And that’s why I don’t just love music. I’m not in a relationship with it. If I were, it would be a dangerously codependent one. I don’t think about whether or not I enjoy playing any more than I take the time to savor the flavor of oxygen. I play because I have to, because when everything falls apart and the walls of my world try to cave in around me, it’s music that holds me up. Right now it’s the only thing keeping all the parts of me together.
The rain was falling harder when I made my way back to my hotel so the first thing I did was remove my drenched clothing and get into the shower. Scalding water sluicing the bone-deep rain-induced chill from my body felt too good for me to do anything other than enjoy it. I might have even moaned a time or two.
But now, alone in my room, while combing through my wet hair and looking at my two vastly different options of pajamas, I am hollowed out and cold once again.
Plain white tank and faded-out boy shorts or the sexy black lace nightie and panties I’d hoped to wear for Gavin. They lie side by side on my bed, the two parts of me, the girl I am versus the woman I wish I could be. Stepping into the lace underwear, I nearly laugh at myself. Who am I kidding? He isn’t coming. He practically breathed a sigh of relief when my brother ordered me to my room.
Throwing the remaining clothes on my bed onto the floor, I hold on to the fading sounds of my impromptu piano concert and slide into the shirt of Gavin’s that was still in my bag from our trip. I didn’t even take it on purpose, just forgot to put it back in his bag. But tonight I’m glad I have it. It’s a small thing, but a part of him I can wrap around myself.
Drowning out Glass, Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” plays in my head on a steady loop as I climb into bed. Tonight I can wallow in my self-pity but tomorrow I’ll have to put my game face back on and deal. Turning on my side, I curl around my pillow and mourn the loss of something I never had, until I fall asleep.
Chapter 21
THE FACT THAT IT’S STILL DARK OUTSIDE AND THE ONLY LIGHT IS from the soft golden glow of the lamp I left on before I feel asleep are the first things I become aware of when I wake up. The second thing is that I’m not alone. Someone else is in my room.
I remain on my side with my head turned toward him as I blink his figure into focus. He’s sitting in the chair with one elbow propped on the small round table beside it. His chin rests on the fisted hand covering most of his mouth but his eyes are open. He’s still wearing the jeans he performed in, the well-worn faded ones I love and his cobalt-colored T-shirt with “I’d Hit That” above the picture of a drum kit.
“You’re here,” I say quietly, my voice coming out rough, as if I’d smoked a carton of cigarettes before going to bed.
Suddenly joining the party, my heart begins slamming into my chest, singing as it realizes that he came. For whatever reason, he came. He’s here.
“I am,” he answers evenly, but his voice is heavy with exhaustion. “Mostly.”
“How long has it been since you’ve slept, Gavin?” I sit up and run a hand through my messy hair. The last thing I remember is taking a shower, so I must’ve fallen asleep with it soaking wet. Which means it looks like I was mauled by rabid squirrels then. Great. Very sexy.
“A while. I’m okay. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He lowers the ankle he had crossed over one knee and leans toward me. “That was a good-sized lump on your head, Bluebird. We should’ve had it checked out.”
“So that’s why you’re here? Checking to see if I’ve got a concussion?”
My shoulders fall noticeably. I hate myself for getting my hopes up. I should’ve known better.
He shakes his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine. No.
“Then why—”
The searing heat in his stare as he takes in his shirt covering my body stops me from finishing.
Oh. Oh. Oh God.
This is it. He’s here. This is our night, for better or worse.
I shove down every insecurity, silence every doubt, and stand before him. “I’m glad you came,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you’re wearing my shirt,” he says evenly, leaning back in the chair as his chin lifts slightly. “Now take it off.”