Page 54 of Forbidden Heart

“Just a Coke...” I mumble, yanking on my wrist until it unsticks from the soda machine. I almost punch Silas in the gut, but manage to stop my hand last minute. Phew.

I step away and watch as Silas presses the button on the soda machine with the long and nimble fingers of a piano player. The machine rumbles and drops two soda cans into the slot. Silas crouches to pick them up. Before he rises again, he looks up at me.

This time, I’m towering over him. The sunlight caresses his ivory pale skin. When his hair isn’t hanging over his eyes, he looks sweet and gentle. Harmless. Maybe he’s not so scary after all.

In an instant, the illusion is shattered. He rises to his full height and shoves the can of Coke into my hands. Snap. My bracelet instantly sticks to it.

Flustered, I wiggle my wrist several times, shaking the can. Silas ignores me.

Without another word, he pops the tab on his own soda and takes a long sip. The sparkling liquid pours past his lips, making him look half like a supermodel and half like a feasting vampire.

“Thanks for this,” I say softly as I fumble with the tab on my soda can with my left hand. It doesn’t work.

I should have switched the bracelet to my left hand, I realize. But it’s too late now. My right wrist is already stuck to the can, and once again I shake it to break free.

With a groan, I switch hands and decide to open the tab with my right. I tilt the can away from me to avoid the bracelet, give it a quick tug, and gasp. Because as the metal seal clicks down and a hiss of fizz escapes, a jet of Coke bursts out of the can.

The dark, bubbly liquid shoots out horizontally and instantly soaks Silas. His shirt, his jeans, even his shoes are all covered in the carbonated, sticky, sugary drink.

“I’m so sorry,” I cry, staring at his soaked chest.

Silas doesn’t freak out. He doesn’t yell. He just sighs with exhaustion and walks away.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I shout after him, but he raises his hand, signaling for me to stop.

He leaves me standing by the soda machine, staring down at the dark puddle of Coke that had missed him... or that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing. Any creativity I’d felt before running into Silas is gone, so I refocus upward on the carefree and indifferent sky instead.

For a moment, I think back to pricking my finger on the rough shelf edge in the jewelry store. Maybe it was a curse after all. A splinter curse that somehow transferred to someone else. Silas.

Chapter 21

By Thursday, I still don’t have a song. The guys have already scheduled their first rehearsal for Saturday—that’s how much they believe in me—but all that does is add to the pressure. The thought of sharing a song with Tate, Charles, JJ, and even worse, Silas, sends a wave of fear through me. Not to mention that they plan to perform it on stage, in front of an audience.

Nausea roils in my stomach at the thought of writing a song so many people will hear. I even start wishing Silas would show up at the apartment so I can ask him for help. Working with the Dark Prince is a last resort, but he is a talented songwriter. At least, from what I heard. Plus, I’d rather work with him than have them lose the competition.

The guys have already left for their morning class, so I have the apartment to myself. It’s the perfect time to write a song, but I can’t seem to make any headway.

Has the apartment always been so quiet? I would even settle for a ticking clock at this point, but everything is digital. Occasionally, the fridge hums audibly, but that just makes the rest of the place feel even quieter. Lonelier. Less than ideal for songwriting.

I try everything, from playing the guitar, to humming, dancing, pacing, and screaming. Nothing Works. I’m still right where I started when JJ comes back to the apartment an hour later.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” I ask him.

“Skipping today. Vocal coach caught the flu, and I can’t risk getting sick this close to the competition.”

At the mention of the competition, my belly does a flop, and I feel my face growing a little pale.

“You okay?” JJ takes a seat on the couch next to me. “You’re not getting sick too, are you?”

I notice that he makes no move to stay away from me, even after telling me about his sick vocal coach. Instead, he takes my hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze. The warm touch sends my heart racing, and my songwriting nerves are suddenly replaced with being-near-JJ nerves.

“Roonie?” he prompts.

“Sorry.” The word slips out, a reflex left over from living with Father. Not paying attention, then apologizing. His anger. I’m so glad to have left all that behind now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault if you’re getting sick.” JJ pulls me to my feet. “How about I make you some warm tea? Is your throat sore? We have some lemon drops in the—”

“I’m not sick, JJ.” I smile at how sweet he’s being and then instantly remind myself that I don’t deserve it. Not when he’s going to lose the competition because of me.