Stella Fellowes

When it comes to musicians, they’re passionate about more than just the music. They’re passionate about everything from the people who surround them, to love, to breathing, living life to the fullest, snorting, creating, demolishing. Nothing was done with less than his full effort, including our demise.

Sitting in the driveway, I put the car in park and cut the headlights. It’s been a long day at work, so talking with him this morning feels like it was a long time ago. I leave the car on, letting the song play out. I shouldn’t even be listening to The Crow Brothers, but their music was always so damn good. I know all the old songs by heart. Still.

It’s as if their music is ingrained in my heart just like Rivers East Crow is. I wish I were strong enough to turn off the car and end the songs before the album finishes, but like all those years ago, I’m still weak to it . . . defenseless against him.

Seeing him standing in the rain waiting for me brought back all the feelings I worked so hard to bury. I wanted to run to him, jump into his arms, and forgive him. But I lost him and my best friend all in one swoop. How do I move past that?

Rivers and I were inseparable from the moment we met. We changed a lot in those years—together and separately, but I always thought we were soul mates, each other’s one and only, soldiers for true love.

At seventeen, his mother’s death shook our once solid foundation. While he fell apart, I tried to hold us together. I chose to love him through his pain, love him so hard in hopes of healing him again because it didn’t matter how far he fell, I knew where his love lay. With me. But somewhere along the way, I lost myself. Young love does that, overshadows all else. He was my world, and I refused to lose him to partying, drinking, drugs, and the fame he was gaining around Austin.

But I trusted too much, loved too hard, and held too tightly to the memories of what we used to be.

Now he’s back, looking more handsome than ever. I missed the slight wave to his hair from wearing ball caps. I missed the way I could see his emotions in the deep seas of his eyes, the rolling tides, and everything he tried to hide from the world. He could never hide from me. Those arms used to embrace me, protect me, but now, his hands were in his pockets as if he didn’t know how to act around me. I miss the rough touch of his calloused hands.

But why is he back?

A knock on my window startles me, and I scream, holding my hand to my chest. Brian. Shoot.

My other complication.

The downside of having a friend and coworker as your landlord? Some days, I don’t want to chitchat, but it feels like I have to because of who he is.

I turn off the car, and the music ends before I pop the door open. “Hey,” I say, getting out but not making eye contact, praying he doesn’t ask me what I was doing.

“Hey. What were you doing? You’ve been out here for a while.”

The door closes behind me, and I set the alarm while hurrying to the front door of the guesthouse. “Yeah, I thought I left something at school.”

His voice is right behind me as he matches my steps. “Did you?”

“No,” I say, keeping my eyes on the tile floors when I walk through the door. I hang the keys on the hook and maneuver farther inside. I stop to block the entrance, but he’s already standing in the doorway.

Concern weaves its way through the creases in his forehead, and worry is seen in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

My answer is greeted with a hard look before his expression softens. “I worry about you. You’re working a lot later these past few months.”

“I’ve been updating the class syllabus. We got a little off track during the benchmark testing.” I give a fake smile that hopefully passes his scrutiny. “We still have to cover everything.”

“Very true. The curriculum is set.” Brian’s hair is swept neatly to the side, his part perfectly in place like it was when he left for school this morning. His yellow button-down is wrinkle free and reeks of his job as a principal, successfully hiding any work he did today.

Looking at this man, a man who has been a good friend, I can’t help but compare him to another. His eyes are a pallid shade of Rivers’s soulful brown ones. I shake the comparison away.

This man who was once my school’s principal has become a friend, and he was there four months ago with a helping hand. “I have a guesthouse . . . until you get back on your feet again . . . reduced rent. It’s no trouble . . . it will be good to have some company . . .”

Wordlessly, he takes a step onto the welcome mat. “If you’re up for hanging out, I’m home tonight.” I’ve tried to keep my distance, careful not to lead him on. We’re coworkers—not roommates, not lovers, and not dating. Despite the clarity I’ve always tried to provide, he still looks at me with lingering hope.

“Thanks,” I say, pulling the door until it’s almost closed. “I’m going to take a long bath and get to bed early.”

“Sure. Sounds like a plan.” He starts back to his house. “Have a good night, Stella.”

“Have a good night.” I close the door and lock it before leaning against it and releasing a breath that seemed to be lodged in my throat all day.

Since school started, I’ve struggled to find my old routine. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Besides the issues with my family, my mind has been elsewhere, my thoughts touring with The Crow Brothers. It’s impossible to avoid them at this point. Would I be with them now had we stayed together?

No. Don’t go down that road. Too much water under that bridge. But I’ve missed them.

I never could have afforded to go to Jet’s wedding in California, but I couldn’t bring myself to reply to his wedding invitation either. No seemed so final and yes just wasn’t possible. After missing Jet’s wedding, I would see one gossip piece and lose hours in regret, brokenhearted all over again.

I came so close to texting Tulsa when I heard about him getting married. I miss my honorary little brother. But I couldn’t bear to be told about Rivers and couldn’t bring myself to smile on the outside even though I was happy for him. I don’t like to think of that time. It may have been the best time of his life, but it was my worst, just a month after being viol—

I wasn’t in a good place.

I’m still not.

It’s a period of my life that’s a black hole of nightmares I don’t want to get sucked back into.

I should be happy. My finances are finally getting back on track. I have a good job that I used to love and a nice place to live.

It starts to rain outside, and I move the curtain to the side to look out the window that faces Brian’s house. He’s looking out his kitchen window and waves. I send him a little wave, wishing I had the capacity to appreciate him. But I can’t. Not how he wants.

I had begun to believe that I had lost the ability to feel much more than dissatisfied and anxious. Those seem to have been the dominant emotions since . . . my throat squeezes, and my fingers tighten around the curtain. I force myself to remember that night months ago in hopes of eventually ridding the memories forever.

But when I saw Rivers, a rush of different emotions washed through me. I don’t know how I held myself together in front of him. Maybe I didn’t, but in a lot of ways, if for no other reason, I’m grateful for his return. It’s intoxicating to feel every nerve in my body again.

He’s not my salvation like he once was.

Rivers has moved on and succeeded.

Living life in the limelight.

Watching from afar, his new life suits him.

I let the curtain fall and lean against the wall. Sinking to the floor, I close my eyes and drop my head to my knees, withering while he thrives.