My frustration was mounting with Holden, but I wouldn’t take it out on Emily, and I was relieved it arrived so soon. “Thanks, Emily, you’re a lifesaver.”
Her cheeks went full pink ink blot, like I’d propositioned her, and her arms hugged her tablet to her chest. “Just doing my job.”
“I couldn’t do it without you. Really.”
She peeked up. “I know you’re not big into the fawning or gushing, but I wanted to tell you working for you has been the most exciting thing to happen to me in my entire life. Watching you perform never gets old.”
“Even when you’re holding my puke bucket?”
The tomato flush turned to fire engine scalding. “Everyone gets nervous. I could never do it. Once I tried to sing during a choir solo in high school and I puked so hard before, I burst a blood vessel in my eye and vowed to never sing again. At least you puke and keep going.”
I jolted, rocked by her admission. Was everyone hiding things from me? “You sing?”
Her mouth opened and closed, and she shook her head like I’d asked if she’d murdered someone. “No, not at all. Never.”
But I could see it. A flicker of want. She wanted to be able to do it without being clouded by the fear. I’d seen that same look when I’d stared at myself in the mirror, willing myself to sing, when nothing would come out.
She’d probably done the same thing herself. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help her out?
“When are we in the studio next?”
Her throat tightened. She scrolled through the tablet, relieved to be back in her normal territory. “In two days.”
“Perfect.”
Maybe I could write a song for her. One that called to her in an irresistible way to get her over her fear. I’d been there. Helping her overcome the stranglehold on her voice was the least I could do.
31
Keyton
It was the picture-perfect scene.
Bay came over after two, using the key I’d given her. I wanted this to be a place she could escape to even if I wasn’t here, even though she’d only be in town for a few more days. I’d needed to give it to her, needed to know this was a place she could always come back to.
“Hey, I thought you had a team meeting this afternoon. I was coming to get some quiet before you got back.”
She hadn’t come with her bag like she usually did. In her hand was the guitar case I’d had with me for four years, the one I’d spent hours with. I knew every nick and bump in the case. There was no mistaking it.
“We finished early. You brought your guitar.”
My chest burned with the fires of regret and lost time. I’d pinned so many hopes and wishes on piecing it back together. For so long, I’d thought it wasn’t possible, but here she was with me.
“Is that okay? I swear, I won’t take long. I’ve had a few songs I need to get out, and sitting in the hotel room wasn’t doing it.” Beside the door, she kicked off her shoes and dumped them in a pile along with mine. Her coat came off and she opened the coat closet and hung it inside amongst my others.
Her arm wrapped around me. The case bumped against my hand.
I ran my fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Of course. I’ll stay out of your way.”
She grabbed my hand, searching my eyes with hers. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
I kissed her, teasing her lips with my tongue. “I know. Do your thing. Have you eaten?”
Her head ducked with a sheepish look. “Not yet.”
“I’ll make us some food.”
Her smile was ice-cream-sundae-sweet. She rushed over to the living room, set down the guitar, and shifted the arm chair closer to the window. “I’ll be quick.”
After fishing her notebook out of her bag with a pencil clenched between her teeth, she fell into her music.
I’d never watched her create before. Not so nakedly. Back in high school, she’d been barely singing again, fumbling over the older songs, trying to find her voice. In LA, she’d been racked with worry and uncertainty.
This version of her wasn’t nearly as worried about how she sounded—or maybe she was comfortable enough around me now to not hide any of the process.
All the missed notes, clashing chords, and groans of frustration were on display.
Lunch was ready and she ate one-handed, swearing she’d be finished in a few minutes. Watching her became my new favorite pastime.
I handed her a mug of the hot chocolate made with the mix she’d given me. I’d wanted to save it up to savor when she was gone, but her sniff of the cup and megawatt grin was a trade-off I could live with.
Her voice was no longer tentative tiptoeing from our first few nights in the studio together. There was no hint of hoping someone else didn’t overhear, none of the nervousness that radiated off her before her performances.
Not wanting to feel like a full-fledged stalker watching her work, I grabbed my sketchpad and sat on the couch a few feet away from her.
Her focus was absolute, and I tried to capture it—not only the look on her face, but how our time together felt.
Once she’d left, I’d come home hoping to find her like this, absorbed in her music for so long she’d forgotten to eat, so I’d make her dinner and let her keep going until her muse was finally tired.
The sun had set and her phone chirped from her bag by the front door.
Her head popped up and she looked at me with wide eyes and whipped her head around staring outside. In the window, her reflection made double Bays. “Oh my god, it’s so late.”
She shot up, her notebook falling to the floor and pencil rolling onto the carpet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t even realize.”
“Bay, it’s fine. Answer your phone.”
“Can you hold this?” She held out her guitar. The same one I’d broken. The same one I’d pieced together. And in that moment, I knew.
She’d forgiven me. Not only in her words or her thoughts. Not even consciously. But through and through to the depths of her soul.
I took the guitar, reverently trying to keep my emotions in check before letting them flow over me. Not shutting them away. But feeling all the ways this hit me. The joy. The pain. The fear. The love.
The love I felt for her now eclipsed every other love I’d had for her: my teen love born of my need to connect with someone, and my newly minted college graduate love heightened by the pedestal I’d put her on.
Now, I loved her from a place of wanting to spend the rest of my life with her, basking in her love for me, and being the best man possible for her.
She toyed with the ends of her hair after finishing her call. “I have to go now. But I can be back tonight, if that’s okay with you. I know you have to leave early in the morning. And I’m sorry I took so long. I—this wasn’t how I wanted to spend one of our last night’s together.”
“We’ll have many more nights together.” My throat tightened. Emotions raced through my body—regret for the time we’d lose when I left in the morning, happiness for how excited she was to come back to me. Love for her. “Of course. I’ll wait up for you.” I followed her to the front door.