Oakley

I grip the phone so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break when it goes straight to voicemail again.

It’s been three days since I’ve seen or spoken to Bianca.

I’ve called her to no avail. I’ve shown up at her dorm, only to stand there talking to her door like a psycho because she won’t open it.

She wishes you a speedy recovery.

My father’s words burn like acid in my throat.

That detached response doesn’t sound like her at all.

Not when it comes to me, anyway.

Kind of like how I knew something wasn’t right when she called me Oak, because she’s the only person in my life who never shortens my name.

She uses all two syllables…like it’s important to her.

Trepidation slams into my chest. Maybe she had another memory?

“Stop fucking ghosting me,” I bark as I get off the elevator. And because I’m nearing the end of my rope I add, “I’m coming by later. Don’t think I won’t break your goddamn door down if you give me the shaft again. Because I motherfucking will.”

I’m growling the last part into the phone when the door to the studio opens.

Dylan’s eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling. “And this angry bear is my cousin Oakley.”

Some dude with a mohawk and glasses—who I can only assume must be Landon—laughs. “Well, he certainly has a way with words.”

I look at Dylan. “Have you spoken to Bianca lately?”

Dylan shakes her head. “Nope. I called a few times to check up on her, but she hasn’t picked up.”

On one hand, it’s good to know it’s not just me she’s ignoring.

But on the other? It means she’s shutting everyone out.

Dylan waves a hand. “I’m sure she just needs some time alone to deal with everything.”

Fuck that noise.

Dylan’s stare falls to my stomach. “How’s the stab wound?”

At that, Landon’s eyes widen.

“It’s fine.” Gripping the back of my neck I utter, “How’s Jace? He out of the slammer yet?”

“Yup. He got out the same night.” Her forehead creases. “Evidently, Stone isn’t pressing charges.”

That’s…interesting.

“Good.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

I decide to lay it on the line. “I appreciate what Jace did, but I’m not gonna suck his dick.”

Landon chokes on his drink.

“Trust me, no one expects you to suck his dick, Oak. He did you a solid because he knew you were protecting Bianca.” She shrugs. “And because deep down he still gives a shit about you.” She turns to Landon. “But enough about our drama. Landon, this is Oakley. Oakley, this is Landon Parker. The amazing musician I was telling you about.”

We give each other a pound.

I hadn’t planned on meeting him so soon, but given he’s only in town for a few days, it was now or never. Ergo, I took the day off.

“What up, man? I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

He nods. “Same here. Your poems are sick.”

Goddammit.

I turn to Dylan who’s shuffling her feet, looking anywhere but at me.

“Hand it over.”

Grumbling, she pulls my notebook out of her purse and slaps it in my hand. “Fine. But just so you know, I really love them.”

That does nothing to ease my nerves because I’m positive I’m not cut out for this shit.

Landon rubs his hands together. “Ready to make some music?”

Dylan grins. “And that’s my cue to let you two work your magic.” She must sense my uneasiness on her way out the door because she stops and grabs me by the shoulders. “You’ve got this, Oak. Even if you don’t write a single word, I’m still proud of you for stepping outside your comfort zone.” She smacks a kiss on my cheek. “Love you, butthead.”

“Ditto,” I grumble.

She gestures to Landon. “Take care of my boy.”

Landon raises his glass. “You got it, boss.”

The moment she leaves, Landon assesses me. “Do needles freak you out?”

Yeah, not what I was expecting him to say.

Then again, he is a musician, so I guess it’s not completely out of left field.

My chest coils and my palms begin to sweat. “I don’t fuck with drugs.”

And I know enough about myself to know I need to get the fuck out of here. Fast.

Landon blinks, noticeably confused. “I don’t mess with that stuff either.” He holds up a thick blue pen. “But I’m diabetic and have to take my insulin. Sometimes needles freak people out so I always ask first.”

And just like that, the ball of tension in my chest dissipates.

“Nah. It’s cool. Do what you gotta do.”

Nodding, he lifts up his shirt, pinches some skin on his stomach, and jabs the needle into his flesh.

“I’m in recovery,” I explain, feeling like an idiot for losing my shit before.

If there was any judgment from him, he doesn’t show it. “That’s awesome. How long?”

“One year, six months, and eight days.”

But who’s counting?

His smile is genuine. “Good for you.”

Since we’re exchanging medical info and shit, I disclose my own. “By the way, I have epilepsy. So, if you see me shaking and jerking, that’s not me attempting to twerk.”

Concern lines his face as he sits down at the piano. “Anything in particular you need me to do if you have a seizure?”

I shake my head. “Nah. I mean, it would be cool if you could make sure I don’t crack my head open, but sometimes shit happens. I won’t hold you accountable if it does.”

“Well, I’ll try my best to make sure it doesn’t,” he assures me with a half-hearted laugh.

His eyes scan the room, stopping on the guitar. “Do you have a preference? I can play either, but the piano is what I gravitate toward.”

Safe to say I feel like a fish out of water.

“I don’t really know. To be honest, this emo shit isn’t really my thing.”

Cue the awkwardness.

Making a face, he assesses me. “Dude, you’re looking at it all wrong. Chicks dig the raw emotion that comes from leaving parts of yourself in a song.” His lips curve. “Dudes, too.”

A couple years ago I would have used that to my advantage to score some pussy, but nowadays there’s only one pussy I give a fuck about.

“That might be true, but I’m not looking to get laid.” I take a seat next to him at the piano. “Not that I don’t like sex. Hell, I fucking love it, but…” I let my sentence fall by the wayside because I’m not used to being so candid with anyone.

Well, except her.

Landon raises an eyebrow. “But what?”

Fuck it. “Well, there’s this girl.”

His eyes lock on something in front of him. “Every great love song always starts with a girl.” He smirks. “Or a guy.” Dark eyebrows dance with humor. “Sometimes both at the same time.”

I’m not exactly sure what the fuck to make of that obscure statement. However, I soon connect the dots when I follow his line of sight to the picture frame on his piano.