She lowers the cup from her mouth and gives me an accusing look, like she knows I was just staring at her breasts. I blink my gaze off her and head over to the microphone. I set my beer down on the floor next to the wall, pick up my guitar, and slide the strap over my shoulder, running my fingers along the initials I carved in the back. I got the guitar when I was thirteen at a yard sale for, like, five bucks. It was my first guitar and even though it took a bit to get the hang of it, I loved playing it. There’s something about music and lyrics that helps me express myself, even when it’s hard.

I was playing the first time I realized I had feelings for Ella, feelings that ran much deeper than just friend feelings. She was in the crowd dancing solo like she did a lot, her hands in the air, her hips rocking to the beat. I couldn’t take my eyes off her and I found myself wishing I was down there with her, touching and kissing every inch of her. It was that night I went home and wrote the lyrics that I eventually got tattooed on my ribs because it was the kind of moment filled with emotion and the lyrics I created about her needed to be marked on me forever.

It was the moment I realized I loved her, even if I wasn’t fully aware of it at the time, but only because I didn’t fully understand love yet. Looking back, though, I know the moment I penned the words there’d never be anyone else.

Ella was my one and only.

Chapter 7

Ella

I refuse to be the sad Ella tonight and dwell on things that aren’t making me happy, like my mom, her dark thoughts and fears—my dark thoughts and fears. I’m not going to think about my future either or the fact that I can’t seem to even get my portfolio started. Tonight it’s about having fun and watching Micha play, one of my favorite things in life. I am not going to sink down into a pit.

Micha starts out with the song he sang in the coffeehouse, just like I asked him to do. Sweaty bodies nearly suffocate me as I sway back and forth to the music. Lila’s standing beside me, gazing at Ethan pounding on the drums like he’s the love of her life. She’s wearing a sleeveless blue shirt and jeans, along with a pair of my boots.

“You look starstruck,” I shout over the music, fanning my face with my hand, my skin already getting damp with sweat. Even though it’s cold as death outside, there’s so many people packed in the small living room, the body heat alone makes it desert hot in the house.