"It makes you feel close to him, but that's hard too. I get it,” I say. “But still, using the term ‘used to’ about something you loved so much is a pretty sad phrase in any language.” My hand running through my hair, I risk getting a little closer to him. “Do you miss it?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation or second guessing. Like he’s been waiting for someone to ask him the question so he can admit it.
“You’re right, it was one of the things that always made me feel connected to him, and I want to pick it up again. I want to be able to pass this down to CeCe, to give her a glimpse into something that he loved so much. I don’t know, I fucking freeze up when I try,” he professes, pulling it from the stand and taking a seat on his bed.
His curtains are open, letting the moonlight drift in and the sound of rain that’s now drizzling is relaxing to say the least.
"You can play it for me, I won't tell a soul you serenaded me on this rainy night."
A small laugh escapes us both as I stare down at the strings, watching his fingers feather over them lightly.
"For all I know, I don't even remember how to play it." He chuckles, pulling it closer to him.
I’m not surprised Chase misses playing it. But I’m also not surprised he wants to avoid playing it either. Knowing him, he probably keeps it in this corner because it’s not within direct eyesight when you’re in the bedroom. It’s almost hidden away, something to be kept a secret.
I take a seat next to him on the bed, feeling my pulse race as I get closer, but I can’t help it. I know he set these rules into place,but I just… I want him to know that it’s okay to let people in, to let people be close to you.
"Do you want to try?" I ask.
“Do you want to try?” she asks as she takes a seat next to me.
The very thought of playing this damn guitar right now feels impossible, but I also feel pulled to it.
I slowly nod my head, but my body stays frozen. I never thought that Summer Kincaid—my sister’s best friend, my current babysitter, and the girl who used to drive me nuts for the better part of a decade—would be the one to have me considering picking this up again.
Summer scoots herself back further on my bed, settling against the headboard. Tanned legs extended, crossing one ankle over the other as she smiles at me.
I don’t know how we got here. How we got from utter irritation to finding comfort in her.
I loosen my shoulders, nostalgia coursing its way through me. God, it's like muscle memory when I strum a few quick notesbefore stopping. Heat crawls up my spine and my neck begins to sweat before I feel a delicate touch on the back of my arm.
"Close your eyes and just play."
Her fingers pull away from my skin and I exhale, letting myself find comfort in something that once brought me happiness.
“If this sucks, I don’t want to hear it,” I joke.
She releases a hearty laugh and repositions herself from where she previously was, moving closer to me, knees underneath her body as she sits by my side.
“No promises. Play me something and I’ll try to guess what it is.”
“You’ll know this one.” My voice hoarse as I glance up at Summer, already staring at me.
I’m not someone who gets nervous in front of a crowd—hell, I play football for millions of people every week—but something in this moment about Summer’s eyes on me has my stomach flipping upside down.
It feels like riding a bike. The ease of jumping back into it and the calmness it brings me.
A, A, B minor, B minor.
I can feel Summer’s eyes on me still. They’ve been burning into me since I got home this evening and in the last hour she’s gotten more out of me than most people have in the last few years.
She smiles when our eyes meet and I know my willpower is about to be tested.
She looks breathtaking. She’s a stunner in the daylight, but under the moonlight she’s fucking magnificent. Her blue eyes sparkle like diamonds and her skin looks like porcelain—daring me to run my hands over it to feel its silkiness. Her head sways back and forth and her lips start mouthing the words once she recognizes the song.
“You’re going to turn me into a puddle if you keep playing,” she jokes. “Chris Stapleton is one of my favorites.”
I bring the guitar down between my legs, resting it on the floor once I stop playing.
