From The First Verse - M. Robinson Page 0,60
in my heart got bigger, the loneliness larger, the addiction stronger, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I may have been worth millions, but in my eyes, in my mind, in every crevice of my body, I was nothing. An empty shell, a hollow person, a man dead from the inside out.
The last time I’d seen Harley was when I broke her heart, and I hadn’t seen Jackson since he kicked my ass. Now there I was, back in our neck of the woods, striding my way down the stage with a guitar in my hands. Looking every bit the part of a famous rock star.
From my long blond hair to my grungy, grimy appearance, and bloodshot hazel eyes. High as fuck. Drunk as shit. A sorry excuse of a fuckin’ man.
It was the only way I could do this.
See her.
Them.
Harley’s chest was rising and falling with every step bringing me closer to her and the quarterback.
Ten steps.
Six.
Two.
One.
“Good evenin’, everyone,” I greeted over the speakers, hiding behind my music, my guitar, the reality of the world I’d created. “Congratulations on the big win, Panthers! I’m here to perform my latest song, titled, “My Very Best Friend.”
The one song I never wanted to sing was the one the record label pushed for the most.
Harley watched me with wide eyes. Her lips parted, hearing her song. The same one I created, sang, performed just for her.
Where we’d get lost in our own little world.
She was frozen in the seat, appearing to be caught in a spell by my voice. I swear I could feel her heart hammering through her chest. Her skin clamming up from the anticipation building deep within her.
I knew ’cuz I was experiencing the exact same thing.
I could feel Jackson’s temper looming as the familiar bluesy beat mixed in with a heavy metal tone started echoing off the walls. Combined with a unique sound no one ever heard before. The crowd started going wild as I strummed my guitar.
Harley hated me, but not nearly as much as I hated myself.
“There was a girl...”
Da na na na na na.
“And her name was...”
Da na na na na na.
She winced, not hearing her name where it usually was. The sudden hurt expression on her face ate me up inside, tearing me apart second by second as the song continued on. Feeling so fuckin’ helpless all at the hands of the piece of shit on stage.
Me.
I felt her...
Felt them.
My eyes locked with Jackson first and then her, singing, “She was the coolest girl.”
Da na na na na na.
Like the award-winning artist I was, I didn’t show an ounce of the pain I was experiencing by hurting her with this song.
“In all of the town.”
Da na na na na na.
The exact lyrics of Harley’s song played on. “With her bright blue eyes.”
Da na na na na na.
“And snarky fuckin’ mouth.”
Da na na na na na.
“She was my girl.”
Da na na na na na.
“No matter what.”
Da na na na na na.
“She’d always be...” I hummed.
Da na na na na na.
“My very best friend.”
Da na na na na na.
Her gaze fused with mine as if being pulled by a string.
Singing the last lyrics slow and edgy, I finished us off. “Now, forever, then.”
Da na na na na na.
With a heavy heart and a guilty conscience, I watched her leave out the banquet doors. Battling with the longing to go after her. Tell her how much I loved her. How much I’d always love her.
You don’t deserve her.
You never did.
“Thank you, everyone,” I turned and left.
As soon as I saw Jackson backstage, coming for me, I lifted a finger up in the air and signaled my bodyguards to stay where they were.
“Listen, man,” I declared, not wanting to start where we ended after our last encounter. “It was a contract thing. I couldn’t back out after I realized your team was in the Super Bowl—”
“So you knew we’d be here? You been following my career?”
“It’s kinda hard not to. We’re both in the limelight. Your face and name are known everywhere.”
“Cash! Cash! Over here!” fans shouted from behind us as my bodyguards worked crowd control. Cameras flashing from all directions, trying to get the perfect shot of us to spill their bullshit and twist whatever narrative they wanted outta this moment.
Tabloids would be losing their shit tomorrow. I could see the headlines now, “Jackson Pierce and Cash McGraw caught in a heated argument.”
I didn’t give a flying fuck. I was known for causing