“Why?”
Caleb looked at his hands, his palms rough, fingers permanently callused, knuckles inked.
“Because I go…deep, when I get into it. I lose myself in it. And it’s the best feeling. This exalted sense of being wrapped in something bigger than myself. But now…now I’m—I don’t know how to do it and also keep myself separate from it. It’s like if I go deep, touch the places I went before, I’m not sure I can exist there straight, you know? So I’ve been…treading water, I guess. I can see the ocean but dig my toes into the sand. And when you do shit like try and get me into the studio? I know you meant well. But it’s like a fucking undertow, man. It’s one thing if I choose it, but you can’t be the one tugging me.”
I sank down beside him on the couch and slid one of my hands into his. I knew the feeling of going deep. Of knowing that if you let yourself actually go all the way, maybe you’d emerge changed.
“I understand. I won’t push. Or, pull—whichever is the bad one. Either one. I won’t do either. I just got excited before and I didn’t think. I’m really sorry.”
“I know that,” he said, tiredly. “I’m sorry I was rough with you. I, uh…panicked a bit, I guess. It hit at my pride, and apparently that’s something I’ve still got a heap of, despite everything.”
He squeezed my hand, then moved his hand to brush over my hair.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, so softly it was just breath.
“Okay. I missed you.” I leaned in to kiss him, just a brush of lips, and he rested his forehead against mine and looked at me for a while.
“I’ve been writing,” he said. “Just bits and pieces, but it was like after you left, there was this…I don’t know, ghost of a challenge in the air. This dare. Or maybe I was just scared as hell that I was losing my mind out here by myself again.”
I tilted my chin up so I could look at him. He had faraway eyes.
“I went to Rhys’s for a few days, but after that I knew Matt wanted me gone. Can’t blame him. I was a walking grouch, and Rhys and I kept butting heads about everything. That’s what we do. But Matty’s not like that. Sensitive, kind of. It gets under his skin, so I had to take off. And when I got back, I just…started working on some stuff, and I’ve been doing it ever since. Can’t sleep much.”
“Well, that’s great,” I said. “Because I’m fucking up left and right, so maybe you can help me. I’m crap without you.” It was a cheesy line. Even an emo band would’ve rejected it as a lyric. But it was true.
Caleb brushed his thumb to my eyebrow, my cheekbone, my lip.
“What’s up?”
“Ugh, we’ve been in the studio this past week, and it’s…fucking terrible, man. I can’t seem to get anything right, and the band’s mad at me. Then I go home to that empty damn apartment and try to write, but everything’s just primary colors bouncing off the walls. I don’t want to go out, because it’s bright and sunny and people notice me more, so I’ve just been sitting there, playing guitar. And sometimes talking to Antony. Hey, I should write a song called ‘Crossword Puzzle Blues’ and dedicate it to him.”
“Eh, you’re just trying too hard,” he said softly. “You were doing fine a few weeks ago.”
“I know, but then I was around you,” I muttered. Then I buried my face in my drawn-up knees because, seriously, with words like those, it was probably better I wasn’t writing anything.
Caleb slid a hand into my hair and started scratching at my scalp, and I nearly fell on top of him with pleasure.
“The songs will come,” he said. “You’re stressing because of the studio being booked. Don’t think of that. Write the way you write when there’s no deadline, no one waiting for the music.”
I was practically purring at the feel of his hand on my scalp, and when he pulled away I protested.
“Hey, I know what will help,” he said. “Hang on. I got it from Rhys’s a few months ago because he was getting rid of it and I forgot I even had it.”
A minute later, he was back, and he dropped a beat-up old Casio keyboard into my lap.
“You can write on that, just like it was a piano.”
It had been a long time since I’d written on anything but the guitar, but that seemed so foolish all of a sudden. Piano had been what made me fall in love with music, so why shouldn’t I write on one.
I scrambled off the couch and put my arms around Caleb’s neck.
“That’s awesome,” I said. “Thanks.”