Our Song Read online

  Our Song

  Lauren Runow

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Sarah

  2. Adam

  3. Sarah

  4. Adam

  5. Sarah

  6. Sarah

  7. Adam

  8. Sarah

  9. Sarah

  10. Sarah

  11. Sarah

  12. Sarah

  13. Sarah

  14. Adam

  15. Sarah

  16. Sarah

  17. Sarah

  18. Adam

  19. Sarah

  20. Adam

  21. Sarah

  22. Sarah

  23. Adam

  24. Sarah

  25. Sarah

  26. Sarah

  27. Sarah

  28. Adam

  29. Sarah

  30. Sarah

  31. Adam

  32. Adam

  33. Sarah

  34. Adam

  35. Adam

  36. Sarah

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Runow

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.LaurenRunow.com

  Cover photos copyright @ Elena Kharichkina

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No copyright infringement intended. No claims have been made over songs and/or lyrics written. All credit goes to original owners.

  Created with Vellum

  To all my music lovers out there.

  Keep rockin’!

  Prologue

  Sarah

  “I’ve never felt so alive!” I jump into the arms of Donnie, our drummer, as applause rings out in front of us.

  “You killed it tonight! Biggest crowd yet!” he replies.

  My eyes widen in disbelief when I pull back. “You noticed that too?” I jump on the balls of my feet as we run offstage.

  “All of us noticed,” Tony says as he joins us in the backstage hallway, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “The owner said it was a sold-out crowd.”

  I squeal and do a happy dance, spinning around. I can’t believe all our dreams are coming true.

  Tonight, my band, Endless Hope, played at the most happening bar on Bleecker Street. It’s hard to tell when you’re onstage with the lights shining in your eyes how many people are there, but the noise and vibe were more intense than any other show. Everyone was engaged with our performance, and I even heard people singing along.

  Having a crowd sing the words you wrote is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined!

  Tony wraps his arm around me. “You’ve done us proud, Ms. Hart.” He laughs, and I know he’s teasing me about my name.

  I moved to New York from a small, country-living, religious Northern California town to follow my dreams. My parents think I’m only here to attend college. Yes, I’ve been going to classes for my degree in education, but all of my spare time is spent trying to make a name for myself in the music industry.

  Well, except I don’t dare use my real name.

  If my parents found out, they’d be here in a heartbeat, dragging me back home where my dad would cleanse my soul in holy water for a month.

  To say he disapproves of my music is an understatement. As the pastor of our small town that is seemingly stuck in the 1950s, he points his nose down on anything that uses profanity, loud guitar strings, or the pounding of a drum solo.

  He won’t take the time to actually listen to the lyrics and how they’re more powerful and meaningful than some of the ones he sings in his beloved church. I’ve made it my goal in life to make him see what rock music is all about, so he will be okay with me following my dreams. I’ve given myself the four years while I’m here to try to make it. When I do, I pray he’ll be able to accept my passion.

  I try not to think about what will happen if I can’t change his mind at that point. I keep reminding myself that, if I’ve already made it in the industry, it wouldn’t matter, but deep down, that little girl inside me still wants the approval of her father.

  “Okay, you guys, ready to head out?” Donnie asks after he loads the last of his drum set into our rental van.

  “I can’t just go home.” I throw my arms in the air. “I’m still flying high from tonight! Want to go to the diner to get some food?”

  Tony glances at his watch. I’m sure it’s almost four in the morning.

  Before I moved to New York, I’d drive to San Francisco, trying to get a taste of the life I wanted outside of my small town. The clubs closed at two in the morning but not here. Living the nightlife has a totally different meaning in the Big Apple.

  “I could go for some breakfast. I have to work in a few hours, so as long as they have fresh coffee, too, I’m game. No reason to try to sleep now,” Donnie says.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, tightly hugging him.

  I don’t know what I’d do without these guys. When I found their flyer, looking for a lead singer, at a local bar, I took a chance and made the call. I never would have imagined they’d become like family to me. While I have my parents paying my way, these guys both work two jobs, plus our gigs, to make ends meet. They see the end goal and have the same dream of making it big someday.

  We walk the block to a diner on the corner. It’s a beautiful night in Manhattan, and the cool breeze washes away the last of the sweat on my brow from bouncing around the stage. While Tony goes over tonight’s set, discussing which song was received better and if we should switch up the order, I take in the calmness of the last hours of dusk before dawn. Even with the majority of stores and shops closed at this hour, there’s still an energy, about this city that lives when everyone else is asleep.

  I feel that buzz in my toes.

  It’s a bright light glaring in the midnight hours.

  Except that light is no longer a metaphor.

  I turn around just in time to hear the screech of tires, the headlights glaring in our eyes brighter than any stage I’ve been on.

  Screams yell out.

  There’s a loud pounding as the car hits the curb.

  Donnie covers me with his large frame, taking me to the ground with such force that my shoulder comes down with a shooting pain.

  My head throbs, and then there’s darkness.

  Total darkness is all I know after that.

  And my dreams … they fade away just as fast.

  1

  Sarah

  Seven Years Later

  “Morning, sweetheart. Just calling to wish you good luck on your first day. Is your classroom all set up?” Mom asks over the phone as I walk out the door of my small apartment.

  I grin at the memories of helping her set up her classroom over the years.

  “Yes. I finished everything last week and prepped the next few weeks until I’m able to get some parent volunteers.”

  I can only imagine her smile when she says, “I’m so proud of you, Sarah.”

  Hearing these words is bittersweet.

  My mother retired from being a kindergarten teacher five years ago, and I know she misses it every day. I took the reins, stepping seamlessly into her classroom and keeping the traditions g
oing. It wasn’t my first choice, but following in her footsteps definitely helped the sting of not being able to follow my own dreams—or rather, having my dreams ripped from me.

  “You know you’re welcome to stop by anytime you want. Principal McAllister was asking if he’d see you this year,” I say as I head toward my car.

  I hear her slight laugh under her breath. “You know I can’t stay away, but I’ll wait a few weeks to let everyone get in the groove of things. Then, I’ll see if anyone needs help.”

  I open the car door, juggling my coffee and purse while holding my phone up to my ear. “What’s on your schedule today? Has Dad finished prepping this Sunday’s sermon?”

  My father, Pastor Russo, spends every morning working on his weekly message. He studies and reads scripture daily until it’s perfect. If only, somewhere in that scripture, there were something that taught him to not be so harsh on his own daughter.

  “He’ll spend a few more hours on it this morning, so I’m just sitting here on the back deck, sipping my coffee. I’ll probably read or crochet for a bit.” Her tone leaves nothing to the imagination.

  I know, to some people, that would sound like heaven but not my mom. She’s bored spending day to day with nothing really big to do. Besides teaching, tending to my dad, or caring for me and my sister, Emily, she’s never had a hobby that she was passionate about. Now that she’s retired, I can tell she questions things a little more and is looking for that next something in her life.

  “Call Emily. I’m sure she could use the help with Emma,” I suggest. I know my niece, Emma, lights up her world like she does mine.

  “She already has a playdate set up, but I’ll find something to do; don’t worry.”

  I slide into my Honda Civic, juggling the phone and my stuff as I do. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to get going, or I’ll be late.”

  “Okay, honey. Have a great day. I know the kids will love you. Call me when the day is over.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  I start the car, loving the new system that automatically hooks up my phone’s playlist to feed through the speakers. Morning talk shows are fine, but I want music to get my day started off right. It helps calm the anxiety twirling in my stomach.

  The first song to pump out is a high-velocity rock song by Devil’s Breed. They’re a popular band among the rock circuit, known for heavy bass lines, powerful drum solos, and the enigmatic, deep, and somehow soulful vibrato of their lead singer, Adam Jacobson.

  I dance my fingers on the steering wheel as I belt out the lyrics to their song Don’t Need You. Of course this is at the same time I drive past my father’s church where he’s set the weekly inspirational billboard to say, The Lord hears you, even when you sin quietly.

  Way to take the joy out of life, as always, Dad.

  I arrive at school thirty minutes before the bell rings, and already, families are playing on the swings and blacktop. I pause for a minute to take in the new parents, wondering who will be in my class. And yes, I said parents, not kids. At this age, a lot of their tendencies are learned from their parents, so I can get a good gauge on the kids just by watching their interactions. And this group looks good … so far.

  The first day is always a little nerve-racking, even for us teachers. Kindergarten can be a very exciting time in a child’s life, but at the same time, it can be a challenging one. With the bad also comes the good.

  Though teaching isn’t my dream, I love the innocence of kindergarten. There’s nothing better than seeing a child’s eyes light up when they read their first sentence or the excitement of making new friends and gaining their first taste of independence.

  “Hey, girl,” Cindy, a fifth grade teacher I’ve known almost my entire life, says as I enter the building.

  “Hi. How was your summer?” I ask, knowing what the answer is gonna be.

  We were close in high school, but when I left for college, we drifted apart. She was completely satisfied with staying in our small town while I wanted out. Now, she’s married to her high school sweetheart with two kids, and as she says, she’s “living the dream.”

  “It was great. The kids are getting so big. We took them to the beach a few times and were just lazy, watching movies and being bums the rest of the time. I’m sad to be back.” She wraps her arms around the folder she’s carrying with a frown covering her face.

  I don’t expect her to ask me about my summer because I know she doesn’t care. In this town, if you don’t have kids and a family at our age, there’s something wrong with you.

  My summer break is the only time I get to try to get a piece of me back again. Maggie, my best friend who lives in New York, and I took a trip to Austin, Texas, where we listened to some amazing new bands. We stayed up late every night, having a good time and not wanting the nights to end.

  Of course I’d love to have a family someday, but I’d take them with me to shows and introduce them to music, hoping they had the same love I did. Every time I see a family dancing with their young kids, my heart melts.

  That’s the life I want.

  Too bad I know I won’t find it here.

  When I was left without a choice, I moved back home, and I feel like I’ve been wandering aimlessly around ever since. I’d like to leave, but I have no clue where I would go.

  After my first attempt at a new life ended in a tragedy that led my father down a secret path of both ridicule and resentment toward his own daughter, I’m not sure I have the strength to go through that again.

  When my sister announced she was pregnant and then my mom’s position opened up at the school, it seemed fitting I should stay. Yet, as the days turned into years, I’m not so sure staying here is in my best interest anymore, but then I see my niece, and I wonder how I could ever leave, especially when I don’t have a good reason or anywhere to go.

  “Well, I have to get ready. Here we go; another year is about to begin.” I bring my shoulders up to my ears, displaying my anticipation.

  “Yep, good luck with those kindergarteners!” She waves as she heads toward her classroom.

  After getting my things situated and setting up the name sheets I printed for each kid, I check around the room to make sure everything is set for the storm of kids and parents who are about to come in. After all, first impressions are everything, and I know they’re checking me out the same as I’m checking them.

  I glance in the mirror one last time. Half of my blonde hair is pulled up, and I curled big ringlets in the back. I run my finger over my scar on the back of my head as I take in the person I am now.

  A part of me misses my brown hair, but that was the old me who died in New York. Now, I’m a blonde-haired kindergarten teacher in the suburbs.

  I make sure the tattoo that wraps around my shoulder is completely covered with my cap-sleeved shirt. It’ll be hard to keep a secret all year, but hopefully, by then, the parents will be happy with me as a teacher and not judgmental like some people in this community are.

  When the bell rings, I head toward the playground where my students are lining up.

  The blacktop is covered in parents standing next to their children. Some appear excited to have a kid-free day while others have tears in their eyes as they stare down at the precious life they created who’s grown up too fast.

  As I approach the line for my classroom, I crouch down to the level of the little girl at the front who I don’t recognize from orientation. Whoever makes it to the front of the line gets to be our leader for the day as I walk them back to the classroom, which is a pretty coveted spot as the weeks progress.

  “Hello there. My name is Miss Russo. What’s your name?”

  The sweet little girl with sandy-blonde pigtails and curls stands tall and proud. “My name is Cailin. You look like Cinderella.”

  I smile brightly as we shake hands. “Well, you’re not the only one who thinks that. Just wait until you see my Halloween costume. Then, I’ll really look like her.”

  Every year, I dres
s up as Cinderella. The kids love it, and the parents even comment on how much I resemble the Disney character.

  “Did you hear that, Linda? I have Cinderella for my teacher!” Cailin says as she bounces on her feet, turning toward a woman that I’ve seen around town for a few years, albeit never with a child.

  “I did, dear. I knew this would be the perfect place for you,” Linda replies, running her fingers through Cailin’s curls and twirling them around.

  “Morning, everyone. Are we ready to go?” I say to the rest of the class standing behind Cailin.

  They all nod in different levels of excitement, some already crying or clutching their parents for dear life.

  I hold out my hand for Cailin. “You’re my line leader today. Shall we head toward the classroom?”

  Cailin places her tiny fingers in mine and does a happy skip and jump as we walk toward the hallway. She turns back to Linda, waving. “Bye, Linda. Have a good day.”

  I pause and turn to the group. “Parents, you’re welcome to join us for a few minutes as we get settled in.”

  Cailin holds her arm out wide. “Yes, come here. You can hold my other hand.”

  Linda looks around at the other parents, whom she’s much older than, and then down at Cailin with a sideways smile. It’s obvious Linda isn’t sure what her role is, but after a beat, she joins us as we head back to my classroom.