I strummed the last chord and looked across the open studio to the glass. Carl stood with his hands at his hips as the producer moved left to right across a massive soundboard that he used to tweak and perfect the sound and the song.

I waited a few seconds and when Carl gave me the okay sign, I took the guitar off and leaned it against the amp. Gazing around the studio, I knew the list of bands that had recorded in here. Yet I was there for another quick session to lay down some guitar tracks for some artist that some record label was going to try and launch. That was on top of writing a few songs with a few bigger names in music, which could possibly produce some paychecks for me.

All in all, I was doing exactly what I was meant to do. I was playing music. I was getting paid to play music. More than that, I had distance from everything that weighed me down. That may have been the wrong thing to think, but it was the truth. I thought about Rose every single day. I had talked to her several times too. I didn’t just up and leave and leave her with a broken heart again. Well, her heart may have been broken, but I was trying my best not to keep it broken.

I went from the bright and open studio into the darker room where the producer was still touching things up. Adding my guitar parts where he wanted them in the song that played through the speakers. I could picture teenage kids listening to this on the radio, thinking about their boyfriend or girlfriend. Not exactly the rock star dream I once had, but it was better than sitting in the basement of that old church now coffeehouse giving out guitar lessons.

“How are we doing?” I asked.

“Perfect,” Carl said. “We’re going to let Bryan here do his magic and see where we end up.”

“I’m going to take a break then,” I said.

“I’ll join you,” Carl said. He pointed at me and winked. He clamped a hand to Bryan’s shoulder. “You good here?”

“Fine,” Bryan said without looking up. He turned to face a stack of computers.

I shook my head. I understood how this all worked. But in some way, I felt like it was all cheating and processed.

Carl patted my back and we exited the studio.

Outside, the midday sun blasted on my face. I put my head back and soaked it in. It had been just one recording session after another. Day in and day out. Writing songs. Presenting them to Carl to give me an idea of what was good and bad. Taking them to the studio. Sending them to the labels. Having executives call Carl at the last second, looking for a guitarist to play a set.

I had been living in a glorified hotel room since getting there… what, ten weeks now? Maybe longer. I hadn’t looked at a calendar. I didn’t give a shit about dates and time. Carl told me where to be and how long to be there. When I was alone, I drank too much and wrote more songs than I told Carl I actually did. There were just some songs I would never let go…

Hey Rose, I want to hear your voice, just one more time. I know you’re mad at me. I’m mad at myself.

“Here, have one,” Carl said.

I looked at the pack of smokes and nodded. I plucked one from the pack and lit it up. I replaced one addiction with another. I remember when I used to smoke in high school to look cool. Then I quit. Then I started again. And promised myself I would cut back slowly, no matter what. Now, it was just a normal routine for me. I couldn’t get to Rose and taste her sweet lips and something sweeter elsewhere on her body. So I smoked like a damn fool.

“That’s going well,” Carl said. “It’s bullshit.”

“Whatever,” I said.

“Your elevator music pitch idea is going to work,” Carl said. “Those first four tracks are getting noticed now. It’s different. An all music sound. Good news with that is you could record that anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

“Unless you plan on living here,” Carl said. “Which I’ve said to do for years.” He took a drag and turned his head, blowing smoke. “I mean, look at this fucking place. It’s forever summer. Bikinis everywhere. The ocean at the end of every fucking sidewalk. I mean, Christ, Foster, what the fuck could keep you from this place?”

“Nothing,” I said without thinking her name.

“You’ve been hesitant for years.”

“Family issues,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Carl nodded. “Right. Every rock star has his demons. I get that.”

“Carl. Go make some phone calls. Make me money. You’re not my friend. You’re not my therapist.”

His eyes widened. He stuck the cigarette between his teeth. “Right.” He reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. He spit the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. “Here. This is an advance on three of the songs you recorded. They were accepted and will be used on two future albums. Two are slated to be radio pushed hits. Which is big airtime and bigger money. This should at least get you started.”

I took the envelope and waited for Carl to leave before looking at the check inside.

When I looked, I turned my head. I did a double-check to make sure my eyes hadn’t been lying. They weren’t. It was a good feeling to see a comma on the check. But I knew that there could have been two commas on that check and it still wouldn’t have given me what I wanted.

I folded the envelope and stuck it in my back pocket. I leaned against the building and tried to enjoy my smoke. It tasted like shit though. No matter how many of them I smoked, they never tasted good. I held the smoke out and watched it slowly burn. I dropped it and stepped on it. I told myself it was my last one.

My track record with breaking bad habits was not good.

I walked to the door and started to open it but stopped. I looked over my shoulder and thought about everything Carl had said to me. From the day I had the chance to meet him, he wanted me on the west coast. He tried selling it to me every damn time we talked. And he was right. The weather. The women. The feel. I had been there for a short while and I fit right in. I played guitar every day. I got paid. I hadn’t gone out and enjoyed the scenery and the life, yet.

“Soon,” I whispered.

It was coming down to the point where I had to make my final decision to stay or leave. Staying meant a whole new life for me. Leaving meant going back to everything that left me empty. Casually bumping into Rose again, wondering when things would build up to the point where we would end up in bed, dusting off old feelings, waiting for new heartache. Or dealing with my father. Or my brother, Rhett.

Christ, my brother.

I spoke to Rhett a couple times. I made it clear I was out here working. I promised him that we would figure out who we were. Lucky for him he was connecting with our old man. It was a shock the old man wasn’t in jail, but if me being gone meant he stayed out of jail, Rhett had a father, and Rose could find happiness, then it was worth it. Then again, I wasn’t living in hell. At least on the outside I wasn’t.

My phone started to ring and I let the door handle go. I pulled my phone from my front pocket and looked at the screen.

I gritted my teeth.

Rose.

She would call at the most random times to talk about the most random things. As though she had something on the tip of her tongue and couldn’t say it. Funny part was, all she had to do was say she loved me and I would probably rip up the check in my pocket and fly back to her.

I laughed.

I put the phone in my pocket.

I didn’t feel like talking.

It was better this way.

Eventually Rose would stop calling. Eventually I would become a distant memory.

It wasn’t like I left anything behind for her, right?