New Beginnings by Cheryl Douglas Page A

pain and rage. He wanted to hurt her the way she was hurting him. It never occurred to him she was hurting as much, maybe more.
    He thought back to that day five years ago when he watched her walk out the door for the last time. Every hope and dream he had for his future left with her. He was broken, defeated, and lost. When the waitress knocked on the door to ask if she could bring him anything, he invited her inside, needing a distraction from his dangerous thoughts. She was a nameless, faceless body to take away the pain. She was the first woman he’d been with since he laid eyes on Sierra more than a decade before.
    Unfortunately, losing himself in her hurt more than it helped. It made him realize there was nothing that could take away the pain, not a willing body, a double shot of Jack Daniels, or sold-out concert tour. The pain of losing her was always there, lurking just beneath the surface.
    Sierra slipped in beside him on the bench. “Are you okay?’
    He was not an emotional guy by nature; many said he was too strong, detached to a fault, but with this woman, he’d always bared his heart. “No, I’m not okay.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’m definitely not okay.”
    She put her hand on his knee. “Let’s start with that.” She grabbed a notepad and pen from the top of the piano. “Write about what you’re feeling.”
    He looked at the blank piece of paper, terrified. “I can’t.”
    “Yes, you can.” She stroked his back. “Okay, start by telling me what you’re thinking.”
    “I was thinking about the night you walked out on me,” he whispered, looking at the hand that rested on his knee. Her engagement ring winked back at him, reminding him that she now belonged to another man.
    “Go on.”
    “I was thinking about her.” He hated to say it, hated to remind her, but it was time for full disclosure.
    She withdrew her hand, resting it in her lap. “What about her?”
    “I don’t remember anything about her. I just remember how I was feeling when you walked out. I wanted something to take the pain away, so I turned to her.”
    She shifted her body until she was facing him. “Why didn’t you ever write about our break up?”
    He shook his head. “No way. It was too raw, too painful. I had to pretend I was fine with it. That was the only way I could go on.”
    “Maybe now’s the time to face it, together.” She picked up the pen and handed it to him.
    He scribbled the first thing that came to mind.
     
    Please, baby, just say you’ll give me one more chance.
     
    She glanced at him, refusing to meet his eyes. “That’s a good start. Keep writing. Don’t think about it. Just write.”
    She was right; he had been over thinking it, trying too hard to make it work.
     
    I’ll do anything to make up for the mistakes I’ve made.
     
    He wasn’t thinking about whether it fit, whether it was lyrical, whether it would strike a chord with fans. The only person he cared to impress was her. He was writing it for her, to her, about them. If it became a hit song, so be it. If it helped him get over his writer’s block, great. But if it helped him to win her back, that meant everything.
     
    I lie awake thinking about the past, the way it used to be.
     
    She looked at him, her eyes searching his.
    The time for empty promises had passed. Now, he had to show her how much she meant to him.
    He scribbled furiously, waiting for her reaction. It was like writing a letter to her, pouring his heart out as she watched, waited, critiqued.
     
    I can’t go on this way, living without you,
    Self-medicating, hating who I’ve become.
     
    She touched her fingertips against her lips to conceal the tremble. “Trey, I...”
    “Ssh.” He stroked the back of his left hand against her cheek. “I need to do this.”
    His hand poised over the paper, the words continued to flow effortlessly, as though they had been buried inside, waiting to be released.
     
    I know I haven’t been the man you needed me to