1989
The first day of the rest of my life began with a song. My own, of course. In the passenger seat of David’s car, my fingers settled against frets as the hour slid past midnight. I found melodies begging to be heard as we entered the place where dreams really did rise.
I leaned as far forward as I could with my guitar in my lap, and I felt the sense of place in my bones. Calling me.
Music City was a city disguised as a town: lit up and neon and burning bright. The streets were quieter than I thought, but there was an energy to them that Sunset Cove could never match. People sporting instruments like mine made their way out of shops and across the streets. In the dark, they glowed. With ambition. With promise. With music. The signs along the road flickered. A rainbow of sights and sounds.
Someone waved to me, and I rolled the window down to wave back, which had David grinning. Music Row glimmered beneath the moonlight. Centennial Park flashed under streetlights. We drove like we were trying to discover every secret the city held before we even thought to stop at a hotel. This place was something waiting to happen.
I was going to make something happen.
“Is it everything you imagined?” There was an unusual note in David’s voice I couldn’t quite place.
“Yes.”
Sunrise painted the sky. We had only just parked when the lull of dawn had us drifting off. We found a rundown place about twenty minutes away from East Nashville (music and art burst from the seams there).
Patrick met us on the curb. The way his eyes met mine told me he felt the same way I did upon stepping foot on these streets. Lyrics radiated from him, and I pulled him forward, slipping my hand into his. We walked into this dream he’d spoken of together as David opened the door to the hotel.
The place was worn-out and as cheap as we could find. The lobby was filled with cracking drywall, stained carpets, and an old desk that took up more space than there was to stand. Somehow, it was perfect.
A man in a pinstriped vest sat behind the counter, flipping through a book. I couldn’t see the cover. “Can I help you?” he asked before we reached the desk.
The wheels of our suitcases thudded behind us. Stars covered the walls like back in the Horizon. But it was different. It meant something here.
“We’d like to check in.” I took the lead, rifling through my pink purse, catching David’s eyes. “Is it cheaper if we share?”
He shrugged. “Probably.”
“Yes,” the man said without looking up from the page he was reading.
Patrick glanced between the two of us as he paid for his own room.
I swapped savings for freedom and a silver hotel key.
“Race you.” I smirked at David and Patrick, and I didn’t wait for a reply. Through the plain walls and faux crystal chandeliers, I ran. The hotel was only two floors, and the elevator had an out-of-order sign that seemed more a permanent fixture than a warning. So we took the stairs, and I laughed as we stumbled.
On the rectangular second story, we traced fingers across silver numbers on doors, matching our keys to the markings. And then there they were, 4B and 7B, right across the hall from one another. I placed my hand on the knob of the first.
“Find something to eat after we settle in?” I asked Patrick.
He nodded, tossing a quick smile my way and disappearing.
David and I slipped inside. The room was small and beige with one dresser, a window leading out to a rickety iron balcony, a tapestry of a daisy on the wall, and one bed.
“We’re here,” David said. His blond hair was tousled. His green eyes were bright.
“We’re here.” I flopped onto the bed, nearest to the window. “This is my side.”
His cheeks flushed, and I rolled my eyes. We’d shared a bed before and a sleeping bag one year at summer camp when guys in his cabin pranked him with ants in his. Just that week I’d woken up with my head on his shoulder. But I got it, in a way. This was different. Nashville was a place of possibilities.
I hopped to my feet.
We unpacked a little while I hummed, and he smiled again. There was a sweeping nature to our movements as we unloaded our things, but I could never sit or stand still. I gave up halfway through my suitcase and headed to the window. Shoving it open, slinging my leg through, and climbing outside into this night, I breathed in deep. The balcony swayed beneath me as I stared at Nashville and the constellations that crowned it. I leaned on the rail, looking at how Music City shined.
With a creak from behind me, David joined. His fingertips grazed the small of my back as he found his footing. The hem of his bright-red T-shirt fluttered in the breeze.
“Thank you,” I whispered without looking at him.
“For what?”
“For taking me to my dreams.”
He stood there a second with his mouth gaping. His lips tipped up just slightly, and he turned his cheek before he met my eyes again.
“Sure thing,” he said.
“What are you going to do here?”
“Write a play.”
“Really? David, that’s amazing. What about?”
He winked. “I’ll tell you soon.” And he left it at that.
Giving him a small smile, I moved back toward the window, which he’d propped open with his shoe (I had barely noticed he was half-barefoot). “I’ve got to call my parents.”
“Tell them I say hi.” He looked out at the city, arms resting against the rail.
Inside, I picked up the phone, dialed the number, and listened to it ring. As I waited, I forced myself to look away from the stardust that caught on David’s silhouette.
“Mom? Mama?” I whispered, cradling it to my ear. Butterflies erupted inside my chest, and I welcomed them. “I’m here.”
David stayed out on the balcony watching the city for way longer than I had the patience for, so I crossed the hall in my unicorn slippers, blouse, and jeans to knock on Patrick Rose’s door.
It swung open after the first knock, and he leaned against it. “Hi, Tori Rose.” He brushed loose ringlets out of his face, and I had the urge to weave my fingers into his hair.
“Hi, Patrick Rose.” I let myself inside.
If it weren’t for David and his surprising cleanliness, my hotel room would probably look like this too. Guitar set safely on its own chair. Clothes everywhere. Shoes kicked off halfway across the floor.
He nudged a loose pair of socks, slightly sheepish. “Sorry for the mess.”
I sat next to Cash on the well-loved green armchair, tracing over a small dent in the otherwise smooth red wood. “Lucky for you, I thrive in dysfunction.”
“That is lucky for me.” He leaned against the wall. “So what brings you here?”
“I want to figure out what’s next.”
I wanted to get started on our dreams.
“I . . .” Patrick shifted from foot to foot. “Just first . . . You and David . . . are you together?” He looked back at his door like he could see our room through it. This wasn’t what I meant.
“Nope.”
“I just thought . . .”
I shook my head. Smiled. “You thought wrong.”
We were almost together for a moment, that one day when David and I kissed, but I told him it was a mistake and we couldn’t do it again if I wanted to keep my heart wandering. David was Tori Peters’s love. He was Sunset Cove’s golden boy. He was a piece of my past. Before the stage name became me and the music encompassed the only soulmate that could keep me. Best friend or not, David remained the one thing here tying me to that town. I wanted him here but not that way.
The fate-made boy with the rose tattoo didn’t look quite convinced, but he tried to act it.
I took another step forward, closer than ever. I leaned in and said, “There’s nothing there. Not with him. What about you, mystery boy? You got someone back home?”
He shook his head, and he only had eyes for me. “No.” It was a breathless whisper.
I asked again, “What’s next?”
His gaze fell from mine to my mouth, and that devil-may-care grin came back again.
Music City knew how to party. I’d thought I did too. I was the life of every party back in Sunset Cove. Dancing on tables. Drinking whatever I could find. Kissing strangers. Flirting with girls over drinks. Winking at guys before I walked out of the room. Getting drunk off life and something else. But this. This was new.
Country had taken over the basement of an artsy place near Music Row, filled to the brim with life and people. Guitars were in laps. Couples draped over each other in corners and at the bar. It was covered in spotlight, and I was alight under it. Everyone was.
David hung back near the door, finding a quiet corner to settle in such an uncharacteristically subdued way.
“You okay?” I mouthed.
He nodded and gave a thumbs up. When he took out a notebook, I let him be.
It didn’t take long for Patrick and me to weave our way into the crowd. I barely knew him, but that was part of the excitement. It was part of the magic in the way we melded into each other’s beats.
We slipped into a group near our age at the back, talking about how the music got them.
Edie Davis. A pale, purple-haired girl with a leather jacket, leaning against a sofa that was tainted with whiskey. She spoke of her first rock band and kissing a girl after church who made her want to play love songs.
Sara Ellis. A Black girl with braids draped over her shoulder, sliding up sunglasses that caught the spotlight as she raised her cup to take another drink. She was a piano prodigy who’d been converted to country by its storytelling.
Mateo Ramirez. A boy with an olive complexion and a tipped party hat resting on his head who grew up in Music City with the melodies always in his veins. He was sharing a chair with Sara, who had her legs swung over his lap as she balanced her glass on her knee. He tapped two drumsticks he’d called Dungeons and Dragons against the side table.
Sara glanced at us as we arrived. She didn’t say hi. Didn’t request our names. Just said, “How did the music get you?”
It wasn’t clear how it happened, but somewhere between shots and chatter, at that party, a band was formed. Sara, Mateo, Edie, Patrick, and me. We called ourselves Fate’s Travelers. We practiced in the unused event room of Patrick’s and my hotel. Covered a thousand songs. Learned to build off the rhythms of each other’s hearts.
But we were missing something important.
It was midnight, hunched over some sheet music as Sara riffed on the piano, when she and I decided what.