“About two years—” Dawson answered at the same time I said, “About nine months ago.”
“Huh?” Dawson looked puzzled.
Suddenly, the remaining food on my plate became the most fascinating thing in the entire universe. If I arranged the remnants in the correct design, I was certain I’d find the solution to world hunger or at least, the cure for cancer.
“Izzy, you came to a show nine months ago?” he whispered.
“Yeah. I was near Austin while you were there. So, I went.” I looked up at him.
“What the hell?” His fingers gripped the edge of the table.
“Why didn’t you come talk to us? You know Joe would’ve let you back,” Brooks asked with a hurt look.
“I’d planned to. But about halfway through, I started getting a headache and decided to leave,” I offered lamely.
I finally hazarded a glance at Dawson. His brow furrowed as he worked through his memory, trying to puzzle something out.
From the other end of the table, conversation continued, oblivious to the tension thickening in the air with all the unsettled history between me and Dawson. I needed to get out of here for just a minute. Catch my breath. Reinforce my walls.
When Mom mentioned the word “dessert” I leaped to my feet. “I’ll go get it out of the fridge, Mom.”
As if my butt was on fire, I hightailed it into the house with my dinner plate in hand. Sadly, I looked at the bits of perfectly cooked steak and potato-y heaven on my plate and dumped them into the trash. With a rattle, I settled it into the empty dishwasher rack.
Stepping to the sink, I turned on the cold water. I watched it run for a few long moments as I gripped the edge of the counter and tried to rein in the chaos that coursed inside me. My hand reached for the roll of paper towels and ripped one free. Trembling fingers pressed it into perfect quarters before dousing it in the cold water flowing from the tap. After wringing out the bulk of the liquid, I dragged the damp scrap across my cheeks and neck. I sucked in a few deep, ragged breaths, then moved to the fridge to grab the cheesecake fruit salad Mom had fixed for dessert.
As I walked towards the door, Beckett came in. “You OK?”
I plastered on a fake smile and nodded. Bending down, he pressed a kiss to my mouth.
“Let me take that while you locate the little bowls your mom sent me in here for.”
I handed the dish over and squatted down to dig through the cabinet where Mom stashed all her picnic supplies. Triumphantly, I emerged thirty seconds later with the dessert bowls in my hand.
When I got back to the table, Mom took them from me and began to serve generous helpings of the chilled treat. She passed each filled bowl to me so I could distribute them. Once everyone was served, I sank back into my seat and dug in with my spoon. The burst of berries and sweet whipped cream on my tongue caused me to close my eyes and moan.
When my lids popped open, my gaze landed on Dawson’s face which was filled with lust—a look I knew well. A look I never expected to find trained in my direction ever again. My skin heated and tingled. I dropped my eyes back to my bowl and made a concerted effort to keep my pleasure over the dessert to myself.
Eventually the parental units plus Kimberly drifted inside, leaving the four of us alone. Standing, I moved to the padded lounge chairs at the other end of the deck. Common courtesy demanded I stay outside with our guests a little while longer, though everything in me ordered me to run and hide in my bedroom.
Beckett pressed his hand between my shoulder blades, urging me to scoot forward so he could settle in behind me. I didn’t know how to refuse or suggest he sit somewhere else without embarrassing him in front of his idols. So, I slid forward a few inches. Quickly, he settled in behind me.
Dawson and Brooks sat in the upright chairs, partially facing me. I didn’t know how to interpret the look on Dawson’s face. Though it was dangerous, I really wanted to know what was running through his mind… and heart.
For a few moments, only the chirp of crickets and croak of bullfrogs filled the night air. My eyes shifted to the sky. I’d spent many nights on the deck listening to the sounds of early spring and counting the stars. Wishing on them.
Some of them carried my childhood hopes for friends and desires to be a famous artist. A couple bore the request for a puppy, and then a miracle for said puppy after he was run over by a car. There were quite a few up there with my health staked on them too. But there had to be at least a hundred up there with Dawson’s name on them when I’d wished for him. Maybe all those stars had fallen and that’s why that particular wish fulfillment hadn’t lasted.
Over the years, I’d wished on stars, dandelions, four leaf clovers and pennies. I’d even tried doing it when the clock read 11:11 or when I found loose eyelashes on my cheeks. Not to mention wishbones at Thanksgiving, birthday candles every year, white horses, rainbows, wells, the moon, ladybugs, stones, fountains, feathers and falling leaves — pretty much anything that could be wished on, I made a wish for him to be mine. And all those wishes finally came true. For a little while. Then the universe took them back.
“So, that’s the infamous treehouse, huh?” Brooks broke the silence.
My heart hammered in my chest, and I cut my eyes to Dawson as my cheeks heated. There was no way he’d told Brooks about losing our virginity up in my treehouse… Had he?
“Infamous?” Beckett’s voice rumbled through my back and filled me with panic.
Please, God, don’t let this conversation be about that.
“Yeah, the place where Dawson fell in love with music. Where he learned to play guitar,” Brooks said.
I sagged in relief.
“Really? That’s where the magic started?” Beckett’s voice was filled with awe as his head turned in the direction of the treehouse.
My cheeks heated again as my mind recalled all the magic those four walls had seen over the years.
“Yeah. Izzy was kind enough to share her sanctuary with me over the years. It became mine as well,” Dawson answered reverently.
“How’d you fall in love with music up there?” Beckett asked curiously.
“Well… When I was a kid, before my parents divorced, they argued a lot. I started to sneak out at night and sleep in the treehouse. Izzy found me. She stayed with me so I wouldn’t be scared and alone. She sang me to sleep. It was back then that I started to recognize the power of music. And I knew that I wanted to create music, harness that power someday.” His fingers strummed absentmindedly on his thigh.
Beckett nodded along with each word. “So, without Izzy here, LO might not even exist?” he mused.
“That’s a definite. Without her, there’d be no music in my soul,” Dawson confessed quietly, his eyes staring deeply into mine, communicating with my soul.
I couldn’t stay here doing this. I had to go. Leaning forward, I turned my head to Beckett. “I’m really tired. I’m going to head up to bed. Have fun hanging out with the guys.” I pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and stood up.
“Goodnight, Brooks. Dawson.”
“Night, Izzy,” they said in unison.
“I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart. Sleep well,” Beckett said as he squeezed my body to his in a quick hug.
I walked down the deck, listening to my boyfriend ask my ex-boyfriend about the perks of being a rock star.
Was I the only one in the universe fate had to toy with? In what other reality but mine would the man who held my heart be in deep conversation with the one who held my trust?
♪ Time Machine by Theory of a Deadman
* * *
An hour later, I was still awake. Laughter filtered in through my closed window. The guys were still outside. I couldn’t make out their words, but at least they seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Flopping to my back, I tried to will sleep to take me. In the darkness of the room, I started counting the glow-in-the-dark star stickers that littered my ceiling.
Once I hit 250, I realized it was an exer
cise in futility. I threw back my covers and padded over to my purse. In the dark, I dug around until I unearthed my iPod and earbuds. Nimble fingers slipped the tiny speakers into my ears after I crawled back under the covers. With a few light clicks, I selected the playlist labeled “S”. “S” for safe, as in safe from memories. The songs on the list weren’t tied to any strong Dawson memories. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for a shove down memory lane.
Chapter 2
Dawson
It was after midnight when Brooks and I finally said goodnight to Beckett and made our way through the fence to Dad’s house. I paused as we walked past the treehouse.
Brooks bumped my shoulder with his. “Izzy’s different, huh?”
Sighing, I said, “Yeah. At least parts of her are.” Quietly, I opened the back door to the house.
“I guess a lot can change in a couple of years,” he mused.
I grunted in response. I didn’t want to talk about all the little things I’d noticed that were different during the couple of hours I’d spent in her presence. Her hair, her smile, her laugh, her scent.
“Beckett seems nice,” Brooks said, derailing my thought train.
“Yeah, he does. Really nice.” Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to like him.
“Smart too. I mean, he’s a huge fan of ours and he landed Izzy. Those two things make him a genius,” Brooks joked.
Reflexively, I punched him on the shoulder. I hated that Beckett was intelligent enough to recognize what a catch Izzy was.
“Oww. What was that for?” Brooks rubbed his arm.
I scowled at him. “You know what it’s for.”
“You’re right. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He looked remorseful.
“Thanks. And thanks for coming here with me. I’m heading to bed. See you tomorrow, dude,” I said, giving him a half hug.
As I stepped across the threshold to my childhood bedroom, a wave of nostalgia hit me. Unable to resist the pull, I stepped in the dark over to the rectangle of glass allowing moonlight to filter into the room. I stared into the darkened window directly across from mine. In the dimness, I easily pictured Izzy nestled in her bed beneath her hot pink blanket. Movement and shadow from the other corner of the house caught my eye. A shadow that could only be Beckett’s moved around the guest room. I knew Izzy was in her room. I’d watched her window when she escaped earlier. Why weren’t they sleeping in the same room?
No matter the reason, I couldn’t help but smile knowing that at least for tonight, some other guy wasn’t holding my girl.
I stripped down to my boxers and slid into my bed. Inhaling deeply, I could almost smell her strawberry scent leftover on my sheets from years ago. Flat on my back, I gazed up at the starscape Izzy had created on my ceiling as a surprise when we were younger.
♪ I Won’t Forget You by Poison
There wasn’t one aspect of my life that was free from her touch, her influence. Trying to extract her from my life with attempts at meaningless hookups, drugs and alcohol had been ineffective. Removing her from my head, my heart, my soul would be about as easy as withdrawing all the blood from my veins and trying to go on living. It was time to accept that reality and figure out what to do about it.
My plan had been to win her back. But seeing her firsthand with Beckett, watching how he took care of her, how he anticipated her needs, had me second guessing if she wasn’t better off without me—even though I knew I wasn’t better off without her.
Rolling over, I tried to get comfortable. My body was weary from traveling half the day, but slumber eluded me. After thirty minutes of fighting the magnetic tug, I surrendered and moved to lean against my window. With my forehead pressed against the cool glass, staring into her window like I’d done countless times over the years, I felt closer to her than I had in two years.
A soft light filtered through the curtains of the treehouse. Someone was up there.
Not someone. Izzy.
Maybe it was a sign.
Without stopping to examine the prudence of my actions, I threw on my clothes from earlier and crept down the stairs. I stepped into my shoes and made my way into the still backyard. Under the cover of moonlight, I strode purposefully through the damp grass with only her name on repeat in my mind. Muscle memory kicked in as I climbed the rungs of the ladder. Rough wood scraped the palms of my hands as I climbed hand over hand until I could push the trap door open.
♪ The Way We Were by Default
I froze against the tree trunk, half in and half out of the treehouse. Izzy was hunched over her desk, the lamp creating a soft glow around her. I don’t know how long I stayed there transfixed by her before she called over her shoulder, “You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come inside?”
She didn’t even look my way. The faint sound of music came from her earbuds. How did she even know I was here? I guess even a couple of years apart hadn’t erased our awareness of each other.
I climbed the rest of the way inside and made my way to her side. Blindly, I reached for the beanbag chair and pulled it next to her.
Just like old times, I reached for the earbud closest to me and gently extracted it, planting it in my ear. The plastic was warm. Bonnie Tyler’s voice rasped in my ear, telling me to turn around and calling me bright eyes.
♪ Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler
“What are you working on?” I asked, just like I used to whenever I’d find her bent over her sketchbook.
Leaning back, she gave me a clear view of the piece she was working on. The large sheet of paper was divided into panels, each one featuring a heart shape. The first was made of a daisy. Part of the petals were in a pile beneath the heart like they’d been plucked off the flower. He loves me, he loves me not was scrawled on some of the scattered petals. A yellow haze shone like a spotlight behind the heart.
The next panel was a heart formed by the union of a treble clef and a bass clef. Inside was a pile of notes in various colors. Some whole, some broken. This heart appeared to glow with a bluish hue.
The third panel showed a stethoscope curved into the shape of a heart. The interior overflowed with pills and syringes. A black cloud shrouded the background.
The fourth panel was empty. “What’s going there?” I touched the blank space.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I know that in my life I’ll probably have another total eclipse of the heart. The empty space is for whatever that one is.”
Nodding, I said, “That makes sense.” It explained why that song had been playing on repeat in my ear since I stole her music.
Her hand moved effortlessly, applying more pencil strokes to the second panel. After a few moments, she laid the pencil down, satisfied for now.
“Why are you up here in the middle of the night drawing?” I asked.
“Why do you get up in the middle of the night to write songs?”
“Touché. Though, I haven’t done much of that lately. But artist to artist, I get it. You create when inspiration strikes.” I studied her profile, classifying every feature as familiar or new.
“Exactly.” She shut off the music and plucked the earbuds from both our ears.
“May I?” I indicated her sketch book, which was shut tight next to the piece she was working on.
I expected her to say no. In the past, we’d shared all our creations with each other. Never denying the other a glimpse inside. But she wasn’t the same girl as she was then. I didn’t have the right to expect a peek into her heart anymore.
Wordlessly, she handed the book to me. I flipped through it. I hadn’t seen any of the pieces sketched, painted or doodled inside this book. All of them must have been done over the past couple of years. Staring down at her creations, I began to realize just how much she’d changed from the girl I loved. It wasn’t just her hair or her quiet demeanor. No, it was her art, her very essence.
“Why are you here, Dawson?” she interrupted my musings before I could examine the shift in
her.
“Your parents invited me to their party,” I said, still looking at her creations.
She drew her knee up into her chair and rested her chin on it. “No, I mean why are you up here? Now?”
“Couldn’t sleep either. Too many memories flooding my mind. Too many questions. Too many what if’s,” I admitted.
“Don’t,” she warned in a low whisper.
“Why not? I want to know everything about the last two years. How you went from the carefree, boisterous girl with more personality than could be contained in one body to this quiet, reserved woman with the weight of the world pressing down on her.” I looked up at her.
“You don’t get to come in here and act like you know me. You don’t know me anymore. You don’t know what I went through. What I overcame,” her voice trembled.
“No, I don’t. But I want to. Tell me.” I moved my face into her line of sight. “Please.”
Exhaling deeply, she asked, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. But I’ll take whatever you want to tell me.” Hope surged in my soul.
She remained silent, chewing on her lower lip and twisting her thumb ring. So, some things hadn’t changed. A smile quirked my lips at the tiny bit of comfort I found in knowing she still had the same nervous tells.
“How about I ask you a question? If you don’t want to answer, just say so. Deal?” I offered.
“We’ll go truth for truth then. Complete honesty. I’ll ask you questions too. You can refuse if you want,” she acquiesced.
Drawing a deep breath, I said, “I have a confession. I checked out your website after Dad had dinner with you last month. Why are you taking studio portraits and photographing events?”
“Why does anyone do a job? To make money,” she retorted with a snort.
“But that wasn’t ever what you wanted. You wanted to take the quirky shots, the fun shots, emotional shots. Capture life. You wanted to do something different with your art.” I struggled to understand.
Songs of the Heart: Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 3 Page 3