Despite being worried about tomorrow’s flight to Kauai, today was supposed to be spent enjoying our last full day in Oahu while avoiding my anxious thoughts, but life had different plans for me.
From the moment I wake up, I’m a walking, talking disaster. First, I misplaced my favorite guitar pick, and then I ruined my outfit after my macchiato was introduced to my shirt.
Neither of those calamities compares to the third and final stroke of bad luck. Not even close.
Ava has clearly run out of good song ideas, which explains why she betrayed me one more time with her newest release.
Like a masochist, I replay Ava’s latest song for the fifth time before lying back on my bed. I tuck my tear-soaked pillow underneath my head, fold my legs into a fetal position, and shut my eyes.
“Silver Scars” was never meant to see the light of day, let alone shoot to the top of the music charts overnight, but I should have anticipated that Ava would pull one last killer blow.
Like a gunshot wound to the chest, I’m bleeding out, but no one is around to witness a part of my heart dying.
WILLOW
I had to talk myself out of committing murder since you haven’t been answering your phone.
WILLOW
According to the dark web, there are people you can contact for those kinds of jobs.
WILLOW
Their fees are a bit out of my budget, but who needs $200,000 anyway?
I lock my phone and stare up at the ceiling in an effort to keep the tears at bay. The air feels thinner, and I fight to fill my lungs with oxygen.
“Screw her and Darius,” I wheeze.
Having Ava release an album full of my stolen songs destroyed my whole world a year ago, but I thought I was healing from the betrayal and moving on.
Don’t let Ava get you down again.
I brush a finger across my thighs, tracing the outline of my scars. The midthigh tattoo that I begged my mom to let me get when I was only sixteen keeps me grounded and serves as an important reminder whenever I feel the urge to unleash my emotions on my body to make the ones in my head settle down.
This too shall pass.
The cursive writing always comforts me, helping me center myself.
I hate that whenever I feel like I’m moving on—that I’m finally making positive steps toward a better future—something drags me back into a dark pit of self-doubt and loathing.
Is this how Rafael feels? Because it’s terrible.
With a shaky finger, I outline my newest scar, which is only a year old. It’s one that always fills me with shame, because after years of therapy and positive coping strategies, I crashed from the heavy weight of my emotions and returned to unhealthy patterns I fought so damn hard to overcome.
Unlike the last time though, I don’t give into temptation. I even test myself by grabbing my razor from the bathroom, but I put it on the nightstand and there it remains, untouched and intact.
It’s just a song. You can always write another one, and she can never steal any of yours again.
Except it wasn’t just a song. It was the song. “Silver Scars” was my story to tell, not hers, which was why we both agreed to wipe the recordings and lyrics from the hard drive.
God. How could I have been so stupid and trusting? I should have double-checked the server to make sure Ava had deleted any record of it, but at the time, I believed her because she hadn’t betrayed me yet.
My phone buzzes again, but I can’t find the energy to check my messages, so I silence my notifications and cover my head with a pillow. It doesn’t take long for the tears to come again, and once they start, I can’t seem to stop them.
A faint knock five minutes later interrupts my sobs. My body turns to stone despite my brain screaming for me to run.
“Is everything okay?” Rafael’s question draws more tears.
Nope. “Yup!” My high pitch is painful to my own ears.
“You’ve been in there for a while.”
I will the tears to stop, but my eyes refuse to cooperate.
“I’m not feeling well today.” My voice cracks. “Maybe it’s best for me to stay away from you both, just in case it’s contagious.”
Great idea, Ellie. Isolate yourself from the people who could make you feel better. That’ll really make you happy.
He doesn’t pause before asking, “Is that why you got sick on the boat yesterday?”
“Maybe!”
“Do you need anything?”
“Nope.”
“I could get you medicine or—”
“I’m fine! Thanks for offering, though.” My voice sounds harsh to my own ears.
Stilted silence follows, and I pray Rafael leaves me alone and takes Nico down to the beach like we had originally planned. They should build sandcastles together and spend our last day in Honolulu having fun, not dealing with me, the human downer.
“Okay. Text me if you need anything.”
A relieved sigh follows. “Thank you.”
The door to the hotel suite shuts not too long after as Rafael and Nico leave me alone to wallow in my sadness.
Turns out Rafael isn’t the only one who hates themselves for trusting the wrong person.
I do too.
My pity party lasts all of one hour. Once my alarm goes off at the sixty-minute mark, I crawl out of bed, splash some water on my face, and call the one person who assured me they could help.
After speaking to both my mom and Willow about the subject, they both agreed that the best way to deal with a bully like Ava is to make them regret ever choosing me as their target in the first place.
Ava may be America’s sweetheart, but I found someone better.
Nashville’s bad boy, Cole Griffin.
While I don’t want to begin my working relationship with Cole on a bad note—pun not intended—I don’t have a choice. I’m done being an invisible footnote in someone else’s story. I deserve recognition for my work, even if it means facing one of my biggest fears and finally confronting Ava for all the hurt she has caused me.
It’s time for me to accept that I’ll never have a bright future if I’m always feeling like a victim of my past.
My phone lights up not ten minutes after I texted Cole to ask if we could talk.
“Hey,” Cole greets me with that drawl of his. “How are you doing?”
“Fine. You?”
“Hm.”
“What?”
“My sister taught me better than to take that particular word at face value.”
“You have a sister?”
He clears his throat. “Yes.”
“I had no idea.”
“My parents preferred to keep it that way.”
“Oh.” Oh? That’s all you can manage to say? Really?
Unfortunately, I’m emotionally tapped out and lacking any kind of people skills at the moment, so that’s the best Cole is going to get.
He chuckles to himself. “Anyway, talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Remember how you sent me the lawyer’s information?”
“Yeah.”
“I never called them,” I admit with a whisper.
“Why not?”
I struggle to get the words out. “I’m scared.”
“Fair enough, but you’re only asking for a meeting. It’s not like you have to move forward with anything if you don’t want to.”
“I know.” I fall back onto my bed.
“Do you want my advice?”
“Have you been through this kind of thing before?”
“Uh, no. I prefer to give people credit for their work and pay them well, so they want to partner with me again, but I’ve heard from others who weren’t as lucky.”
I frown. “At least I’m not alone.”
“No, but it goes against industry standards, so whoever made you believe differently deserves to be sued for every penny they’re worth.”
My shoulders slump. “Even if it ruins my career and reputation in the process?”
“Did you steal someone’s songs?”
“No!”
“Then you’re not the one who needs to worry. Ava does.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “But she’s so popular.” And I’m a nobody.
“Great. That means she should have had the funds to pay you for your work.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have a lot of evidence to prove—”
“You won’t need it.”
That surprises me. “No?”
“The chances of a case like that ever going to trial are slim.”
“Why?”
“Because Ava is most likely going to want to settle before word gets out and ruins her pristine good-girl image.”
I can’t help the deranged laugh that escapes me. “I spent the last year worried about going to court for nothing?”
“I said they most likely will want to settle. Not that they actually will.”
My confidence dies. “Oh.”
“But don’t worry about any of that yet. First things first, you need to get in contact with the lawyer.”
“I know.”
“Would it help if I set up a meeting for you?”
“You’d do that? For me?”
“Sure.”
My mouth drops open. “Why?”
“I like seeing good people win.”
“That’s altruistic of you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far…”
Laughing feels impossible given the heavy weight pressing against my chest, but I do smile. “Thanks for listening and offering to help. That’s really kind of you.”
“Thank me by writing a song for my next album?”
I don’t hesitate before answering. “Sure.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I like helping good people too.”
Cole has proven twice already that he isn’t the wild man the media makes him out to be, so it’s time I give him a chance.
“Great!” He sounds extremely excited by the idea.
“I’m going to play around with my guitar and a few ideas while I’m on vacation.”
“You’re not in town?”
“Nope. Hawaii.”
“Beautiful place. Maybe it will inspire you.”
I sigh. “We’ll see.”
“If it does, awesome, but if not, there’s no rush. Good music takes time.”
Let’s hope it doesn’t take too long because I don’t only want to write one song.
I want to write a whole comeback album.
