Heartache has the most annoying sound. It’s an echo. An echo of heartbeats stuck on a loop. But the good news was there was always a new sound to take its place. And I spent my days searching for it. After Ben returned from Nacogdoches, less one set of Ferrari drums, I forced myself to start searching for a new sound. I wanted out of the loop. I wanted to forget about my shitty three-month start in Austin, my sister, and the man who exiled himself from my life.
I got a job . . . as a waitress. Because short hours and good money were the only solutions when you had a full semester of credits to earn, which I did.
And as I walked through campus my first day at UT, a calm settled over me. It was the one thing that had gone according to plan. I felt safe. Even if Reid said it was an illusion.
I had to forgive music, and so I went all in.
My iPod was filled with nothing but aggression, and I stomped across campus on a mission.
I delivered frothy beers at the infamous Maggie Mae’s on 6th, killing two birds with one stone. I got to hear live music from the up and coming while I made money. It made sense. Everything was coming together, except for the jagged pieces of myself that rattled around in my chest like a noisy piece of costume jewelry.
Nate emailed me with good feedback on my columns and set up a date for us to meet at Speak to discuss my future.
He kept it professional, and I breathed out a sigh of relief when I wasn’t pressed for more.
Fall began despite the clinging summer temperatures.
Football season arrived, which meant better tips.
And Lexi and Ben fell in love.
Though I was powering through my life as planned, I was still in love with Reid Crowne.
And I fucking hated Dave Grohl.
Why? Because on every corner, I saw a scruffy-faced, ear-length, dark-haired guy with a T-shirt, jeans, and a metal chain wallet.
And my heart would stop.
And my throat would knot.
And I would shed a tear when the face, which wasn’t Reid’s, turned my way.
The Sergeants still played every week for money. And being the self-absorbed asshole I was, I couldn’t force myself to a single show. I took the low road, because it felt better to wither there.
Lexi was a lifesaver. She put up with my self-indulgent shit for weeks before she ever suggested we go out. My answer was no, and her consolation was Ben. It worked.
Life was marching on. It was as if he never existed. No one talked about him.
But I felt him. Embedded. Our seven minutes on a loop, our song cut short.
On the day I walked through the doors of Austin Speak, I was more determined than ever to forget my heart and follow the music. With a one-track mind, I greeted Sierra, who waved at me enthusiastically while she explained on the phone that Nate Butler was in a meeting. I had on new purple Converse with Eminem’s “Till I Collapse” lyrics scribbled all over the sides, but settled on a lightweight, black V-neck sweater and black slacks. I’d cut a few inches off my ornery hair and flattened it until it lay like silk over my shoulders. I was still resistant to makeup, aside from heavy mascara and lipstick.
“Hey, you,” Sierra greeted with a warm smile. “He’s expecting you. Good job, by the way. You made one hell of an impression on him.”
“Thanks.” Even though I knew that impression was questionable.
“Miss Emerson here to see you.”
Though I kept a straight face, I started to shake inside the minute Nate opened his office door. He gave me a smile and ushered me back.
Nerves firing off, I walked past the noisy desks and avid attention of those behind them until I reached the safety of his door.
Get a grip, Stella.
“Hello,” I said with a smile as Nate stood at his desk, looking me over with surprise before he smirked, satisfied when he saw the shoes.
“Good song.”
“The best.”
“Shut the door,” Nate said without further scrutiny. “Have a seat.”
I shut the door as he began typing furiously, a single earbud tucked discretely below his coppery, slicked back locks. Briefly, I wondered his flavor of music. He didn’t strike me as a rap guy, but edgy rock and roll didn’t exactly fit him, either. I bit my lip as he pounded away on his keys, his lashes dancing above his pronounced cheekbones. He seemed taller, broader, more. The man was larger than life, and as he looked over at me with paralyzing blue eyes, I had no doubts he knew it.
“Good job, Stella,” he said as he pushed away from his laptop and set his arms on his desk. “I mean that.”
“Thank you,” I said hoarsely then cleared my throat.
“Nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be,” he said with a wink. “I’ll buy them. You’re getting published. Have you fact checked all of this?”
My chest pounded, my stomach queasy as I hid my elation. “Yes.”
“No matter, I will want them checked again and reserve the right to the final draft, understood?” He pulled a folder from his desk and laid out a schedule. “You’ll be working with JJ. You two will share space with city events and entertainment. I will not break up fights between the two of you. Figure it out. Best story is always going to get picked, and Stella—” he paused, looking at me pointedly “—he’s good.”
Intimidation and elation was a shitty combo.
“But you can learn from him. Don’t declare him the enemy yet. He’s fair, and he’s been covering by himself since the paper started.”
“What does JJ stand for?”
“Never asked,” he said, furrowing his brows. “You okay? You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said, completely convincing us both that I was anything but.
He stared at me long and hard. “Stella, if you can’t handle this, tell me right now. Circulation is growing. I need to expand the section. Things have changed drastically since the last time you were in here. We’ve been able to add four pages.”
“I’m ready,” I said, finding my voice.
What the hell is wrong with you? This is your shot, take it. “I’m ready.”
“Okay, you’ll need to go over your schedule with JJ when you leave here. He’ll show you the ins and outs. I want you at a desk here once a week, one Saturday a month. Sierra will set you up with your paperwork up front. If you’re writing for money, this isn’t the job to take.”
“Understood.”
He clasped his hands together. “Where are you, Stella?”
“I’m here, Nate.”
“No,” he said as he stood and walked around his desk then leaned against it. “No, you aren’t.”
I met his eyes head on, though my confidence had wavered drastically since I’d walked through the front door. At that moment, with the beautiful man standing in front of me, practically offering me the world, I was choking. I glanced down at my shoes.
This is your moment.
I met Nate’s stare again. “I’m here.”
He was slow to smile. “Yeah,” he gave me a sexy wink. “Welcome back.”
He brushed past me, and I inhaled a whiff of his cologne.
“JJ,” he called from his office door.
A minute later, a lithe guy who looked a few years older than me popped his head in the door. “Sup?”
“This is Stella Emerson. She’s your new co.”
“Really?” he said as he looked me over. “Can she even get into the shows?”
I crossed my arms. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m covered.”
“Good,” he said as he took a better look at me and walked through the door. He was tall, well groomed, and dressed like he came straight from the prep school suburbs.
“What does JJ stand for?” I asked as we sized each other up.
“Jon Jon.”
Nate barked out a laugh as I glanced at him over my shoulder with a raised brow.
Nate and I shared a conspiratorial smile.
Eat him alive, Stella.
He’s so screwed.
Still, I knew better than to judge a person by their appearance. I’d been enlightened more than I cared to admit, especially in the past few months.
“Now you two kids have fun. I have shit to do,” Nate said as he plugged his earbud back in and started to type. JJ ducked out of the office, and I turned to face him. Thank you didn’t seem like enough, and as usual, whenever I tried to think of something clever, it never came.
“Shut the door,” Nate said with a budding twist of his lips.
I stood there awkwardly until I had no choice but to do his bidding.
“Where can I read you?”
I jumped as the question was barked at my back by none other than my new partner.
“I’m not published yet,” I said boldly. “I’m in the journalism program at UT.”
“You’re a student?”
“Shut the fuck up, Jon Jon,” Nate barked through the door. I bit my lips to hide my smile.
“Really,” JJ said with pure contempt. “Never worked anywhere?”
“No.”
His head dropped. “Intern?”
“No,” I said with a sigh.
JJ raised his brows. He wore too much gel in his caramel brown hair, and way too much body spray. His khaki’s looked ironed. I decided to heed Nate’s advice.
“Let’s go to a show tonight,” I suggested. “Let’s start that way.”
He looked me over skeptically before nodding his head. “Fine, but I’m covering movies.”
“Jon Jon, be nice,” Nate scolded behind the door.
Jon Jon rolled his eyes as I pulled him away from the office door with my offer. “Tonight, you pick the place. Give me your number.” I programmed it into my phone and texted him. “Text me where and what time.”
JJ scrutinized me again and smiled when he got to my shoes. “I’ll text you.”
Half of the staff was staring at me like I needed to be trapped, and I was fine with that because I’d just became a colleague and threat. I held my head high as I walked back to Sierra.
Just as I suspected, it was the music that brought JJ and me together. That night, he took me to a see a band called Score. We spent hours talking over coffee to sober up from the abundance of beers we had. Engaged in conversation, it was the first time I felt like I may be okay since my heart hit the pavement.