“Wait, w-what?” I barely stammer the question out.
Her eyes widen when she realizes what she said. “I-I meant playforme. As in play your guitar for me—withme on stage. I’d like to sing a duet with you tonight.”
“You want me to perform on stage with you tonight in front of thousands of people?”
“Yes,” she states simply as if asking me to do so isn’t one of the most bizarre ideas she’s ever had.
“I already told you I haven’t touched my guitar in years.”
“You and I both know it’s like riding a bike. And if you didn’t intend on playing it, why did you bring your beat up guitar case? Is it empty?”
“No, it’s not. But I only brought it because you threatened my life if I didn’t bring it.”
“Hmm, did I?” she asks, feigning innocence.
“You most certainly did. I believe you said something like, ‘if you don’t bring your guitar I’ll kill you or put your balls in a meat grinder.’” Instinctually, a shiver runs down my spine at the memory. She had the craziest look in her eyes, but it was the only thing she had said to me for hours before we left, so I did as she asked.
“So what song should we sing?” she asks without me ever agreeing.
“What makes you think I’m getting on that stage?”
She shrugs her shoulders, and I don’t miss the way that little movement has her robe falling open ever-so-slightly. “You said you’d doanything. This is my request.”
“You know I don’t like playing, let alone singing, in front of crowds. Could I maybe just play here with you after you’re ready? Like when you’re warming up your vocal chords? Besides, if the two of us perform together on stage, won’t that only shove our marriage further into the spotlight?”
She pulls at her bottom lip while she thinks it over before saying, “Fine. I suppose that’ll do.”
Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “Do I get to pick the song?”
“Sure,” she whispers, breathless.
“Then I choose ‘Landslide,’” I tell her without hesitation.
“The original version or the one by The Chicks?”
Looking into her eyes for as long as I can, I brush a stray strand of hair that’s fallen out of her curlers behind her ear and say, “Whichever was the version you used to sing me to fallasleep over the phone or while you ran your nails over my scalp as we laid in bed.”
Her breathing picks up, and it takes nearly all the restraint I have to resist looking down to watch her chest rise and fall. “That was so long ago I’m not even sure I remember, but I think it was sort of a mix of the two.”
“It was ours, and that’s the one I choose.”
“Stripped down, just you and me?” she questions, and my stomach tightens involuntarily.
“That’s the only way you’ll ever get me to do it, T,” I tell her, looking into her deep brown eyes while fighting the urge to kiss her.
“Okay, just the two of us. Now go take a steaming hot shower and warm up those vocal chords while I tune your guitar.”
That little tidbit seems to break me from my spell. “Since when did you learn to tune a guitar?” I ask, a playful teasing in my tone.
“I might’ve picked up a few things in the last several years. You’ll just have to stick around to find them all out.” She shoots me a playful wink and I think maybe that means she’s forgiven me, even though she shouldn’t.
“Looking forward to it, Thorn.” As if on instinct, she looks down at my left hand and stares at the tattoo wrapped around my left ring finger. I clear my throat to regain her attention. “Some day I’ll tell you about them.” When she just stares back at me in confusion, I clarify, “My tattoos. I’ve gotten too many to count by now, but I’ll tell you the story behind them.”
There’s really not much to tell. They’re an homage to her. Every last one of them has to do with the girl who stole my heart at eighteen.
Without another word I step back and make my way toward the door before hesitating with my hand on the handle.
“The third hanger in,” I murmur softly over my shoulder.
