Invisible Love Letter

By: Callie Anderson


You only get one true love.

That was what my mother always told me. Whenever her soft-spoken voice said those words, she’d look directly at my father. Their love was real. The kind little girls dream of having one day.

Love and rock and roll.

That was my father’s favorite quote.

He was the lead singer of the band Vengeance and considered a rock god. My parents met backstage during his world tour, got married, and then honeymooned while my father travelled the globe. I was conceived in the back of a tour bus. My mother almost gave birth to me on that same bus. In fact, that bus was my first home.

My father had two loves in his life: my mother and music. He couldn’t have one without the other. My mother died of cancer when I was eleven, and when I awoke on my twelfth birthday, I found my father’s lifeless body slumped over the kitchen table.


Love is fatal; a snake that slithers into your life, poisons you with its venom and then leaves you there to die. I swore I wouldn’t be like my parents. I swore I would stay away from the limelight. I swore falling in love with a musician was out of the question.

Lie to protect those you love most.

That was my quote.

Love and music are a deadly combination. But impossible to avoid. I was setting myself up for a shattered heart.

A broken life.

A fucked up love story.


When we met…

The crop top and jean shorts I wore over my bikini did nothing to alleviate the heat. I had spent the last four hours baking in the heat of the Santa Monica beach one last time. It would only be a matter of minutes before my phone began to buzz because I was an hour late. I knew I would be stuck in traffic for at least another hour, but I didn’t care.

My oversized sunglasses covered my face and a bead of sweat dripped down my spine as my cheap rubber flip flops slapped against my heels. I tugged on the heavy glass door, the cool air-conditioned breeze brushing over my warm skin. Shoving my glasses onto my head, I stood in place and let the chilled air work its magic over my body and the aroma of coffee invade my senses. After the salt water and Los Angeles smog, it was a taste of heaven.

Starbucks was crowded, filled with the usual afternoon rush. My beach bag rubbed against my tender, sunburned shoulder as I lifted my arms to tighten the strands of my messy bun. I pushed away a few stray locks and studied the menu. The tall guy standing in front of me talked on his cell phone as I weighed my beverage options. His ass looked delectable in his washed out jeans.

My phone beeped, and I knew I couldn’t avoid my roommate Leslie any longer. She was already pissed that I was late and ignoring her would only add to her anger. I dug in my purse for my iPhone. When I looked back up, the tall guy was gone and the barista was smiling at me. I placed my order and strolled to the end of the counter. As I waited for my drink to be made, I unlocked my phone.

Leslie: Where are you?

Leslie: Seriously, Em

Leslie: We are going to be late!

With a groan, I hit the send button and called her back. It rang a few times before she answered.

“Where the hell are you?” she demanded.

Last year Leslie spent a semester with me in Brazil in the university’s Business program. Now she had been my roommate for the past six months while I was in the States for my semester abroad—I thought I’d take a few courses in international business that counted towards my bachelor’s degree. We shared a two-bedroom apartment next to campus with two other girls, Kate and Monica. They were friendly, but I hadn’t bonded with them the way I had with Leslie. She was from Arizona and, like me, was majoring in international business.

I was born in the States, and though I lived there for some time when my father wasn’t on tour, I was sent to live with my mom’s sister in Brazil after he died. Coming back for a semester was a way for me to connect with my home country. Enough time had passed that I didn’t blame my father for leaving me. I understood that his love for my mother was stronger than it was for me. Which was why falling in love wasn’t on my bucket list.

Leslie and I were in the same class when she did her semester in Brazil, and unlike most students on campus, I was fluent in English. We became study partners and spent many late nights in the library prepping for exams. After she left, I emailed her about the program in the States. She told me her previous roommate had moved out and I could come stay with her if I was accepted. Not only was it a fraction of the cost of staying in the dorms, but I would also be rooming with someone I knew and liked.

“I’ll be there soon, promise,” I whispered into my phone. Her voice grew louder as she complained about the traffic she knew I’d be stuck in.

“Venti passion tea lemonade,” the barista called out.

Leslie continued to harp about my tardiness, but I ignored her high-pitched voice as I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear and reached forward for my plastic cup. Just as I was about to claim my drink, another hand stretched forward and the back of it brushed against mine. A cool electrical shock ran through my body.

It was him.

The tall guy who was standing ahead of me in line.

My breath caught in my chest, and I yanked my hand away. My eyes landed on his Nirvana graphic tee and trailed up his body. His neck was slender, his jaw chiseled and long, his smile beautiful. And holy God…

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