Page 43 of Every Shattered Note
Then I set her gently back in her case, fingers lingering on the worn wood like I’m afraid she’ll forget the music we made tonight if I let go too fast.I don’t latch the case right away.I just look at her, at the guitar that’s carried me through every version of myself, and wonder if she’ll be able to carry this one too.
Because this one—the part of me that’s thinking in her voice, aching in her tempo—feels fucking frightening.
Feels permanent.And permanent has never been my thing.
Never.
There’s something about this silence that unnerves me.
Something that feels like it could be the beginning of everything.
Or the place you wait, right before it all slips away.
She’s already a song in my head, and I know how this goes.
Every song that starts like this ends with a fall.
But maybe this time, I’ll let it.
ChapterEighteen
Dexter
Things are bad when Edgar Reznor—Eddie to me, media mogul to everyone else—calls you to his office without a hint of why.
After I hang up with him, I scoured the internet like a man bracing for disaster.I checked headlines, gossip sites, even that forum where someone once tracked me through the color of my shoelaces.
Then, because paranoia is my oldest companion, I stopped by the corner store and flipped through every tabloid on the shelf, fingers twitching as I searched for my own face.
Nothing.
No photos of me at the burger joint last night.No blurry shots of Aly smiling at me like I hadn’t just crawled out of my own grave.The silence is a relief—but it also leaves my nerves jangling like guitar strings tuned too tight.If this isn’t about publicity, then what the fuck is it?
When I get to EchoZone headquarters, Sue—the woman who’s managed Eddie’s entire life since he decided to become the media mogul—is behind the front desk.
I don’t even sit.“What the fuck did I do?”
She doesn’t look up.She just flips a page in the binder she’s annotating like a monk rewriting the Bible.“I didn’t even know he called you.”
“That’s not comforting.”
She shrugs.“Could be about the gala.”
I freeze.“Gala?”
Sue finally glances up, eyes twinkling.“Apparently, there’s a disaster happening with that new company he bought.Whitestone?Whit-something.Some issue with the entertainment.”
Entertainment?I’m so confused that I could just turn around and let him deal with his crazy.Though that wouldn’t be wise.As I’m about to ask some questions, the intercom crackles before.Eddie’s voice pours out of the speaker like he’s goddamn omniscient.“Sue, make sure Dexter comes to my office the second he arrives.”
I exhale hard enough to fog the glass door.“Tell him I’m already halfway there.”
I push open the door to Eddie’s office—and instantly spot Barret, Alec, and Roderick lounging like they’ve been summoned for a secret society meeting.My stomach unknots just a little.If they’re here, maybe I didn’t fuck up alone.
“You took your sweet time,” Eddie says without looking up from his desk, flipping through paperwork with the speed of a man who doesn’t have time for your shit.
“Some of us have jobs,” I shoot back.“You know—pretending not to be famous, hiding in plain sight, crafting anonymous melodies to avoid complete emotional ruin.”
Eddie lifts one brow.“Poetic.”
