River's Song - Stephanie Fowers Page 0,1

and drugs. Laughing, the promise of catching a beautiful woman in his arms. That could’ve been last night. That could’ve been any night these past few years. His manager had introduced him to lots of important, blissfully intoxicating, and successful people that for some reason he’d wanted to impress. Wait, that couldn’t be right. River never cared about that kind of stuff, right? Right? But he hadn’t felt the music inside his soul for a long time.

His sales were dropping. He was fighting everyone constantly, even himself, and he was tired. His music had become boring, almost as boring as he felt. So yeah, maybe he’d been searching for validation, some sort of control in a life that was sliding through his fingers. Control? Where did that thought come from? Too funny. To think that anyone has control in this chaos of life. Those helpless thoughts had never bothered him when he’d thought God was in charge. He winced in pain.

“I’m here for you,” Emily said. “What more can you want than that?”

The beeps of the machines filled the silence. The emptiness felt more physical than any of his injuries from the crash and twice as smothering, like an ever-deepening hole robbing River of his every happiness. If not for the sound of the oxygen doing his breathing, he might think he was already dead. His chest tightened. Ever since suddenly skyrocketing to fame, he’d been constantly searching for something to make him feel alive… in all the wrong places, it seemed. The wrong women, wrong friends, wrong choices… and still he’d kept looking.

He studied his sister’s freckled face, the glitter of moisture on her lashes. She shared his hazel eyes, his mother’s hands, even those freckles belonged to Dad. She knew him better than anybody, and he was losing her—everything he cared about—while trying to find something that was constantly slipping from his fingers. Was he refusing to see what was in front of his own eyes? The drinking, the partying, the provocative tattoos, the dull and empty laughter caught in his throat didn’t do anything for him anymore. Those people he once admired with their beautiful, smiling, and mocking faces? He saw right through them. He was trapped with them in a great and spacious building full of empty promises and shallow pleasures.

River had argued with his parents about one of those wild parties the night they’d died. His dad had accused him of being a sellout. Him? A sellout? When he was seeking his truth? His father had been so angry, telling River that he didn’t raise him to use his gifts for evil.

Evil? River had laughed aloud at that. His father sounded like a preacher! Why’d he think he had any room to speak anyway? The hypocrite. His father was flawed—he yelled too much; he was a ridiculous man who couldn’t even tuck in his shirts.

His father had gone silent at River’s laughter. When his father answered back, he sounded tired. God gave you a passion for music and you leave Him behind? Where will you find this passion now? Sure, you’re smart. You talk a lot better than me. People like you more. You’re quick on your feet. You can fake having conviction for a while, trick lots of people into following you while you’re at it, but if you choose to leave behind everything good that made you what you are, well, then your music will be just as soulless as you are.

That arrogant jerk! How dare his father make those be his last words? Had his father just lived, they could’ve gotten over this silly argument by now. River had only needed the extra time to get his father to see how crazy this all was. If anything, they could’ve agreed to disagree. They just didn’t see things the same way. That was all!

“You still have me.” His sister’s voice ruptured through his thoughts. “Why can’t you see that? Stop blaming yourself for what happened.”

He’d never admitted aloud the guilt that had eaten him up… and the rage. His parents’ death felt like a punishment, sure, but perhaps what he was really feeling was the natural consequence of his grief—or something psychological maybe. He had no idea. One thing was certain, he wasn’t idiotic enough to believe that he’d been cursed. But strangely, as the years on this path began to do their damage, he began to see that his father knew what he was talking about. River couldn’t feel the music anymore,