He smiles. A real, joyful smile, the kind that makes deep grooves appear around his mouth in the shape of half-moons.
“Honest and shit. You in a nutshell.” When his eyes lock on mine, my heart heaves at the way they reflect the flames of the fire. “Please don’t ever change.”
Then he starts playing a song. It takes me all of three seconds to recognize the lilting notes.
“Landslide,” by Fleetwood Mac.
CHAPTER 11
Walking Away
RYDER
Billie’s eyes light up,making my chest turn over.
Does she remember how we do this?And then she answers my question by singing along, becauseof courseshe just goes for it. No self-consciousness. No hesitation.
Just a lot of heart.
I really am a dead man.
I blink back the burn in my eyes as I struggle a little to keep playing the notes. I haven’t played since the other night. Too afraid. Too confused. So I haven’t been able to practice, and it’s been ages since I playedanysong.
But this was Mom’s favorite tune—she was a huge Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks fan—and I played it for her often enough that I know the notes by heart.
I went straight for the jugular, playing this damn song.
Felt wrong not to, though. Billie…she’s got some kinda weird faith in me that makes me wanna have faith in myself.
Faith that I won’t die if I revisit this stuff again.
Faith that I might keep feeling better if I put down my dukes and let myself remember it all. The good, the bad, the ugly. Even if falling apart makes me less of a man in the world’s eyes.
Her voice is pretty. She laughs when she has trouble hitting the high notes, but it’s just the hit of levity I needed to keep from drowning. Her green eyes glimmer in the light of the fire as she sings and I play, and the world seems to slow to a stop around us to listen.
She’s leaning back, her legs stretched out in front of her, arms propped up behind her with her hands planted on the blanket. The posture pulls her shirt taut over her chest, making her tits look…fuck, like the most perfect handfuls that ever existed. I nearly swallow my tongue when her nipples suddenly make an appearance, like she’s turned on by my staring.
I allow myself tobrieflyfantasize about leaning over and sucking on them through her shirt. I imagine her head falling back. Hair trailing down the length of her arms as she pants my name. She’d knock off my hat before yanking me in for a hard, hot kiss.
Billie is not the kind of girl to fuck around. She’d bite my bottom lip. Pull my hair.
A pulse of heat shoots up my dick and lands with a thudding heartbeat in my tip.
Fuck.
Fuck fuckfuck.
Cannot. Get hard. While thinking about Colt’s sister’s tits.
So I clear my throat, avert my eyes, and try my damndest to focus on the music.
The logs crackle and pop, putting off a wave of heat that hits my legs and face.Feel that.My fingertips smart as they pull on the strings.Focus on that, the music.My callouses have long since disappeared.
Do I have the courage to build them back up?
The hot press of tears on the backs of my eyes returns with a vengeance. Now that I really am focused on the music, I’m facing down my emotions in a way that terrifies me.
I glance at Billie, pulse thumping. I’m scared she’ll see me cry and be turned off. Disgusted, even.
