Punk 57
Page 103

“I just got you.”
“And I don’t want you holding back because of me.”
I slide my hands up the back of her shirt, savoring her warm, smooth skin.
“We’re going to have everything we want,” she tells me, laying down the law. “That’s the only way I want this with you. If you go, and you don’t like it, come home. If you do like it, I’ll be waiting when you’re done.”
I can feel my nerves firing, and I don’t know how to deal with this. I’d rather not think about it today at all.
Would I like to drive around in an old rented bus and play some music this summer? Maybe. That was the plan up until February.
But now I have Ryen, and I can’t imagine not seeing her every day. I don’t see the goddamn point of wasting a minute without her in it. I won’t be happier just because I have the music.
But she’s right. She’s going off to college, and although I can, too, it won’t be the same school. I could go with her, but…I can’t follow her. We both need our own work someday, a way to be fulfilled.
“If you don’t try,” she says, “you’ll wonder later if you should’ve. Don’t put that guilt on me.”
I give a weak laugh. Geez, punch me in the nuts, why don’t you?
“If I do this, I have a condition of my own,” I tell her, looking up into her eyes. “I want you to write a letter.”
She breaks out in a gigantic smile. “A letter? I’ll write you more than one while you’re gone.”
“Not to me.” I shake my head. “Delilah.”
Her face instantly falls. I can tell the prospect of facing that demon unnerves her.
“She left Falcon’s Well in sixth grade. I wouldn’t even know where she is now.”
“I’m sure she’s just a Google search away.” Which she knows. She’s just looking for an excuse to not face it.
She turns her head away, biding time, but I nudge her chin back to me again.
“What if she doesn’t even remember me?” she asks. “What if it was no big deal to her, and she thinks I’m an idiot for still dwelling on it?”
I hood my eyes. “Any more excuses or are you done?”
“Okay,” she bursts out like a child. “I’ll do it. You’re right.”
“Good.” And I flip her over onto her back and pin her down again. “Now get undressed. I need to make up for lost time while I’m away.”
“What?” she argues as I pull her shirt over her head. “You make up for lost time when you get back!”
“Yeah. We can do that, too.”
Five Years Later…
“Ryen!” I hear my name being called. “Ryen, come on!”
I shake my head, amused as I step up onto the curb in front my apartment building. Delcour’s doorman is already poised with the door open for me to make my escape.
“No, Bill,” I say to the reporter from the Times as he and a few photographers rush up to me, cutting into my space.
I try to veer around them, but they’re everywhere. I push through them.
“An Oscar nomination for Best Original Song?” Bill Winthrop holds up a recorder in front of me. “You have to be pleased. He has to have something to say! Come on.”
“He’s in the writing cave,” I say, making my way to the door. “I told you that before.”
I turn around, giving him and the other guys who’ve been camped out here forever a bored look. “Really, you’ve been out here for months. Take the night off. Go get a date.”
Some of the reporters and photographers laugh, and shots from their cameras go off around me.
“Yes, it’s been months since anyone’s seen him,” Bill chides. “How do we know he’s still alive?”
I cock my head and put my hands on my hips, making my now-visible pregnant belly more apparent. Obviously, Misha is well enough to do this, right?
I hear laughter break out again.
“You know Misha likes his privacy,” I point out.
“Will he be at the awards?”
“Not if he can help it.” And I turn, heading into the building.
“You’re impossible!” I hear Bill’s frustrated shout and don’t even bother to hide my smile.
“I love you, too!” I call over my shoulder.
Really, that has to be the most tedious job. Waiting around to see if Misha leaves to go get coffee or pick out a new pair of shoes. It won’t last forever, but my husband would rather avoid attention at all costs. I guess that just makes him more alluring and mysterious, though. I think they even created an app, Spot Misha Lare, like it’s frickin’ Pokemon Go or something.
I can understand the desire for him, though. He ended up joining me at Cornell for college after his summer tour, saying that his opportunities could wait. We had one life, and he refused to do anything more without me at his side. He’d wait.
I’d been worried he’d miss out on some big chance, but Misha knows who he is and what he wants.
And he was right. It wasn’t long after college before he reformed Cipher Core, all the original members back, and they began racking up the awards and tour dates.
It’s been a hell of a ride, and it’s just starting.
I walk through the lobby, spotting Rika passing by the front desk.
“Hey, how are you?” she asks, carrying a duffel bag.