Shane shrugs. He’s not going to sell himself to them.
But Jace hands over his beat-up guitar case. “The picks are in there, too.” Then he faces the room, raising his voice to carry over the complaints of multiple coffee klatches. “We have a special treat today at the Coffee Shop. One show only—” Jace glances over at his replacement, and Shane fills in his name in a low voice. “We have Shane Cavendish, live and unplugged.”
The applause that follows is mostly mine, though a few girls brighten up as Shane arranges himself on the stool, long legs propped to support the guitar. Jace collapses where Shane was, right next to me, and he looks both exhausted and relieved. His hand looks like he might have broken fingers, and that can’t be good for a musician.
As Shane settles in with the pick, strumming the guitar experimentally, I whisper, “Shouldn’t you see a doctor?”
Jace shushes me since Shane’s short warm-up has concluded and he’s playing the opening chords of a song. At first I can’t place it, but then I realize it’s an arrangement of “The Reckless and the Brave”; I really like All Time Low’s version, which rocks, but this is … more. You know how sometimes an acoustic version brings out things you didn’t notice before? Yeah. That. Plus, Shane’s voice. When I heard him in the music room before, he was only playing. Only. That’s like saying Michelangelo was just a guy who liked to carve shapes in rocks.
I’m not alone in going breathless, however. All the talking stops immediately, just as soon as Shane sings the first lines. He’s got rich tone with just a hint of a growl, and it underscores the aching strains he evokes in a melody I’d previously considered pugnacious, defiant even. But somehow, the way he plays the song, along with the slower melody, he elicits a touch of pathos. The girls behind me let out a collective sigh when he sings the line, “I don’t think I want to be saved,” because he sounds like he’s drowning, and I’m pretty sure everyone in the room wants to rescue him.
I do, too.
“Wow,” Jace breathes. “This is a badass cover.”
I can only nod.
Without a single word of segue or explanation, Shane sings the last notes and immediately begins the next song. This one takes me even longer to identify; the Pretty Reckless isn’t my favorite band, though I like Taylor Momsen’s voice. If the first song was soulful, this one is a broken heart; it’s every bad marriage that ever fell apart, every family splintered, and everyone who’s ever seen somebody they love drive off in the middle of the night. As he sings, I can imagine a couple fighting in the street—she’s drunk and he’s broken. Oh God, Shane does broken so beautifully.
I can’t stand it.
I never cry in public, but I can feel the tears starting, a hot burn in my eyes. Shit. At least I’m not wearing mascara. Beside me, Jace stirs, but I only have eyes for Shane. Suddenly I can’t breathe, can’t figure out what the hell he sees in me, but I can’t look away, either. And that’s when I realize, his eyes are locked on mine. Until this moment, I didn’t notice; I thought he was off in music land, but he’s lost in me instead. Though he’s not letting on, he’s scared and I’m holding him steady. I wonder if he’s ever performed in public before. Somehow I manage an encouraging smile.
That’s it. Sing to me. Just me.