Killing Me Softly(A Broken Souls Series)

He’s finishing up a Lenny Kravitz song, which means his fifteen minute break is about to start. By the applause from the crowd, they enjoyed the set.

“What did you think,” Tate asks as he comes in the room.

“You were fantastic! I love that Lenny song, you didn’t sing it at the book store.” I grab a cup and fill it up with water. “Here, I’m sure you need something to drink.”

He takes the cup and sets it on the table and pulls me to him. “That song does better when you have a large crowd and better acoustics. The bookstore isn’t set up for music, but this place is another story. Ha! No pun intended.”

“I’m going to do it,” I blurt out. I’ve been possessed! I’d never agree to singing. Oh god, what have I done?

“You are? You’re going to KILL!”

“Yup, someone might die.” Me! I’m going to die from a damned heart attack. Why did I say that? Face palm.

Tate takes my hand and pulls me to him. He’s going to kiss me. The thought literally makes me smile. “I hope I put that smile on your face,” he says and pecks me on the lips.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe huh?” He quickly kisses me again.

“Maybe not.” I tilt my head to the side defiantly.

He licks his lips right before his mouth comes down on mine. His mouth is cold from eating a piece of ice, there’s something sensual with the difference in our temperatures. As quick as it had started, he pulled away. “Interested in retracting your last maybe?”

Oh god yes! “Okay, maybe you did put the smile on my face. Kiss me again so I can be sure.” Look at me being all brave and flirty. No alcohol needed.

“You don’t need to ask me twice.” This time, he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. “That buzz was my queue that my break is up. Come on stage with me.”

No! What the hell! No! God! I can’t believe I agreed to sing. “Okay. If I sound terrible, don’t tell me. If they throw things at us I’m going to cry.”

“You’re not going to cry. You’re going to do great. Come on.”

The bar is packed with twenty somethings looking for a good time. Karaoke is easier, people expect you to mess up and sing off key. How is it that I’ve agreed to stand up and sing a song that I’ve only practiced over Skype with Tate? I couldn’t even sing it in my full voice because I was afraid my Dad would walk in and throw a fit.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

“You’re going to break my fingers,” Tate says. I look down at our hands and sure enough, I am squeezing his hand until my knuckles are white.

“Tate, I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”

His face goes from smiling to one of concern. “Holland, you don’t have to do this. I’m sorry. Just sit on the barstool and I’ll sing to you.”

“Are you sure?” Please be sure!

“I’m sure. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Holland, don’t be sorry. We’re about to start.” Tate takes the microphone in his hand. “Hey everyone, if you’re just getting here, I’m Tate, and this is Holland.” Everyone who heard him starts to applaud. “This next set is new so please indulge me.”

Tate grabs two of the plain wooden barstools from the back of the stage and sets them next to the mic stand. Without warning, he grabs me by the waist, lifting me up to set on the seat. “Relax, I’m not giving you a lap dance, no matter how much you beg.” A grin spreads across my face, one of the ones that make me look guilty as hell. “You’re so pretty when you smile,” Tate says barely audible. He picks up his guitar and sits down on the barstool facing me and adjusts the mic stand to his sitting height.

He starts singing my favorite Sara Bareilles song, Gravity. Every lyric, every note, has grabbed my heart and lifted it with invisible strings. He’s giving me chills and for two minutes, the entire room is empty except for the two of us. The crowd applauding reminds me that we’re not alone, we’re in front of a packed room. Over the next twenty minutes he sings everything from a Carrie Underwood song, to The Beatles. When he started singing, Just the Way You Are as a slow song, I knew it would be a crowd favorite.

Back in the green room, Tate grabs me pulls me in for a hug. “You were amazing!” He says to me.

“What? I sat there while you sang your face off! You were the one who was amazing.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as great if you weren’t there.”

“You are seriously a cheesy guy.”

“Without the cheese, it is simply a grilled sandwich,” Tate says.

I roll my eyes at him and we both crack up laughing.

“Let’s go out there for a few minutes and then we can leave and do anything you want.”

I take his hand and we go into the main club area. He explains to me that a part of his contract says he has to stay in the main area for a minimum of thirty minutes. The manager comes over and tells Tate what a great job he did and said he’d like to talk to him about coming out again.

“Tate, come with me to my booth, I want to talk to you for a minute, alone. Sweetheart, order yourself something and he’ll be back with you in a little while.” The manager says and puts his arm over Tate’s shoulders pulling him away from me.

“I’ll be right back,” Tate mouths to me.

Something about the manager gives me a bad vibe. Then I had the girls walking over and telling me how lucky I am to have him sing to me and wanting to know if we’re a couple. Girls complimented me about how well Tate sings. Everything was perfect until some girl comes over and tells me he can do better than me. She doesn’t even know me and she’s talking shit about how homely I am. How she has a better body than me. I’d normally tell a bitch like her off, but I can’t since this is Tate’s deal and I don’t want to embarrass him. You don’t live with a mentally ill and verbally abusive person without having a thicker skin. Instead, I decide to go outside and wait for Tate. I don’t need to listen to a skanky bitch harass me.

Just as I’m approaching the doors, someone grabs me. “Get your hands off me bitch!” I yell as I turn around.

Tate has me by the arm. “Holland, are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t calling you a bitch. Nothing, just a girl talking smack and I decided to go outside to cool down.”

“Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m just glad to have you back. What did the manager want?”

He shakes his head and smiles at me. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Really?”

Tate smiles and says, “Really.”

When we get in the truck I notice I have ten missed calls from my dad and Aunt Laney has sent me a text.

HOLLAND – MEET ME AT DC MEMORIAL – I HAD AN AMBULANCE PICK UP YOUR DAD.

“Tate, can you take me to my car? I’m sorry, I have a family emergency.” Dad what have you done? Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m destined to be an old maid caring for my mentally ill father.

“What’s wrong? Is it your dad?”

“Yeah, my Aunt Laney sent me a text and told me to meet her at the hospital. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll take you to your car, but I’m going to follow you to the hospital to make sure you get there safely.”