“I believe that’s true, but I also think you like sleeping and could use more of it.”
“I sleep like a baby, in your arms, every night.”
I flush and go back to strumming. The melody is good. It doesn’t need to change. I just can’t come up with any words for this one. I’m probably going to offer it to my friends.
“Writer’s block?” Liam asks.
I scrub a hand over my face, setting the instrument aside. “I thought I would spend this whole summer rewriting the lyrics for my preexisting songs. Instead, I’ve written six new songs and haven’t touched any of the old ones.”
“Can’t you get someone to write to track?” he asks.
I lift my eyebrows, leaning forward so my elbow is on the front console. “Look at you.”
“Picked up a thing or two.”
“I remember when you didn’t know what a pre-chorus was.”
“I remember when you didn’t know what a shortstop was.”
“Liam. Istilldon’t know what a shortstop is.”
He laughs, one of his hands reaching out to grab my forearm. His fingers skate across my wrist, down to my knuckles, and our fingers interlock over the cup holders.
I stare at our linked hands, my chest thrumming. He’s been doing things like this since Tucson, and I’m trying not to read into it, but the dominant part of me hopes it means Liam’s confidence in me is solidifying.
“I was against the idea of a stranger writing lyrics to my tracks when Paul suggested it,” I explain to Liam. “But now I think maybe if it was a friend…”
“You’d feel like they’d understand,” he finishes. “What the song is supposed to sound like.”
“Exactly.” He’s quiet, and since he doesn’t know we already discussed it, I say, “You’re not going to suggest I work with the songwriters we’re touring with?”
Liam frowns at the road. “I’m done pushing you into doing things you aren’t ready for.”
My breath stalls out in my throat. “I needed that push, Liam.”
“That push,” he says after a moment, “cost me the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I’m right here,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, tightening his hold on my fingers. “Yeah, but. We’ll never get those four years back.”
I watch his side profile for a moment, then crawl into the front seat and strap in. He lets me go while I’m readjusting but immediately grabs for my hand again when I’m settled.
“Did you know I was planning to follow you?” I ask. “If you’d gone to do a fall or winter league for practice before the majors, I would’ve tried to come. And I would have moved with you again that spring to whatever city drafted you.”
He sighs softly. “I knew.”
“How? We never talked about it. We weren’t even officially together.”
“We were together in every sense,” Liam argues.
“Except the part where we made it official out loud,” I say. “I never explicitly told you I was planning to leave Knoxville.”
“You didn’t have to, Paige.”
“What made you so confident I’d follow you?”
He turns to look at me, realizing I’m goading him into saying it. Saying that I had nothing, no one, no plan.
