3
I stand on the sidewalk, my thoughts in a muddle. I barely remember leaving The Fix, but I'm sure I thanked Tyree for telling me about Noah. After that, I must have pushed through the crowded bar, then burst through the doors onto Sixth Street.
And that's where I am now. Standing in the middle of a sidewalk jammed with pedestrians and wondering how I got here . . . and more important, where I intend to go next.
That's not to say I remember nothing. Quite the contrary. I remember Tyree telling me that the ginger-haired man was Noah, then explaining that he knows the man's name because Noah's been coming in every week or so for the last couple of months, and when a man frequents your establishment, it's good to at least learn his name.
What he didn't know was where Noah went, other than to say that he'd exited out the back. "Said he didn't want to deal with pushing through the throng around Ares and his boys," Tyree had said. "I told him to use the service entrance and to leave through the alley. You can probably catch him if you go that way, too."
I'd shaken my head so hard and fast it's a wonder my eyeballs didn't rattle. "No. No, I was just wondering if that was him. I'm sure I'll see him around. I'm going . . . I'll just . . ."
I hooked my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the front. After that, I must have followed my thumb, although I don't remember my feet moving. All I remember is the noise in my head. Desire mixed with anger. Fury bolstered by memory.
Noah had been my heart--hell, he'd been my muse. And when he'd walked away from me, the world beneath my feet had cracked like ice on a winter pond, the fissures radiating in all directions, destroying everything and sending me tumbling into someplace dark and cold and lonely.
It took me years to claw my way back out. To thaw enough to even pick up my guitar again. But I did, and now I'm finally starting to breathe new life into dreams that I thought had died when he left.
I got over him, dammit. I built a new life in a new city, and how dare he come here and ruin all of that.
It's probably innocent. A coincidence.
After all, Austin is a tech town, and Noah has always been a tech guy. Maybe he's just here for work.
Maybe he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
I don't know, and the reason I don't know is that the goddamn coward up and left without even talking to me. At least in Los Angeles he had the balls to say goodbye. This time he just slinked out into the dark.
Motherfucker.
Before, I didn't follow him. I hadn't fought; I'd just let him go. That's what people do, after all. They leave. Everybody leaves.
I'd fooled myself into believing that Noah would stay, and I'd paid a hefty price for my mistake.
But it's a price I can't afford anymore. I need him gone. I need my head clear.
I have to protect my muse; I have to protect my heart.
And I sure as hell can't handle the thought that at any place and at any time he could pop into my life like a Noah-shaped Whack-a-Mole to tempt and tease, and then just walk away all over again.
All of which adds up to one simple conclusion--I need to put on my big girl panties, catch up with him, and find out why the hell he's here.
Shit.
I round the corner at a clip, walk the length of the bar, then turn right into the alley. I'm irritated with myself for having lingered on the sidewalk. Or, for that matter, not following him out the back door as Tyree had suggested.
Time's been ticking away, and Noah'
s surely gone. Which means I'm going to be on edge from now until forever, seeing him in every crowd, expecting him around every corner.
Damn him. Damn him for getting under my skin even after all these years.
I feel tears sting my eyes, and I clench my fists at my sides as I stride deeper into the alley, fighting the stress and the sadness and the whole confusing miasma of emotions swirling around inside of me.
It's dark back here, and the air is putrid from too little wind and too much rotten food tossed out behind the various restaurants and bars. My stomach twists, and I concentrate on watching my step, which is harder than it sounds since the alley is so dim, the only illumination provided by the few anorexic lights marking the various establishments' back doors.
I pass the rear entrance to The Fix and continue heading west, picking up speed as I do. Not just because I'm hoping to catch up with Noah, but because I know how foolish it is to be back in this alley at night, especially with all the dark nooks and shadowed crannies. Formerly Pecan Street, this section of Sixth Street has been a commercial center of the town since the late 1800s. An intriguing bit of history, sure, but right now I'm thinking more about the construction of these buildings. About how the back walls don't quite line up, so that there are deep, shadowed insets along the path.
And here I am, strolling through those shadows like an idiot. I might as well be wearing an Attackers welcome! sign on my ass.