“Move over.” Her hands pushed mine off the keys, and her elbow jabbed mine so I’d shift on the bench. “Do you know the lyrics or should I write them down for you?”
“I can manage.” I’d played this song a million times, not that I’d tell her it was on my phone.
It was the only Hush Note song I’d ever purchased for myself because it was the one song that was undeniably Quinn. Her boy Jonas had written the lyrics, but she was there, in the pulse of the bass drum and the beat of the snare. She was there in the melody, even if she wasn’t playing the guitar or singing the vocals.
On the long nights when I was worn out but couldn’t find sleep—the nights when the anger was hard to muster and I’d missed her face—I’d listen to that song and recall the days when she’d been my friend.
That was what I’d always missed the most. Her friendship.
People had told us we were too young to know true love. I’d believed them as a teenager. A part of me believed them now. Was it really possible to find your soul mate at sixteen?
Whether it had been real or we’d only thought it was real, I wasn’t sure. But there was no mistaking the raw emotion in “Torchlight.” That song had been written by a woman whose heart had been broken by her love.
Broken by me.
But the pain in this song came through loud and clear.
I’d been wrecked because Quinn had abandoned me.
Maybe she’d been destroyed because in a way, I’d abandoned her too.
Quinn played the opening notes, changing the fast-paced rhythm to something slower and more subtle. Tingles broke across my forearms. My pulse raced. There was hardly a whisper of air in my lungs when Quinn began singing.
I’d meant to join in, but all I could do was sit and watch her croon to the rafters.
You are the dark. You were the bright.
Your voice was hope. Your eyes are fear.
You are the torchlight.
Here to incinerate my soul.
The final note echoed in the room, fading until the only sound was my pounding heart. What could I say? That was perfect? That was fucking agony? She didn’t need me here to sing that song for Nan. And the truth was, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to do it. To sing with Quinn.
Two small hands began clapping.
My eyes turned to Colin who was standing on the honey-colored pew, clapping with a huge grin on his face. That smile was wider than any I’d seen this week, since before Nan.
I cleared my throat. “That was . . . good. Let’s do it again. I’ll come in this time now that I know where you’re taking it.”
I wasn’t sure how, but I’d find the strength to survive this song. For Colin. Because if I sang beside one of his idols, maybe Saturday wouldn’t be quite so hard.
“All right.” Quinn’s fingers stayed glued to the keys, like now that she’d touched them, she was afraid to let go.
She sang the opening and I stayed quiet because it would be more powerful alone. Then when she hit the first chorus, I harmonized with her, trying not to overshadow her voice but simply lift it with my own.
Our vocals melded, curling into each other like old lovers. They were timid at first, testing and teasing. But when the thread of control snapped, we went at it with abandon.
I’d forgotten how natural it was to sing with Quinn. I’d forgotten how good we sounded together. It was different now. My voice was lower and deeper. Hers wasn’t as innocent and unsure. Maturity had changed us both, but the differences made it all the more interesting. There was a dynamic, sultry and surefire, that hadn’t been there in our youth.
My eyes were fixed on her mouth. On the lips that formed each syllable with perfection and grace. Quinn’s fingers moved in a fluid dance over the piano and her gaze tilted to meet mine.
Somewhere in the room, my son was watching. There was a tether in my focus always tied to him, but otherwise, the rest of the world faded away.
Quinn drew me in, wrapping me in her music, and reality vanished.
This had always been our thing. As teenagers, we’d drive around town with the windows down and the radio blaring. She’d beat her hands on the dash, playing an invisible drum, while we’d sing along to whatever station she’d picked.
Singing and music had been part of my entire life. Every other Sunday, I was the lead for the church band. Once or twice a month, I played in a friend’s band at one of our favorite local bars. It was a fun hobby, but it didn’t call to me like it did Quinn.
She was in her element, and I blindly followed her from beginning to end.
I leaned in closer and her arm brushed against mine. A flush crept into her cheeks as she continued to play and a storm brewed in her blue eyes. The electricity between us crackled.
We’d been lovers once, but this was beyond any teenage fantasies. This was sensual. Carnal. I wanted her voice in my bedroom, whispering dirty musings in my ear as her blond hair draped across my bare chest. I wanted those fingers to tickle and torment the lines of my stomach like they did the piano’s keys.
Gone was the randy teenager who’d always done his best to make it good for his girl. Now I was a man, and I didn’t just want it to be good for Quinn, I wanted to hear her scream.
The song was over. She’d played the last chord while I’d been staring at her mouth. The swell of her breasts heaved as she breathed. The haze around us remained, and even as I blinked, I couldn’t bring it into focus.
Until my son began clapping again.
I tore my eyes away and stood from the piano’s bench to rake a hand through my hair. What. The. Fuck.
What was I doing?
“That. Sounded. Awesome!” Colin let out a whoop and jumped off the pew. He ran to the stage, bypassing me completely to take up my place beside Quinn. “You’re a really good singer. How come you don’t sing with the band?”
“Oh, I, uh . . .” Quinn forced a smile. “Jonas is such a good singer, don’t you think?”
My son didn’t seem to care that she’d dodged his question, but I studied her face. It was the same question I’d had yesterday. Why didn’t she sing?
I opened my mouth to repeat Colin’s question but clamped it shut. Was it any of my business how they’d decided to run their band? No. I’d already gotten tied up in that enough yesterday, and I wasn’t getting anymore involved.
This was not my problem.
“I think we should do that for Saturday,” I said.
“Okay.” Quinn knew it was good, and she knew Nan would have flipped over that rendition. “Should we practice it again?”
“Tomorrow.” There was no way I’d survive another round today. I waved Colin over. “Let’s go.”
“I’m hungry.” He patted his stomach and walked over, pausing to look back at Quinn. “Do you think Dad or Jonas is a better singer?”
“Colin—”
“Your dad.” Quinn gave him a genuine smile and complete attention. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Don’t tell Jonas I said that, okay?”
“Cool.” Colin beamed, then looked up to me with absolute pride. My heart thumped—hard. There was nothing like seeing pride on your kid’s face when they were looking at you. “Bye, Quinn.”
“Bye, Colin.”