Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

21. all the way down

[ 21 ]

ALL THE WAY DOWN

LENNON

“THIS IS ME TRYING” BY TAYLOR SWIFT

T oday marks six months.

Six months since the worst day of my life.

Six months since some idiot decided to get behind the wheel after a night of drinking and ripped the two most important people in my life right out from under me.

Six months of agonizing over every aspect of that day, wondering if there was anything I could do to prevent it. Maybe if I’d been paying just a bit more attention or waited a split second longer at the light, everything could’ve been avoided. My parents would still be alive, and the dirtbag who hit us probably would’ve just been charged with a DUI (if he was caught at all) and continue to drive drunk another day.

Six months of wishing it was me who died that day instead.

How is it that it feels like time has flown by and yet moved so slowly all at once?

My alarm blares as six-thirty rolls around, signalling it’s time for me to get up. But I’ve already been awake for hours, tossing and turning all night, unable to stop my mind from torturing me with the memory of my parents.

With a sigh, I roll over to shut off my alarm. I scroll through my phone, sending quick responses to my siblings, both of whom texted already to tell me if I need them today, just call.

I won’t, though, and they both know that.

I send a text to Isa, letting her know I won’t be available today, then call Jeremy and let him know the same. The last thing I want today is to be bothered by anyone, but I also know if I don’t let people know I’m at least alive, I’ll have them knocking down my door to make sure I’m okay.

After I hang up with Jeremy, I scroll through my contacts to make sure there isn’t anyone else I should inform. I still don’t have Baxter’s info—I’ve refused every time he’s asked to avoid any attachments—so even if I wanted to, I can’t let him know. Which is probably for the best. Besides, it’s not like we had plans to see each other today anyway.

So I shut off my phone completely and place it on my bedside table. Then I roll onto my back and watch my ceiling fan spin in circles as I try to force myself back to sleep.

It feels like an entire lifetime later when I wake up, startled by the pounding coming from my apartment door. It figures that even though I told everyone who needed to know I’d be out of reach today, one—or possibly all—of them still felt the need to come check on me.

It pays to have people who care about you and would notice if you went missing. But sometimes, it also really sucks.

I wrap a silk robe around myself as I pad my way to the entryway, the pounding intensifying with every step.

“Hold your fucking horses,” I mutter through a yawn as I swing the front door open. “I already told you, I’m fi?—”

My words are cut off when, instead of seeing Paige or Isa standing there like I expected, I find Baxter, dressed head-to-toe in dark clothing with a guitar case in his hand, his eyes perusing me like he’s a lion and I’m his prey. My jaw falls open as I meet his eyes, his brows furrowed.

“Hate to tell you this, Lenny girl, but you didn’t tell me shit.” He pushes past me, barging his way inside and taking in my apartment.

I let the door swing shut as I spin around, watching this big, dark man fill my small, light apartment.

“What the hell are you doing here, Baxter?” I cross my arms over my chest, pulling my robe tighter around me. I have sleep shorts and a tank under it, and Baxter’s definitely seen more of me than that, but him standing in my apartment is enough exposure for me for today.

“I went by your office, but clearly, no one was there.” He sets his guitar case on the floor, examining my living room and kitchen before turning back to face me. “So I checked in with Jeremy, and he told me you called in sick. Though, you don’t look sick. What gives?”

I scoff, shaking my head. “It’s none of your business?—”

“I’m making it my business, Lennon. I’m making everything about you my business now.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “And what if I won’t tell you?”

He brushes a loose piece of hair behind my ear, a smirk on his face. “I have ways of finding out. You and I both know that. So you may as well tell me yourself.”

I groan, rolling my eyes, and push past him further into my living room. This is the first time he’s been to my place, and having him here has me looking at my apartment with a new perspective.

From the entryway, a modern kitchen with white marble countertops and a two-seater island sits to my left. A small dining room sits across from it, and my living room is to my right. Just between the kitchen and dining room is a small hallway that leads to the four-piece bathroom and sole bedroom, which has a walk-in closet and is thankfully big enough for a king-size bed.

Overall it’s small, but it’s in a new, high-security building and is the perfect size for just me. It’s a gorgeous apartment, and part of what drew me here after leaving the place Nathan and I shared together was the view from my living room window—I’m wedged right between two skyscrapers and can see Lake Ontario from here—and the fact that it’s a two-block walk from Revolution.

Except as I take it in now, I flinch, because it’s currently a bit of a disaster. I don’t have company often, and when I do, it’s usually a man who’s too busy in bed with me to look around my place, or Isa, who doesn’t care about the state of my apartment.

I’m not typically a messy person; lately I just don’t care enough to clean regularly. But with Baxter here, I can’t help but judge myself for the state of it.

Takeout containers from this week litter my counter, and there are clothes strewn across the living room. It’s not necessarily dirty—I’m not that careless—but the mess in my apartment is a very accurate representation of the mess inside my head right now.

I let my shoulders sag as I turn to Baxter. “It’s been six months.” I hold my hands out to my side, a silent explanation as to why my apartment looks the way it does.

Why I look the way I do.

“Shit,” he whispers, understanding dawning on him. His shoulders and face fall as he runs a hand through his hair, averting his gaze. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, well…” I trail off with a shrug. An awkward silence fills the space around us momentarily before I’ve had enough. “So, you can go now.”

I storm into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and something to drink. When I turn around, he’s leaning against the island, his leather combat boots discarded by the door. At least he has the decency to remove his shoes .

“I’m not going anywhere, Lenny girl,” is all he says as he watches me with rapt attention. “Figure you could still use a distraction.”

“Baxter, I’m not in the mood for sex?—”

He shakes his head. “I know. Doesn’t mean we can’t still hangout.” He looks toward his guitar case and the baby grand piano that sits behind my couch.

The one I haven’t touched since before the accident.

The idea of today being the day I finally do again makes me feel sick to my stomach.

“Actually, it does.” I take a sip, leaning back against the counter. “We’re not having sex, and I’m not working today, which means no concert talk. And as per the rules we set last week, no casual hanging out.”

He ignores me with a smirk and reaches forward, grasping the glass from my hand. As he holds it to his lips, he flinches, getting a taste of its contents. “Vodka? At eleven a.m. on a Friday?”

“Today? You bet,” I snark, grabbing the glass back from him before I make my way around the opposite side of the kitchen island to sit on the couch. Clearly not getting the hint, he takes the seat next to me. I flick on the TV, pressing play on a rerun of One Tree Hill , as we both sit in silence.

The weight of his eyes on me makes my skin itch, and eventually I turn to him. “Why are you here? How did you even get my address?”

“I was worried about you.” My brows furrow as a hint of something that looks like sadness flashes in his navy pools. “And I got your address from Jeremy.”

With an eye roll, I huff a laugh. “Remind me to kick his ass on Monday.”

Baxter smirks as I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, his eyes tracking the movement. His eyes darken, and I know with absolute certainty that he wants to kiss me.

I almost let him .

But since we’re clearly already breaking one of the rules we set barely a week ago, I’m not about to break another. It’s bad enough he’s even here right now, because breaking one rule is the first step to breaking them all. I refuse to go back on my promise to myself to keep feelings out of it.

Especially not on a day like today, when my emotions are already heightened.

I tilt my head toward his guitar case. “What’s that for?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

Baxter chuckles. “Oh, yeah. Jeremy also told me exactly what you do at Revolution.” He shoots me a knowing look.

I swallow, a blush filling my cheeks. I really am going to kick his ass on Monday.

He knows I haven’t been writing. He’s the only one other than Isa I’ve told, seeing as it’s my literal job.

But he clearly didn’t share that part with Baxter, because the next words out of his mouth are, “Thought maybe you could help me work on some songs.” He leans over, grabbing his guitar out of the case, as I begin to shake my head. “I’ve had this rhythm stuck in my head for weeks now, but I can’t seem to find the lyr?—”

“No,” I rush out, standing and rounding the couch to try to put some distance between myself and both Baxter and music. “No, I can’t help you.”

“C’mon, Lennon. It’ll be fun.”

I shake my head, tears beginning to well in my eyes. I’m on the verge of a panic attack, my second one of the day, and of course , the absolute last person I need witnessing it won’t leave my goddamn apartment. “N-no. I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I stutter, my vision blurring as my heart rate picks up.

I don’t register Baxter moving to stand in front of me until his hands grip my biceps. With his forefinger, he tilts my chin up to make me look at him, but I can’t focus. My breathing accelerates, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath. I vaguely see Baxter’s lips moving, but I don’t hear a word he says as the ringing in my ears gets louder. The edges of my vision darken until I can’t see straight, fully unaware of what’s happening around me.

That’s when I feel Baxter pick me up, carrying me bridal-style back over to the couch. I hear a muffled, “I’ve got you, Lennon. You’re okay,” as he retakes his seat with me on his lap, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Then he just holds me there, putting pressure in all the right places to ground me, forcing me to slow my breathing.

He rubs soft circles on my back, two fingers pressed against my pulse point on my wrist. “Just breathe,” he whispers into my hair.

My fingers grip his leather jacket while my tears stain his black Henley, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just continues stroking my hair, whispering sweet nothings into my ear to calm me down. We stay like that until my heart rate finally steadies.

Once I feel like I can breathe again, I look up at him through tear-soaked lashes. “Thank y-you,” I whisper softly. “I’m…sorry you had to see that.”

“Shh, Lennon.” He presses a light kiss to my hair. “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry for whatever I said to trigger it.”

“It…it wasn’t you.” I shake my head against his chest. “It…um…” I sigh, trying to find the words I’ve been refusing to say out loud for months now. “I haven’t been able to write since that day. That’s why I didn’t tell you I’m a songwriter, too. Because I’m not so sure I am anymore.”

His eyes soften as he looks at me, pain streaked across his face, like he’s been here before. Like he’s the only person on the planet who knows how I feel.

And honestly, in this moment, it feels like he just might be.

“You will write again, Lennon.” He presses another soft kiss to my forehead, and this time, I let my eyes flutter shut. “That’s a promise.”