Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (37 page)

WATCHING ASH WALK away is probably one of the most soul wrenching things I’ve ever had to do. His hands are tucked into his coat pockets pulling it tight across his back. His head is dropped down just a little as his shoulders slouch forward, and his walk, which usually holds a swagger looks more stiff than relaxed. Every part of me aches to run after him and beg him to stay.

But I had to do it.

His reaction when I asked about Juliet told me everything I needed to know. The muscles in his jaw ticked as he grit his teeth, his brow furrowed, and he immediately grew angry when I brought her up. He made me feel like I wasn’t allowed to talk about her. At all. How am I supposed to open myself up even more than I already have when he’s keeping secrets? Why didn’t he tell me about her? He should have over six weeks ago.

The elevator dings and Ash steps in. Not once does he glance back in my direction. As the door closes and it whisks him away, the silence in the hall surrounds me, mocking me.

He’s gone.

I’m alone.

And with him, he took my heart.

My teeth start chattering as the cold draft in the hallway settles in under my clothes, and big, fat tears roll down my cheeks as devastation sinks in. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish it wasn’t ending. I clench my hands and feel the gift. A gift he took the time to bring to me. Looking down, my heart leaps in my chest. It’s wrapped so prettily. I hug it to my chest, clinging to it as if it were him. Turning around, I walk back into the apartment and quietly close the door.

I didn’t think seeing him would feel like this, and I feel ruined. I mean, I hadn’t forgotten how handsome he is—I’ve been staring at his photos for weeks now—but seeing him in person, being sucked into his magnetism, no photo will ever do him justice. A hollowness moves into my chest and it makes me feel like I can’t breathe.

Tank circles my legs as we make our way back to my room. Even she was happy to see him, standing there wagging her tail. Traitor.

Sitting down on my bed, I hold the gift up to my nose and smell it. I know it’s irrational, but just to get a whiff of his cologne, something, would make me feel better. Only there’s nothing, just the smell of paper, so I lower it back to my lap.

Staring at the present, part of me doesn’t want to open it. I know that’s crazy, but if I leave it unopened, it’s like there is still unfinished business between the two of us . . . but deep down, I know I’m not ready for us to be over. The other part of me, however, is really excited to see what’s in the box. After all, he hand-delivered it. Maybe he was already in town, or maybe not, either way, he took the time to come here, and I do find that very,
very
endearing.

Gently shaking it, something hard hits the edges, and as curiosity wins out, I carefully slide the bow off as to not disrupt its shape and set it on the bed. My finger carefully slips under the edge of the paper to pull the tape free, but not rip it. The silver paper is thick, perfectly cut, and it’s beautiful.

I officially love silver because he picked this out for me.

Setting the paper next to the bow with trembling fingers, I grip the lid of the white box and my heart begins to pound. I can’t pinpoint why I’m so anxious to open this, but I am.

Lifting the lid, there sitting on top of red tissue paper is a letter folded in half with my name scribbled in his handwriting. My stomach squeezes. I wasn’t expecting a letter too.

Dear Ava,

I had hoped to be giving you this next week at the lake, but when I was honest with myself, I realized you were never going to come.

I’ve thought about all the different ways to give you this, I even tried to change my mind, but in the end, I really want you to have it.

Next to my family and my grandfather’s guitar, this is the only other thing in this world that holds any value to me. You shared parts of your inner world with me, and I want to share mine with you. This is the story of my life.

My grandfather brought this cheap notebook home one day just before he died. He said, “Every great musician has a place where they keep their thoughts and write their songs, and I thought this could be yours. Create the magic, kid, and show me what you’ve got.” He always did believe in me.

I’ve been writing in this notebook since I was thirteen. Every phase of my life has inspired different songs, from his death to meeting you, it’s all in here. Some we went on to record, and others we didn’t.

You once mentioned how the lyrics of the songs from the days of Blue Horizons meant something to you, and I’m hoping as you read between the verses and lines, you’ll find the heart of me, because I want to give it to you.

I’m not sure why you left, I wish you’d tell me why. For what it’s worth, I really wanted things to turn out differently.

Merry Christmas.

Love,

Ash

Oh my.

Staring at the letter, I read it again, taking in each word, and more tears swell and fall. This letter is perfect, this letter is for me, this letter is him. The guy I just let walk out of my life.

Biting my lip, I look at the wrapped book. I know what he’s giving me, and he’s right—as a musician and songwriter, that one place where you pour your heart out is one of the most important things in the world. It’s priceless and not something easily shared.

Tearing off the tissue paper, there in the middle of the box, is an old composition book that looks worn and full. It’s tied shut with a string, and under the string is a picture of us. It was taken at the benefit when we were dancing.

Untying the string, I lift up the 5x7 photo and absorb every detail. We look stunning, dressed in formal attire, but it’s more than that. It’s the way we’re standing so close together, looking at each other. It’s the way he’s kissing the back of my hand, so affectionately. It’s the love pouring out of his eyes as he regards me. It’s easy to see how the world latched on to the idea of us being a couple. We look enchanting and it’s hopeful.

Hope.

Not long after I moved to New York, I was walking down the street and as I passed a stationary store, there was a canvas print in the window that said, “Hope shines brightest in the darkest moments,” and I felt that was written just for me. I bought it and it hangs on the wall in my room.

Hopeful—that’s how Ash’s made me feel over the last six weeks.

Up until that weekend at the lake, I was fine with my life. I was content with my friends, the success of our career, and to me, it was pretty much perfect. But he came roaring in and showed me what was missing.

I’m not sure if I ever thought I could be with someone again. No one wants a damaged girl, or a girl they can’t touch. But Ash, he saw past all of it, and in those darkest moments, he was the light.

Doubt slips in under my skin and my stomach starts to ache. Maybe I’ve read him and this entire situation wrong. Maybe I jumped to conclusions when I should have been asking for an explanation. Maybe I made a mistake.

Pushing the uncertainty from my mind, I crawl under my covers with his black and white notebook and open the cover. There on the inside is a short inscription from his grandfather, and I run my fingers over the three little words that must have meant the world to him.

Page after page is filled with ideas, lyrics, musical notes, and songs. Some are complete, and some are fragments, but he’s right—it all tells the story of him. His handwriting, the depth of his words, the talent, it’s easy to see his personal as well as professional growth as the pages turn.

In many ways, people might think this is more like a diary or a journal, but really it’s so much more than that. These aren’t just words; they are his inner feelings all tied to a sound. A sound that isn’t just heard, but felt. Felt in the very soul of him and then shared with the world.

I love this book. Coffee stains, tears, and laughter, it’s all in here, and it’s all him.

I’m beyond speechless that he would give me this. Something so dear and irreplaceable. It speaks volumes about him, and it speaks volumes about how he truly feels about me.

Hope again blooms in my chest, whereas just a few minutes ago I thought it was withering and dying. Hope that maybe I’m not in this alone—that he feels what I feel—and hope that maybe everything will turn out all right.

Flipping to the end, I read over the last couple of pages. His words go from screaming desperation, which I assume was his mindset last summer, to finding peace, which I’d like to think is because of me. There are bits about soulmates, love, and even the beginnings of a song called “Blue to Blue.”

But it’s the last page that causes me to tremble. It’s the last page that takes my breath away. It’s the last page that finally tells me everything I need to know.

It’s a page titled “Be
.
”

And there in the middle are two words, and only two words . . .

Be mine.

THE NIGHT AFTER Ash dropped off his amazing gift, I sent him a text to tell him thank you and that I loved it. He didn’t respond, but the message did show it was received and read. It hurt that he was distancing himself and cutting me off, but I knew I’d done it to myself.

Not that I blame him. He’d tried to talk to me, but I never responded.

I decided to make a grand gesture and surprise him at the lake, but the holiday season had us so swamped with holiday party gigs, I couldn’t break away until so much later than I wanted, every minute ticking by so excruciatingly slowly. So here it is, Christmas Eve, and I’m finally landing in Asheville.

Winding my way through the mountains, the sun has just started to rise. Not that it can be seen—the sky is dark and gray. Flurries swirl around the car, and I’m grateful the roads have been cleared. I didn’t expect this much snow, but then again we are at a higher elevation.

Turning onto his driveway, I slow the car to take in a few deep breaths. Butterflies are awake and have apparently called in for reinforcements. They are fluttering through my stomach and causing it to ache. I don’t even know if he’s here, but several of his last texts had been inviting me, so I’d like to think he is.

Pulling up to the house, the first thing I notice is there are three vehicles. Warning bells start going off, but I put them aside and chalk it up to anticipatory anxiety. It’s a holiday, and he must have invited several people, not just me. I will not be afraid. I can do this.

His words . . .
Be mine
.

Climbing out of the car, I walk across the driveway toward the front door. The snow has picked up, becoming denser, making it hard to see through, and the ground is a mixture of gravel and ice.

I know it’s early and I probably shouldn’t ring the doorbell in fear of waking up the whole house, but if he’s sleeping, he might not hear me otherwise. I push the button and my heart starts racing.

Is he going to be happy to see me, or is he still mad? Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should have called him first. With my stomach aching and my hands sweating, the front door opens, and on eye level, brown eyes stare back at me.

Death of my heart.

There in the doorway, standing three feet away from me, is the girl who’s haunted my every dream, or I should say starred in every nightmare.

Juliet.

And she’s standing in slippers, little pajama shorts, and a guy’s button down pajama top. Her hair looks like she’s just crawled out of bed, and she has no makeup on. She’s beautiful and sexy. I couldn’t look like her if I tried. No wonder he asked her to marry him.

I am such an idiot.

My heart slams into my chest, and it’s so fierce it hurts. I don’t know why, but when I put this little scenario together in my mind, it never occurred to me she would be here.

I can’t breathe.

I think I’m going to be sick and my eyes blur.

Why is this happening to me?

“Hi,” she says, smiling timidly at me, pushing her brown hair off of her face.

Why is she smiling at me? Why isn’t she yelling at me?

And then her eyes drop and run over the length of me. I feel pushed, and I take a step back.