Tears she tries to hide,

And I can’t help but wonder what’s on the inside

You’re broken and lovely,

Fire and ice,

And holding you is painful,

But the payoff is worth the price,

Because you’re everything to me,

Yes, you’re everything to me,

Perfect girl.

Everyone said she was wrong,

When she danced to a song only she heard,

And I just want to sing along to the music of her soul,

Because she’s beautiful and broken, with the tears she tries to hide.

You’re broken and lovely,

Fire and ice,

And holding you is painful,

But the payoff is worth the price,

Because you’re everything to me,

Yes, you’re everything to me,

Perfect girl.

And all of us are broken, all of us are flawed,

All of us have battles, and times when we fall.

And I will love you always, with scars and broken heart,

You’re beautiful and broken, my perfect girl.

You’re broken and lovely,

Fire and ice,

And holding you is painful,

But the payoff is worth the price,

Because you’re everything to me,

Yes, you’re everything to me,

Perfect girl.

I strum the final notes of the song and as the music dies, I’m aware, painfully aware, of the quiet that surrounds me, a heavy blanket over the bar. I blink, opening my eyes and staring out into the room, to where I know she is.

The room comes alive like a fucking wave, a roar of noise that crests over me and drowns out Scott as he bounds onto the stage and shoves my hand up, yelling my name for the half-drunk fans who already know it.

I give a mocking half-bow because it’s expected, and he shoves be back to my drum kit, his eyes alive with excitement. I sit, dizzy suddenly. Exhausted.

I poured fucking everything into that song.

When I glance at the booth, my heart drops, the high of the song, and the crowd, and even Scotty, fading away. It’s like a punch to the gut.

She’s not there.

Chapter 16: