Desired (37 page)

BOOK: Desired

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Tom didn’t drive straight home. He detoured to the park nearest his house, parked his car, and walked for a while as the sky stained orange, then purple. He sat on a bench, watching two fat pigeons fight over a discarded coffee cup, and smoked nearly half a pack of cigarettes until his nervous energy had been replaced by a nicotine hum. Going home would mean facing Katie; it would mean
telling
Katie that he planned to leave, and then who would she call when she needed money, a ride, a trip to the emergency room? Going on tour would mean managing his business from the road, checking in with his managers and his staff regularly and letting go of the tight hold he’d kept on the bar since his father died.

But god, he wanted to make music again, and he wanted to make music with Emme. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good; maybe when he was twelve years old and J.R. had asked him to sit in with him on a set.

Inside his pocket, his cell phone buzzed again. It could be Katie, needing rescue. Or it could be Emme, with good news. He told himself his hands were trembling from nicotine overload and not desperation as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

YOU’RE IN, the message read.

How fucking long had it been, since he’d been part of anything? Since his life had looked like something other than just a repeat of his father’s days, without the warm numbness of alcohol to ease it along? Since he’d had a chance to feel optimistic—hell, to feel
anything
other than a sense of perpetual duty?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything just for himself. Maybe back before J.R. died. Certainly long before his father had died. Maybe not even then.

He slid his phone back into his jacket. Funny how those two words made everything feel just a little bit lighter.