by Rica Grayson
In that room, I revealed more to Ryan than I had in all of the six years I’ve known him. That, alone, terrified me.
I groan, thinking of everything that had just happened. I’m a big idiot. What in the world had I just agreed to?
Ryan
I don’t know what made me do it. One moment she thinks I’m the worst person ever, and the next thing I know, I’m trying my damn best to change her mind.
But one thing I’m damn sure of—Blaire’s different. And since she doesn’t hate me after all, I’ll do my best to learn more about her and undo whatever damage I’ve done. I’ve never claimed to understand women. The one thing that became clear through the years is how easily I can piss them off. I need to make it up to her. More than that, she’s a hell of a lot more interesting than anyone else I’ve ever met. And whether she admits it or not, attraction flares hot between us whenever we clash—and we do. A lot.
I think back to the first time I met her. A shy smile on her lips, carrying a guitar with those ridiculous stickers. She hesitated, but as if a surge of determination passed through her, she began to sing. At the time, my dad had started contacting my mom again, and for a while, I felt frozen. She was good, the nerves just getting in the way. Then Chris came and she had gone silent. I didn’t tell her then, but for a moment there, I could feel.
If I told her about it now, she wouldn’t believe me. It would seem like I backtracked, just because of how I found out what she felt about me.
Let her believe I’m the asshole she expects. It won’t make a difference. Before this all ends, she’ll know the whole story about doing promo for the album is bullshit. If she gave it more thought, she’d realize I’m not ready to jump into a new album just yet. I had worked on a couple of songs in the studio, but I’m nowhere ready to do any promotion.
Because if she thinks so damn badly of me, I’m going to prove her wrong. But before the ruse is over, I’m going to set things right between us. But first things first—I apologize to the wedding planner and tell her about the storage room. I don’t think she expected me to do it, a stunned look on her face when I came up to her, but she assured me it wasn’t a problem. Before long, they call out the names of those coming to perform. “Ryan Carson!” the woman on the platform announces excitedly. “And…."
This gives me pause. And? I wasn’t aware I was going to be singing with someone else too. Ah, well. Maybe some sort of surprise for the newlyweds. But she squints her eyes at the piece of paper she’s holding, and then she clears her throat. “And…Blaire Mendes.”
Chapter 6
Blaire
No. They didn’t. They couldn’t have. Except they’re actually calling my name.
This takes my sister by surprise at first, but her broad smile tells me she wants to see me sing. I can’t possibly let her down. Not today.
Ryan’s eyes settle on me, clearly amused. How characteristic of him to be entertained by my plight. My palms are sweating and my stomach is in knots, and I can’t seem to move from my spot.
I watch as he makes his way towards me. People are staring. He stops before me, and holds a hand out, waiting. “Ready?” he asks. He’s daring me to back out with his eyes.
“No.”
A sympathetic look touches his face. “It’ll be over before you know it.” The thought is a small comfort.
Hesitantly, I take his hand. I find myself gripping it tightly, like it’s the only thing holding me together. Somehow, his touch steadies me. It’s warm and sure. He tugs my hand, and I follow behind him reluctantly as he walks me to the stage. I look back at my table to see an excited Jackson. He gives me an encouraging nod.
Faint murmurs drift from people’s tables. Some family friends whistle and cheer me on, and the added attention makes me acutely aware that everyone is watching us. My feet stop moving, as if they have a mind of their own. Ryan looks back at me questioningly.
“I can’t,” I choke out, panicked. But he doesn’t let me go.
He leans closer. “Your sister’s watching,” he whispers low in my ear.
I don’t think he understands. I’m terrified of singing in front of a lot of people. I can do video covers because I can’t see the thousands of people that are watching. It’s the perfect outlet—I can somewhat fool myself into thinking that I’m just a girl who sings a bunch of covers in her room. But right now people are holding their phones up like torches, ready to record our performance, and that means if I make a mistake, there will be a recording. No, potentially lots of recordings. Digital means eternal. Whose crazy idea was this? No one even told me.
We make it to the stage, and I look around us and back towards him, doe-eyed. I think I’m feeling lightheaded.
“I’m going to faint,” I whisper breathlessly.
“You won’t.”
I don’t know where his misplaced faith in me comes from, but right now, I’m grateful for it.
The band starts playing, and I recognize the song from the starting chords of the guitar.
“You know ‘Stars’?” he asks, calm as ever, in front of our audience. I suppose the stage may as well be his second home.
I nod. I don’t say Of course I do. It’s one of your songs on your first album. But in my head, I think it.
He’s fighting a smile, but he eventually breaks into a grin. “So you listened to my songs.”
Well. This jerks me out of my own worries. I lean close and reply, “It’s kinda hard not to know how it goes. It kept playing on the radio.”
Irritatingly, he snickers. “Sure,” he drags the word out, clearly unconvinced. Then he starts singing the first verse. His voice is pure silk, each word he sings like a sensual caress, wrapping all over me. I’m distracted by how surreal this all feels. I’d never have thought I’d be standing next to him, about to sing with him on the same stage, ever.
Here goes. I open my mouth and began to sing the chorus softly along with him. He jerks his head to look at me, eyes reflecting surprise. Weird. It’s not the first time he heard me sing. Regardless, I get a kick out of doing things he doesn’t expect.
I love this song. Being on his debut album, it didn’t chart as well as his songs do now, but it was still catchy as hell.
Sharing the same stage as him… This isn’t so bad. I find that when I focus on him, on his voice and his killer smile, it’s easy to forget the people watching. My eyes drift shut, and a miracle happens—I stop thinking. I enjoy the song. Everything else fades away. I can almost imagine that it’s just the two of us here.
When I open my eyes again, my sister is in Jordan’s arms and I find them swaying on the floor to our song. The last verse ends, and that’s when it starts—I remember where I am, with all the people watching us. My body immediately tenses once again.
Ryan notices the moment I do, but his hand touches my back, and he whispers, “You’re doing great.”
I eye him disbelievingly.
Belatedly, I realize what this must have looked like to outsiders—that we’re lovers. I guess this is what he wanted. But then I see the phones held up, recording us, and people singing the words to the lyrics too. A big ball of fear sits in my gut, like a snowball heading into an avalanche.
“Blaire—” Ryan starts.
I gulp in air to fill my lungs. It’s not coming in fast or deep enough. Dark spots fill my vision. Then everything goes black.
Ryan
I had no idea. No fucking clue at all.
I didn’t know she could sing like that. Her voice was like a punch to the gut—sweet and soulful, and it swept over me and settled in my veins.
I knew she could sing, I just didn’t expect her to sound like that. Different from the shy girl who made herself sing something she wrote in front of me even though the nerves nearly overcame her. Earlier, when we were on stage, it was hard to pull my gaze away from her. The way her eyes lit up in wonder at that moment. Like it’s the very first time she’s soaking it all in, and she’s discovering how much she enjoys it. I understo
od. There isn’t a comparable feeling. It hits me that she never gave up on what she wanted. That took tenacity and guts.
In bed, Blaire shifts. I brought her into her room earlier. Her breath’s coming out slow. A small frown forms, and then her forehead smooths. Her eyes drift open. Finally. It’s like a knot loosens in my chest.
She sits up immediately and blinks. She looks around the room, dazed.
“Feeling better?” I ask gruffly. “Need anything?”
But instead of answering my question, she sinks back down the bed, groaning against the pillow. She hugs the pillow to her chest and takes a few deep breaths.
I immediately stand up from the leather chair, advancing towards the bed. “What?” Is something wrong? Is she hurt?
“I can’t believe I just did that,” she cries.
What the hell is she talking about? “Blaire. Are you hurting anywhere?”
But she tears her face away from the pillow and she looks up at me, her cheeks flushed. “Hurting?” she echoes, bewildered. “No. I… I can’t believe I just sang with you. On stage. With people watching. This isn’t real life, is it?” She buries her face back in the pillow. “Kill me now,” I think she says, the words muffled.
What difference does it make? “You talk to me all the time,” I state the obvious. At least, when we see each other.
She lifts her head up, her face reflecting marked disbelief. “Talk. I talk to you. I never sing with you.”
“And why is that, exactly?” I demand, my tone taking a sharp edge.
But she only shakes her head at my response, hair spilling out of her perfect braid. Of course she’s keeping quiet when it comes to her singing.
“You can sing,” I say, my voice low.
She looks away. “I seem to remember you saying something different,” she remarks.
What the hell? I don’t remember that. I may have needled her a bit, but I probably didn’t know better. “That was years ago.”
She blinks. “I can sing, I guess,” she admits. But the way she’s playing with the edge of the blanket now and how her voice trails off, she still doesn’t get it.
“No, Blaire. You can fucking sing.”
Her brows knit, and her grip on the blanket tightens. “But you’ve known it all this time. I sang when we first met, remember?”
That’s the kicker. How did I go through those years being such a fucking idiot? “So you did. I’m wondering why in all the years I’ve known you, I haven’t heard you sing again, until today.”
This seems to catch her off-guard, and she quickly masks her surprise. But I don’t stop. “You weren’t watching the people around you when we were performing, were you, Red?”
She tucks the loose strand from the braid behind her ear. “I wasn’t really paying attention,” she answers quietly.
And she should. She’s too good to be brought down by not having enough faith in herself. She has a distinct sound that pulls you in her thrall and doesn’t let you go.
“They loved it,” I give it to her, point-blank. “You have a gift, Blaire—own it.”
Her eyes widen at my words and start to fill with what look like tears. Shit. I hope it comes through. I hope she gets it. “Gretchen and Jackson were here earlier,” I say carefully, deciding to fill her in on what she missed. “Your parents just left.”
She gasps and jerks the covers away in a flash. “What time is it?”
I quickly glance at my phone. “It’s nine-thirty.”
She takes the tail of her braid, brings it over one shoulder, and she jumps off the bed, smoothing her dress.
“Where are you going?” It isn’t too soon for her to walk around, is it?
She looks in the wall mirror and coaxes her hair in place. I don’t really see why. It’s perfect the way it is.
“I don’t want to miss all the fun. And I don’t want to make them worry. I’m fine now, see?” She holds her arms out. “The crowd…” She scrunches up her nose at the memory. “It just got a little too much. You can get out of your babysitting duty now. It’s okay.”
Of course she thinks her brother asked me to stay. And no, it couldn’t just be out of concern for her. I already have an idea of how she sees me, but this illustrates my point further.
It hardens my voice. “I’m here because you passed out beside me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.”
I watch as she absorbs that, and her face softens. Her eyes drop to the ground, studying the pair of high-heeled shoes next to the bed. “Ryan, I didn’t mean…”
A quick rap at the door interrupts us. Gretchen walks in, carefully balancing a tray with small plates of… dessert?
“Blaire!” Gretchen exclaims when she sees Blaire standing by the wall mirror. And without warning, Gretchen bursts out crying.
Blaire
I can’t believe I just fainted after one performance. I groan out loud, mortified. I was told, in painstaking detail, that it was a flurry of movement. Gretchen said everyone close by rushed towards me, and that Mom was yelling my name out in a dramatic fashion. I’d love to have seen that.
“Gretch.” Through all her explanation of what happened, she hadn’t once broken into a smile. Something’s wrong.
Ryan left us alone earlier, perhaps sensing Gretchen wanted to tell me something.
Her bottom lip quivers. “I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault,” she blurts out. She sniffs, wiping away a tear.
“That’s ridiculous. How can it be your fault? You didn’t know that this was all going to happen.”
She bites her lip. She grabs another tissue and clutches it tightly. “It is my fault,” Gretchen confesses tearfully. “I told them you wanted to sing, and… I just thought it would be good for people to know how good you are. I should’ve asked! I’m really sorry, Blaire.”
Understanding dawns on me. So that’s what she was doing when she disappeared earlier. She should’ve asked. But I know she meant well, and she probably didn’t expect me to pass out in the middle of it all. “Don’t worry about it, Gretch. I know I freaked out, but… For a moment there, it wasn’t so bad.”
Standing on the same platform as him… I enjoyed it, because that song was one of my favorites. In a way, it felt liberating. He said that people loved it, but I’m not so sure about that. I fainted right after, before we even finished the song. They caught that on camera, too. I’d never live that one down. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t be in a hurry to leave this room. People would talk about me and what happened.
“Oh God, you look pale,” Gretch observes, her toffee-brown eyes reflecting worry. “Are you okay? I brought you some of the cakes before they devour them all.” She passes me the tray. Vanilla cake, some crème brulée, and a strawberry tart. She begins cracking her knuckles. I know that habit. She’s probably thinking of saying something, but not sure if she should.
“Okay, spill,” I tell her mildly, biting into a small piece of the cake.
“I wasn’t…”
I lift a brow, and her lips seal shut. She inhales a breath. “Okay, okay… I was thinking, you know, the way he caught you when you passed out… He looked worried, next pissed off, and then everyone rushed to you. And then when they said you were okay, he carried you to the room after. Making sure you’re all right and everything.” She said that all in what felt like one breath, and I could only gape at her.
Ryan did that? I blink. “Just checking, but… Are we still talking about the same person?”
“Yes.”
“The one who laughed when I used Elsa floats in the pool once?”
“Yes.”
“The one who ate all the yellow gummy bears because that was my favorite flavor?”
She nods. “Still the same person.”
Maybe we’ve grown up, so he’s stopped teasing me like that. I can’t help but think of how he’s been acting, plus that deal we made…
“I swear, your dad’s eyes were nearly bulging, and your mom’s eyes were all misty. Chr
is looked like he won a bet on a soccer match. Shelly was worried, though. So… I guess he’s not that bad.”
“I sort of agreed to do something stupid with him.” I told her all about the deal, and how he asked me, in not so many words, to be his pretend girlfriend.
“He said what?” she shrieks. She covers her mouth, eyes darting to the door. “Sorry,” she adds, her voice low.
“Right? Why would he even ask me that? You think he’s planning something?” I whisper.
“Oh, he’s definitely planning something. But why now?”
I wonder if what he said was true—that he really didn’t know that I liked him. When I think of how that makes me feel, I’m conflicted. Was he really so oblivious? No. He knew. He had to have seen all the signs.
Gretchen purses her lips. “I don’t know about rivalries and all that, but today, I saw the way he looks at you, and you want to know what I think?”
I’m almost afraid to ask, but I make my lips move. “What?”
“It looks like he likes you back.”
Chapter 7
Blaire
“Blaire. Gretch. What are you guys doing here?” Jackson asks us, bemused. He found us in a less crowded corner of the hall.
“Shhh.” I bring my finger to my lips. “He’ll notice you.”
I also don’t want people to look at me with sympathy because I passed out after our performance.
A puzzled frown etched on his face, he asks, “He who?”
“Ryan,” Gretchen answers for me.
“Oh.” He sits down beside me. “Why are we hiding from him again?”
“Because,” Gretchen explains, “he wants her to act like his date. Uh-oh. Three o’clock.”