“Please.” I roll my eyes. “Complain to me when you’re thirty.”
“I’ll be thirty next month, thank you very much.”
“My point exactly.” My gaze slides over to his boom box. “Does it even work?”
“Oh, it works.” He steps next to me and presses a button to open the player. “You get first pick.”
There’s quite the selection of music, and I can’t help buttease him as I come across one in particular. “NSYNC?” I lift my brows and hold back a smile. “Really, Jackson?”
“It was a phase.” He grins.
“And Taylor Swift?” I show him the album cover. “Jackson Wilder, are you a Swiftie?”
“What can I say? I appreciate good music.” He takes the plastic case from me. “Riley got me this one for Christmas one year.” There’s a tenderness to his expression, almost as if he’s being transported back to the moment.
I wonder what that’s like, to have memories filled with family. I admire the relationship he has with all of his nieces and nephews, but it warms my heart to think of his now college-age niece buying him this as a gift.
“She made me play “Welcome to New York” over and over and over.” Jackson meets my gaze. “Now it’s my go-to for karaoke.”
“I’d like to see that.” I can’t hold back my smile.
“I could be persuaded.” He hands back the case. “Is this your official pick?”
“Maybe.” I draw out the word as I continue sorting through his collection. “I haven’t seen all my options yet.”
He chuckles and moves away. “Take your time.”
Something tells me there’s a story for each album in this stack. Music is a key to one’s personal history, and I want to learn his. The more I get to know about Jackson, the more I want to learn.
My hands freeze on a case, the cover art conjuring a memory from my past. I haven’t listened to this in years. I pretty much forgot about this band until this moment. “You like The Refreshments?”
He shrugs. “My brother, Wild, opened for them once. They’re from The Valley. Did you know that?”
“I did.”
“I was too little to go.” He steps closer, leaning over to gaze at the CD cover. “He’d sneak Ryan and Aiden in to his shows, but I was just a kid. I always got left behind.” He forces a smile. “They’d feelbad and bring me something back, a poster or a shirt, and if I was lucky, a CD. That’s actually how this collection started.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” His gaze is thoughtful. “At the time, it felt like a consolation prize. I looked up to my brothers. I wanted to be around them so badly. Wanted to be included. I threw a fit when they did anything without me. God, I must’ve been so annoying.”
I pop open the plastic case in my hand, and place the circular disc in the player.
“The first time I heard this, I was staying with a foster family. I was only there a few weeks, but their son was a few years older and he introduced me to all kinds of bands. This record was one of his favorites.”
I suddenly feel overly exposed. I don’t talk about my childhood for a reason. I purposefully avoid Jackson’s stare. I don’t want to see his sympathy or pity; I don’t think I can bear it. Instead, I press the skip button until the fifth track is queued. I press play and close my eyes.
The familiar aching melody fills my ears, and my hips sway as I let the music take me back. God, I love this song. It’s like I’m thirteen all over again. The lyrics cut straight through my heart, the same way they did then, talking about time and being stuck in the same place. My desperation for an escape. My heart feels too big for my chest. The urge to cry stings behind my eyelids. I keep them closed.
“Dance with me?” The low timbre of Jackson’s voice brings me back to the present.
I open my eyes to find him standing before me. There’s an openness to his expression. No judgment. No pity for a girl who was never chosen.
“Unless you don’t know how to.” He’s teasing, and it lightens the tightness in my chest.
“I think I can manage a slow dance.” I roll my eyes.
“Good.” His mouth curves with genuine delight as I step into his personal space.
