But because when I was onstage, for just the space of that one song, she had her old look in her eyes. The one she’s always had for me. The look that’s been absent since she overheard my thoughtless, lying words on that fucking phone call to Emma.
And during the entire four minutes of that song, her smile was back, the one she’s always reserved for me. I never wanted to stop singing.
But when the music ended, and I came up to her after, that smile was gone once again, replaced by the careless one I know is false.
And that’s the bitch of it. I’ve been telling myself that I want her to stop teasing me, stop flirting, stop driving me mad.
But when I killed her regard and the light in her eyes died, I immediately wanted the old Daisy back. The one who isn’t brittle or guarded around me.
Tonight, I got flashes of her before her mask slammed back into place again. Like it is now.
“You didn’t need to walk me to the pool house,” she says.
“I did.”
She turns the knob, and the door opens.
I look at her in concern. “You didn’t lock it.”
“There are at least four guards working around the clock and an enormous gate at the bottom of the hill. And your brother Brendan’s here. I don’t need to lock the pool house.”
I step into the room, flicking on lights. I check behind the curtains and peek into the bathroom before I’m satisfied.
“Is it all clear?” she asks sarcastically, twirling her small, beaded purse and looking like an angel in her wispy pink dress that matches her lipstick.
I swallow. The queen-sized bed looms large, so I move toward the door. “Brendan’s not here, by the way. He messaged me earlier tonight. He had an emergency at the office. He’ll drive back in the morning with Shelby.”
“Oh.” She pulls her hair back from her face, taming her windblown mane.
“Okay. Well. It looks like it’s safe.”
She arches a brow. “I wasn’t the one worried about safety. But you worry about it enough for the two of us.” She says the words like a taunt as she fingers the thin strap of her dress.
My gaze follows her movement, down to the curve of her breasts, where it’s been obvious all night she’s not wearing a bra.Fuck.
“Someone has to.” My voice is rough.
I need to leave, or I won’t be able to. Not that she wants me. Not anymore.
“Lock the door behind you,” I remind her darkly as I start to walk away.
“Maybe I want company,” she taunts softly. I freeze at her words. “Which is good,” she continues, “because Archie seems to want to stay with me tonight.”
I look back and realize that the dog hasn’t followed me like he usually does. Instead, he’s lying at her feet.
I shut the door softly, but firmly, behind me.
I’m standing onstage,a stadium of people tracking my every move, when it happens again. I open my mouth to sing the next lyrics of a song I know better than my own name when my voice leaves me.
There’s nothing. I try to sing. I try to speak. But it’s gone. And even if I could make my vocal cords work, it wouldn’t matter because all the words I’ve ever written are gone as well.
I turn to my band, but they’ve vanished. It’s just me on the stage, all alone. I search the crowd madly, hoping to find someone who can help.
And that’s when I see her. Daisy. She’s a beacon in the front row. She’s smiling, encouraging, joyful. A lifeline.
Until the crowd surges in the direction of the stage, and she’s swallowed by a sea of people. They move forward, as violent as a tidal wave, toward me.
I wake with a racing heart, dripping in sweat, to find the world as loud as my dream.
