His voice reigns over the otherwise silent room, like no other sound could command the air. It is all his.
The melody and lyrics are simple.
It’s about a girl.
But there’s an innocence to it. It’s the brilliant contrast of his distinctive voice, the impossibly low, whiskey-laden timbre of it,making the words that much sweeter and his singing that much starker.
And every soul-crashing syllable is marked for me. His eyes meet mine, and I can’t look away. The room could catch fire. The world could burn, but I’d still be right there, with him, in this music, at this moment. I lean closer. I can’t help it.
And then when it’s my turn, I somehow join in. It’s not a big part, just a brief higher register that blends and bleeds with him until we’re one.
It doesn’t last long. A few minutes. And his final guitar strum hangs in the air.
I gasp in a deep breath, waves of emotion rolling through me.
His gaze has an intensity I can’t understand. It’s like he’s never seen me before, as if he hasn’t been part of the fabric of my life for close to a decade.
And I’m watching him with my open heart laid bare.
All this time, I’ve flirted and challenged and teased, but I’ve only ever shown him my entire hand once, that first summer. Never again. After that, I tried to play it cooler, smarter, tried to get him to notice me, but not let on how I felt because I knew too much, too fast, would spook him away again.
But that song tore away my every defense. Every boundary lies in shambles at his feet.
As I watch him, I wonder if something may have shifted in Ryder as well. When he carries me back to our booth with the sound of applause filling the room, it’s almost like he’s shaking. Our eyes connect, and a shiver snakes down my spine.
We leave soon after that. As Ryder predicted, word got out, and more and more people crowded the bar.
I left like I arrived, in his arms, but this time, it’s different.I’mdifferent.
I’m ready, I decide. Finally ready to stop playing and just tell him. Ready to lay my whole heart on the line. I’m tired of the game.
I’m also tired of wasting my time on something that may not be for me. I did that with school and my business. I can’t keep chasing after imaginary dreams.
I’ve bided my time with hot bartenders and cold tequila, with friends and distractions. But I want more. I want someone who listens to me with respect, who treats me with care. Someone who tends to my hurts, who carries me when I’m down, who supports me when things get too heavy and I just want a rest.
I want Ryder.
But as mine.
And dammit, I think, still dazed from his singing, as he handles the stick shift of his expensive car in a way that just does it for me—I want him tonight.
CHAPTER 14
Ryder
(TEN YEARS AGO) RYDER’S JOURNAL
The words are finally coming. I’ve been stuck in my head. The fear of failing had me in a chokehold that the music couldn’t get past.
But now the words are flowing so fast that I can barely capture them in my mind or on my guitar, like a funnel I can’t control.
I suspect it’s Daisy. She’s here daily—chatting and laughing. When I should be working, or at least staring at a blank page in frustration, she dares me into playing ping-pong with her or taking turns at doing fancy dives into the pool. We listen to our favorite albums. And she forces her way into my closet, scolding me for how many basic black T-shirts I have and how poorly I treat my red-carpet suits.
Then she smiles at me. And somehow writing a new song doesn’t seem so hard.
(NOW)
There’s never been silence between us before. But it’s as if what happened on that stage stole our breath and robbed us of our voices.
