I don't recall drifting into sleep. Like my mind is consumed with so many feelings, so many thoughts, that it overloads and blows a fuse. Then it's merely blank-so empty that even a dream is intimidated to fill the space. I do remember the sun setting, spreading it's wings across the expanse of the horizon as the moon takes its place. When I wake, the sun is out full force, glaring obnoxiously through the window. The car isn't moving. 

Where are we? 

I blink and bring my hand up to shelter my eyes from the invasion of light. I turn my head to the side and cringe. Crap. I've been immobile for too long and now my muscles are frozen into place, screaming with every move. Finn's torso slowly comes into view. One hand is wrapped around a gas pump and the other is shoved inside his pocket. I can see the threads starting to fray from the belt around his waist. 

As if he has some kind of inexplicable intuition, he leans down and peers inside the window. Once he notices I'm awake, his hand comes out of his pocket, touches his lips then press against my window and I can see him mouth the word, "hey." 

I roll down the window. 

"Mornin'," he says, this time without the barrier of glass. 

"Morning? Are you kidding me?" 

"Nope," he says. "Not even a little." He looks at his watch. "It's quarter to ten." 

"Oh my God. How long did I sleep for?" 

He shrugs. "For Oklahoma." 

"Huh?" 

"We've passed through Oklahoma. Crossed over into Texas about thirty miles ago." 

"Texas?" 

"Texas," he repeats. "The state which my ego is not as big as."  

"You drove through the night?" 

"I slept for two hours." The gas pump clicks to signal that its done and he places it back into the large tank before screwing the gas cap on his car until it too clicks. 

The machine spits out a pay at the pump receipt that Finn promptly shoves in his pocket before rounding the front of the car and climbing into the driver's seat. 

"Don't worry about me. How are you feeling this fine morning?" 

"No doubt better than you. You must be tired." 

"Remember how I said I didn't drink coffee?" 

"Yeah." 

He holds out his hand, which is shaking. "I drank some." 

"Are you going to be okay?" 

"I feel great," he says. "Never better. How about you? You hungry?" 

"Not really." 

My stomach growls on cue, coincidentally, at the precise moment heat flushes my cheeks. Finn smirks and slips his hand just under the hem of my shirt, his thumb brushes across my skin and I don't even exhale because I'm too afraid to breathe. 

"You're hungry." 

I nod. "Maybe a little." 

Too soon, he removes his hand and twists his body, placing one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift. "Food for my girl. Then we'll see how far we can get before my caffeine high crashes and burns." 

I completely disregard the fact that he calls me his, or at least I try to. "You should sleep," I say. "I can drive."  

"No rest for the wicked."  

"I'd hardly call you wicked, Finn." 

"Hey," he says, "I'm as wicked as you are fearless." 

I laugh softly. "Fair enough." 

Finn drives just a few blocks before he pulls the car into a roadside dinner that looks to be straight out of a movie. Less than fifteen minutes later, a waitress presents me with bacon, eggs, ham, toast, hash-browns and orange juice. Finn gets a stack of pancakes which I estimate is at least a foot high and another cup of coffee which we both know he doesn't really need. He saturates the pancakes in maple flavored syrup and then looks up at me. I've been caught staring again.  

"Whatcha thinking?"  

"That I wish I got pancakes instead of toast," I say honestly.  

He pierces the hotcake with his fork and transfers it to my plate. I butter some of my toast and hand it to him with a sincere, "Thank you."  

"Don't mention it," he says.  

I start to eat my breakfast, dipping my toast into the egg yolk. I can feel Finn's eyes on me so I look up. "I'm glad I came with you." 

"Can I confess something?" He reaches over and takes a sip of my orange juice.  

"Sure."  

"I was willing to camp out in your hallway for a month straight if that's what it took."  

"You have too much faith in my lyrics," I tell him. "What if Starlight hates them?"  

"Not possible."  

"It is possible. But I guess you haven't thought of everything."  

"It's not possible."  

"I beg to differ. I have a wicker basket full of throw aways to prove it. Not everything I write is gold."  

"Are you talking about your song burial ground?"  

"Yes."  

Finn shoves a fluffy morsel of pancake in his mouth before saying, "you don't really believe that."  

"Believe what?"  

"That every single word on every single paper in those baskets is crap because if you did, they would be legitimate throwaways. The kind that end up in a dump truck with leftover dim sum saturating the pages. You wouldn't keep them in a wicker basket on the living room floor in your apartment."  

Damn it. He has a point.  

"You enjoy instant gratification, Laney. Don't think I don't know you. If it isn't perfect the first time, you crumple it up and start over. But admit it-- you can't bring yourself to throw those papers away because it's no better than tossing your dream in the garbage."  

Wow.  

I feel like I've just visited a therapist.  

I look down at my hands, which at some point during this conversation started to wring together in my lap. He's right. He's undeniably and infuriatingly right. I chew my bottom lip to avoid admitting it.  

"When did it stop working for you?"  

I shrug, suddenly not in the mood for greasy spoon food. "I don't know. After I thought you stopped writing I guess."  

Finn tears a sugar packet and dumps it into his coffee before he makes a small whirlpool with the spoon and looks at me with sad eyes. "How long before you gave up on me?"  

I could lie. I could tell him I never ever gave up on our love story, but truth is, maybe that was the start of my collection of discarded dreams. "I gave up on you too soon," I admit. "After that, the words I wrote down were never good enough."  

Finn seems satisfied with my response but doesn't say anything in return. A Nirvana song starts to play and he sets his fork down and digs into the pocket for the phone. He looks at the screen hits the button on the side.  

"Ignoring someone?" I ask. I realize it's none of my business but I've spent the last few days so consumed with Finn that the idea of other people being part of his life seems impossible.  

"Yeah. Just Leo. He can wait. You're cuter so you get my undivided attention."  

I laugh.  

I'm glad he's done talking about when I decided my happiness was a necessary sacrifice to make in exchange for a bearable future. Maybe I'd associated music with Finn for too long and he was like a habit-best left broken following the initial shock of his absence.  

He pays the bill and we get in the car, a comfortable silence settles in. I stretch my legs out and settle my bare feet on his dashboard with my notebook resting on my leg. He gives me a sideways glance and I offer my best smile, "This okay?"  

He puts his hand on my knee, and slides it up my thigh with a crooked grin. "I dunno. Is this okay?"  

"That's perfect," I say. I close my eyes, lean into the chair and savor the light touch. The brush of his fingertips tickles my leg and I remember what I've been missing all this time. 

"Finn?" I say, without opening my eyes.  

"Yeah pretty girl?"  

"I don't need you to write songs."  

"I know you don't."  

"But I like who I am better when you're around and I feel like I'm more confident in my writing."  

"You should be confident whether I'm around or not. You're unbelievably talented and I have nothing to do with that."  

"Maybe not," I allow. "But you bring out the best in me."  

I open my eyes and am rewarded with a huge smile. "That makes two of us."  

His phone rings a second time and I can feel the disappointment that radiates from my body when he moves his hand I think to answer it, until he ignores the call again.  

"Finn, what if it's important?"  

"You are what's important," he says.  

"So is your band."  

"Not right now," he argues. "Right now it's only you."  

"Right. Me plus Leo, who is trying desperately to reach you."  

"I'm out of order," Finn says.  

"You should answer your phone." ?  

"No. Really I'm out of order. Like we need to find a hotel."  

"Caffeine dive. You're crashing and burning?"  

"Like a seven forty seven with a busted engine," he says. "There's a motel about a half mile ahead. I saw it on my way to come and find you."  

The motel he finds is adequate. The room is clean and even better, there's a pool. Finn kisses me and crawls between the covers while I head to the bathroom to change into a swimsuit. I come out and he sighs. "You expect me to sleep after seeing you in that?"  

I wiggle my hips and smile. "Yes and it goes without saying I expect you'll have some good dreams.  

"Yeah," he says, "I think that's a safe expectation."  

"Sleep. When you wake up you'll be refreshed, my skin will have a healthy glow and we can get back on the road."  

Finn tugs the cover up and over his shoulder, turning away from me. On the way out the door I grab his phone, so it doesn't wake him and my notebook. I have eleven more songs to write and there's simply no time like the present.