“Can you play something for me?” The hopeful sound in her voice makes it impossible to say no. But saying yes means I have to play for her. The first person I’ve played for in over fifteen years.
My heart kicks double time behind my ribs. “Now? Oh, uh…”
“If you’re not ready or whatever, it’s fine.”
“No, I mean, you’ve already seen the room. Might as well.” I lift her off my lap and set her on the couch.
I move to the piano and sit at the keys. My breathing is ragged. Sweat dampens my palms, and I swipe them on my jeans. Fuck, I hope I don’t throw up. “Um…” What in the hell should I play? My eyes meet hers across the room, and there’s nothing but acceptance and support radiating from her chocolate brown stare. Her hands are in her lap, and she sits on the edge of the couch, waiting.
“Okay, name this tune.” My fingers move along the keys like second nature, and music fills the room. I allow myself a few measures before looking up to see her expression.
She’s smiling her carefree grin and stomping her feet, laughing. “‘Brown-Eyed Girl’!”
I stop playing the Van Morrison song and grin. “Yeah.”
She claps and jumps up from the couch, moving to my side at the piano. I scoot over and pat the piano bench. “Here.”
“Do another one.” She sits and bounces excitedly.
“Another one. Hmm.” It’s not that I don’t have a million songs running through my head; it’s picking the right one. For her, in this moment of confessions and soul bearing.
She gazes at me expectantly, and I marvel at how beautiful she is, with the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose, her naturally pink lips, and all that long wavy hair. It’s as if every day I spend with her I discover something new that makes me like her more. That makes me fall harder.
It’s on that thought, I think of the song.
Again my fingers move across the keys, this time slower as I put everything I have into this one song. My chest feels like it’s going to explode, and I open my mouth and sing the lyrics. I can’t look at her. I won’t. If I do, I know I’ll screw it up.
I concentrate, hearing it in my head and mimicking the notes and tempo. Even though I’m not looking at her, I can tell she’s not moving. She’s still and completely focused on me. I close my eyes and allow myself to fall into the song, just like I do when I’m alone. Pouring my soul out in lyrical form. Exhausting myself emotionally while my fingers dance along the keys and my foot works the pedals.
Butterflies rip through my gut, as the words pour from my lips. The bridge picks up, and I lose myself in the meaning of it all. Opening this part of myself, of my life, and hoping the only girl I’ve ever cared about doesn’t reject me. I’m praying that this isn’t a dream, and when I open my eyes, she’s sitting at my side.
And if she’s not?
My dad’s wrong. I’m not a *. I’m a fighter.
If she walks away now, there’s no battle I wouldn’t wage to get her back.
Twenty
Layla
This song is for me. I’m sure of it.
Those may be someone else’s lyrics, but belted from Blake’s mouth, they’re his.
Even seated, my legs feel weak. My chest tightens with the warmth of his words. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful in my life.
His big hands dance along the keys with a grace that contrasts with his size. His eyes are closed, and I watch unashamed as the words flow from his lips and settle in my heart. And if that isn’t enough, his singing voice is breathtaking. Not angelic and benign, but dark with a hint of rasp that rubs against every nerve in an arousing caress.
Arched forward, he sways along with the music, as if his body’s one with the piano. My stomach flips, and I swallow hard. He makes the piano’s elegance seem sexy and insanely masculine.
The song slows to the final few bridges. The final note sounds, and he drops his hands to his lap, allowing the closing note to reverberate off the walls.
I sit in the silence, mourning the loss.
Studying his profile, I watch him stare at his lap. His strong square jaw flexes before he takes a deep breath and tilts his face to mine. He shrugs a shoulder and doesn’t look me in the eye.
My heart cramps. “Blake, that was breathtaking. I mean… wow, you can sing. Like, really sing.”
His shy smile is something I’ve never seen, and it’s even better than his cocky one. Or at least a strong second. “Yeah, not really.”
“Yes, absolutely really. I’m… speechless.” I lick my lips, suddenly nervous to ask the question that’s been picking at my brain. “What song was that?”
“‘Fall for You’ by Secondhand Serenade.” He runs his fingers along the keys. “It’s no ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls.’” An uncomfortable laugh escapes his lips.
“I like the song you played better.”
He finally meets my eyes, the smile wiped clean from his face. “You do?”