RUSH (City Lights, #3)(57)

“I practice every day,” I said miserably. “But I don’t know what I’m practicing for. It’s all rote. Aimless. There’s no joy in it, and when you practice your art you’re supposed to feel joy, aren’t you? You don’t do it for money or fame, you do it because you have to do it or your head will explode, or something. You know how it is. That’s how it was, but I don’t feel it anymore, and I don’t know how to get it back.”

Melanie listened to all this as the crowd talk-shouted around us. Finally, she narrowed her eyes from behind her cat glasses. “It’s that Noah, isn’t it?”

“What? No. It’s not his fault. I wasn’t even thinking about that audition, Mel. It wasn’t even on my radar. And not because he’s demanding or takes up all my time. Believe me, if he had known, he’d have kicked me out the door.”

“He doesn’t have to take up your time to interfere. He’s taking up your headspace.”

That, I couldn’t deny.

Melanie gaped. “Oh Christ, are you in love with him? He’s an *!”

The two gals in front of us turned, smirking.

“Nothing to see here, move along.” Melanie shooed at them, then looked at me. “Isn’t he?”

“No,” I said. “Not to me. To himself, maybe, and it spills over. I don’t know. He keeps telling me he’s no good for me.”

“Maybe you should listen.”

I thought of the typewritten page I found in the office. “Maybe. But I’m getting mixed messages. I can’t tell if he’s saying that because he cares for me and it’s true and he’s trying to protect me, or if it’s a lie. A version of ‘It’s not you, babe, it’s me.’”

The line moved up. Based on my own past experience behind the bar, we were still three people away from getting the bartender’s attention.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “He’s thoughtful, and smart, and has a gentle side no one sees. A side I don’t think he even realizes he has. He’s eloquent and protective and I know that if he could just learn to live with his disability…he’s got a chance.” Maybe we have a chance.

Melanie watched me, her lips pursed.

“What?”

“Damn, you got it bad.”

“Oh, I know,” I groaned. “When I fall, I fall hard. I can’t help myself. Even knowing I might shatter into a million pieces when I hit the bottom.” I sighed, but a small smile escaped me. “I never do anything halfway.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s been going on with you and Lake; you’ve been holed up in that townhouse for weeks. Whatever the deal, you gotta get your head in the game. Come to Regina’s party. Bring him if you want, but come. Be among your own kind, and just…soak it up. Okay?”

“Okay. I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she laughed dryly. “Try not to let it slip your mind. Oh, and I have the perfect solution to your confusion about Lake.”

“Oh yeah?” I crossed my arms, affecting a dubious expression while inside I was praying Melanie had the golden key.

“Yeah. It’s a magical thing. Works like a charm every time.” She leaned close. “Talk. To. Him.”

*

The loose, easiness of my Friday night—and the two gin and tonics I’d consumed—began to fade on the subway ride back. I wasn’t afraid of talking to Noah, I just hadn’t realized I needed to. My feelings for him were a tangled mess but at least now I could admit they were there. Telling Melanie was like putting skin and bones on a ghost. But as the train drew closer to my station, a feeling of unease turned the bubbly drinks in my stomach into biting turmoil.

After the subway, I raced up the front steps of the townhouse and thrust my key in the lock. But it gave too easily. The door was already unlocked. And I always lock the door. Always.

I stepped inside and locked it behind me. The house was dark. But Noah had no use for lights, so he wouldn’t bother to turn any on. That should have made me feel better, except that the house felt so very still.

“Noah?”

It felt like calling into a soundless chamber. Not only was there no answer, there was no movement either. No floorboards creaking, no music playing, no footsteps. Nothing.

I tossed my purse and sweater onto the bed in my room, and went upstairs to the second floor. It was empty and dark. I switched on the light near the stairs. Nothing. You’re freaking yourself out for no reason. He’s upstairs, as usual, reading or sleeping.

But my skin itched and my nerves were humming again—this time with anxiety. Something was wrong. I knew it.

I hurried up to the third floor and stood outside the master bedroom. “Hello? Noah?”

Silence.

“I wanted to talk to you…”

I pushed open the door. The bed was empty. The sitting area by the window was empty. I rushed inside and searched the bathroom, and both walk-in closets. Empty.

“Don’t panic,” I muttered. “Just don’t panic.”

I raced back down the hall, to the workout room, then the guest bed and bath, searching even the closets. No sign of him.

“Noah? Where are you?”

I hurried down to the second floor, and went to the casual living room off the kitchen that wasn’t visible from the stairs, praying I’d see him stretched out on the couch, asleep. He wasn’t there. I checked the never-used dining room, the linen closet, bathroom, even the kitchen pantry, my heart pounding harder and faster every time my search turned up nothing.