It’s so quiet in here that I’m positive Tom has snuck off to bed, but when I turn, he’s still here, shoulder leaning against the wall of the archway, as he watches me.
Half-smiling, I lean my back against the counter, curling my fingers around the edge. “You hanging around for a bit?”
He gives me a slow nod and then his eyes fix onto mine. “Are you over him?”
My body stiffens. “Am I over whom?”
“The ex—Chad,” Tom says with a surprising level of venom.
And hearing Chad’s name serves as a reminder of that night. The betrayal.
My hands slide from the counter and come around to my chest, pressing down on the ache I feel.
“Yeah, I’m over him. I have been for a while.”
Tom’s expression remains stoic. “But he’s the reason you always sing ‘Cry Me a River,’ right?”
Shaken to the core, I realize that he’s thought about this, thought about me. I shake my head gently. “What makes you think I sing that song because of him?”
He gives me a confounding look. “Because we’re musicians, Ly. Music bleeds into everything we do. We tie all feelings—pain, happiness, anger, sorrow—to music…lyrics. I know he hurt you…bad. And that song isn’t exactly light and roses, and you sing it all the time.”
When I don’t immediately respond, he says, “I have a song for every person I’ve lost.”
I want to ask him about the tattoo on his back, but I chicken out.
Instead, I softly say the one person I know he’s lost, “Jonny Creed.”
Tom’s face tightens, pain lancing through his eyes. He nods, and his voice is quiet as he says, “‘Hear You Me.’”
“Jimmy Eat World?”
“His folks played it at his funeral. I’ve listened to it every day since.”
In this moment, I hate that he’s felt pain and still feels it now. It makes me want to go over to him and wrap my arms around him, hold him tight.
But, of course, I do nothing.
“‘Cry Me a River’ isn’t Chad’s song,” I admit.
Tom gives a curious tilt of his head.
“I never told you who Chad cheated on me with.” I take a deep breath, the pain in my chest bursting. “My brother.”
Anger flashes through those green eyes. His expression is still stoic. He braces his arms above him. His hands are gripping the archway, lifting his T-shirt and giving me a glimpse of those fabulous abs of his.
See? Even now, at this moment, while rehashing painful past memories, the sight of him distracts me.
“Dex, my brother. Technically, he’s my cousin, my Aunt Steph and Uncle Paul’s son, but he was my brother where it counted.” I press my hand to my chest. “After I caught them mid-act, Dex admitted that he and Chad had been having an affair for a month. Dex, aside from being my brother and best friend, was also lead guitarist in Vintage. We originally formed the band with Cale. After it happened”—I gestured, unable to say the words, I made my best friends choose between him and me—“he, um…left the band. We replaced him with Van. I haven’t spoken to Dex since.” My hands move to grip the counter edge again.
Tom hasn’t said anything. He’s just staring at me, his jade eyes piercing me, while he’s working his jaw angrily.
I’m not sure as to where his anger is coming from. I can’t believe he would be this angry for me. There definitely has to be some other reason.
Awkward in our silence and confused by his reaction, I start talking again, “The night I caught them together was the night we opened for you at Madison Square Garden. Afterward. While you were performing onstage.”
Tom gives a slight nod, acknowledging but still saying nothing.
“Chad had come along to support us during our big night. After we went offstage, I lost the guys in the excitement, so I was wandering around, trying to find one of them. I got a bit lost, turned a corner, and stumbled upon a couple of guys going at it. I mean, they were actually having sex, and I saw it.” From out of nowhere, my eyes fill with tears, my lip trembling.
“Jesus, Lyla.”
The next thing I know, Tom is pulling me hard to his chest, and his arms are around me, holding me.
Tom is hugging me.
Surprised by his act of compassion, I freeze for a moment before relaxing into him. I slide my arms around his waist until I’m pressing my palms on his back, ignoring how very right this feels.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.” He runs his hand up my back, his fingers playing over the exposed skin from my tank.
From just those slight touches of his skin on mine, my body is calling for so much more of him. I can only imagine what it would feel like to have his hands all over my body, his lips on mine…him inside me.
I swallow down. “Dex calls me every day. I don’t answer. I have ‘Cry Me a River’ set for him to remind me of how much he hurt me, so I don’t weaken and answer, which is why the song is always in my head.”
“That’s not healthy, Firecracker.” His hand gently strokes my hair.
“I know,” I say quietly. “But it’s all I got right now.”