“Yeah, it probably won’t be easy. I’ve never done it before.”
“Do you know which song you want to use?”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath, let it out, and can’t help but smile. “I want to use our song.”
I don’t know what I was expecting. Although, no, that’s a lie. I do know. I expected joy, that excited sparkle in his eyes that was there all last night while we searched for the right lyrics. It wasthere as he watched me cross out the wrong words in his notebook and replace them with the right ones as I quietly sang the melody I had in my head. Slower and a little more melancholy than what the guys usually do. A little gentler, a little less rock.
I was expecting the smile that shows his dimples and makes it clear to me that our friendship has changed far too much in a very short time. The fluttering in my stomach and chest, the stumbling of my heart when I see him, and the inevitable compulsion to smile when I think of him are pretty clear signs that we’re not just friends, even though that’s what we have to be. It’s what I need right now.
But Easton doesn’t smile. Instead, a shadow I’ve never seen before crosses his face, causing my stomach to cramp painfully.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, suppressing the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “Do you think it’s a stupid idea?”
“No. Not at all. It’s a good idea. It’s just...” He shakes his head and breaks off.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just... How are you going to do it? We haven’t even recorded the song yet.”
“So what? We’ll just do it. We could go to the studio together and...”
“No,” he says sharply. A guilty expression appears on his face as I flinch.
“Why not? The song is good, really good, and—”
“And it’s your song!” he snaps.
Confused, I blink at him. “No. That’s silly. We wrote it together.”
“It’s still your song. You had the idea. You knew what you wanted to write about, and you wrote it.”
“Yes. Together with you,” I say firmly. I don’t understand what’s happening.
“Yes, I helped you. But it’s your song.”
“No it’s not. We wrote ittogether,” I repeat. I can’t help it; I need him to understand. He has to know. “If anything, it’soursong. And I want you to play it.”
“But what you’re asking... Fuck, Rayne! It’s not as easy as you think.” There’s unmistakable despair and anger in his voice. Anger at... who? Me? Or himself? I don’t know, and I don’t want to.
“Then explain it to me,” I beg and take a step toward him. Everything in me urges me to reach out and touch him, but he steps back as if he knows what I’m about to do. It hurts, right in my heart. I shouldn’t get to be hurt by this, I know. I did the same thing to him yesterday when I was the one who backed away. But it still hurts.
“We can’t afford to just go into the studio and record a song.”
I don’t think, I just answer—and promptly say exactly the wrong thing. “I can.”
He laughs, and it sounds bitter. “Yeah, I know.”
My ears are ringing. Everything is going terribly wrong. I’m missing something. “Easton, I don’t get it...”
“Of course you don’t. How could you? You come from a completely different world than me and... Oh, fuck, forget it. This is stupid, and I have to go now.” He’s lying, and we both know it. He doesn’t work at the record store on Fridays, and he doesn’t have to be at the Lighthouse for hours. Stunned, I stare after him as he turns away and hurries down the stairs. I want to tell him that we promised not to argue again, but I can’t get the words out.
Chapter 23
Easton
FUCK ABOUT IT—Waterparks, blackbear
I’m an asshole. That’s all there is to it. I screwed up so badly that I have no idea how to fix it. An apology would probably be a good start. An explanation too.
