by Lynn Stevens
I chuckled. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” He took a swig of his beer. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got daddy issues.” He took another drink and stared out across the lake. “Despite what you overheard, he asked me to come to Branson to spend time with him. So I came.”
Dylan paused and when I realized he wasn’t going to continue, I decided to steer the conversation elsewhere, but what came out of my mouth failed to do that. “Why did you then?”
He shrugged and drained the rest of his beer. In a soft voice, he answered, “I don’t know.”
I nodded and glanced away from him, taking in the view. Dylan didn’t seem like the type of guy who would talk to just anybody. But I didn’t real know him either. A loud slap sounded and I turned. He’d sat up and had pressed his palms to his knees.
“Let’s go,” he said, nodding toward the patio doors. “There’s something I want to show you.”
As ominous as that sounded, I followed him back inside the house and down a flight of stairs to the basement. I stopped at the bottom, staring into the darkness. One entire wall was windows, but the moonlight outside didn’t show anything beyond a few inches inside.
“Ready?” Dylan asked somewhere in the darkness.
“Sure,” I muttered. The fact that I wasn’t ready resonated in my voice.
Dylan laughed softly and flipped a switch. The lights blared on to reveal a virtual music oasis. A baby grand piano sat in the center of the open room. Along the far wall were six guitars. A drum set sat in the corner. A couch ran along the wall by the steps. Dylan moved from the light switch and sat at the piano bench. His fingers tickled the keys, sending a soft lullaby into the air.
“I’m good at the guitar, but I prefer the piano,” he said.
I swallowed and walked toward him. Dylan played harder, the lullaby turning into an angry concerto. He closed his eyes and swayed to the music. Then it was soft again, sweet and innocent.
He began to sing. His voice was like red velvet dipped in dark chocolate. I wanted to drown in it. He sang “You Raise Me Up” by Josh Groban. I stopped at the edge of piano, mesmerized by his tenor voice. But what hit me the hardest was how innocent, how sweet, how lost in the music he was. His expression was angelic, peaceful. The tune changed to one I knew as well as my own heart.
“Sing with me, Cam,” Dylan whispered. His eyes locked on mine.
I held his gaze, and we sang “Amazing Grace” but it felt different. It felt as if I’d finally found my voice, like I finally knew how to use it. We harmonized so well together. I didn’t even realize I’d moved closer to him until I sat beside him on the bench. Until the piano stopped and it was only our voices filling the room. Not once did we break eye contact. I held his gaze as if it was my lifeblood.
Then we sang the final note, holding on to it until our breaths disappeared from our chests.
I leaned closer, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on mine.
But he stood from the bench and ran his hand through his hair. He paced away from me toward the guitars. I wanted to melt into the floor. If that wasn’t a rejection, I didn’t know what was. Dylan ran his hands through his hair again, as if trying to pull out an easier way to say he didn’t want to kiss me. That had to be it. That was the only thing that made sense.
“I should take you home.” He turned around with a grim expression. “I really need to take you home now.”
“Okay, but...” It was my mistake. I needed to cop to it. “I’m sorry for... It was the moment, you know? You don’t have to feel bad if you don’t want to do that with me.” I sounded like a blubbering idiot. “I mean, I understand why.”
Dylan crossed his arms and laughed. “Wait a minute, you think...” He shook his head. “Cami, I’m not a nice person. And you are. If I kissed you, I wouldn’t want to stop.”
“Oh,” I said. “So you do want to kiss me?”
“Yeah, I do, but it would be selfish of me.” He dropped his arms. “Look, I’m no better than my old man. He uses people for his own gain. I’m just like him in that regard. If I kissed you, I’d want more and I’d want it now. You deserve better than that. Hell, most girls do. So let’s just keep this professional between us, okay? Keep it to the music.”
“Okay,” I said, not really sure if this was a rejection now or not. It didn’t sound like it, but it sure felt like it. “I mean, sure. The music is what matters.”
“Exactly,” he said with a sigh of relief. “Let’s get you home.”
“But why did you bring me here?” I asked, standing with a sudden rush of anger. Not that I wanted to have sex with him or anything, but this sudden change of mood totally pissed me off. It wasn’t okay. I knew that. He knew that. Why were we playing like it was? And why would he bring me to his love nest if he didn’t want to kiss me?
“I don’t know,” he said just above a whisper. “I didn’t want to be alone I guess.”
It was a pin to my balloon of anger. That was something I understood. I nodded and walked toward the stairs.
We didn’t talk as he drove me home. And I didn’t say goodnight as I climbed out of his rental car. I crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling until my alarm went off a few hours later.
CHAPTER TEN
“So, what happened last night?” Miranda asked the minute I stepped up to my locker.
It was empty, just like I felt. I closed it because there really was no point. Today was just a technicality. Most of the day would be spent wishing other seniors good luck and hoping we’d never see each other outside of social media. I wasn’t sure why I bothered. I shrugged and leaned forward, resting my forehead on the cool metal.
“That bad?” Iris asked. She patted my back. “Not all bad boys are good where it counts.”
Miranda laughed, but it only made me relive the moment he rejected me. I’d stayed up the few hours before school and thought of nothing else. We’d made such glorious music together. Our voices danced around and entwined. It was sexy, erotic, and damned if I didn’t want more. But it wasn’t the same as a physical side. I kinda wanted that too. Just to experience it, because my body reacted in a way it never had before. It heated and drew closer to him, like he was the sun.
I shook my head. That kind of thinking was only going to get me in trouble. I spun around and leaned against my locker, letting it hold me up. Exhaustion finally kicked in.
“Holy shit, Cami. Did you even sleep?” Miranda asked. Her eyes widened in shock, but I suspected she might’ve been a little impressed too. It wasn’t like me to stay up all night.
“No, and not for the reasons you two think.” I pushed off the locker with my heel and headed to homeroom. “I couldn’t sleep. That’s all.”
“Hold on.” Iris held her phone to her ear. “Hello? Bullshit? Yeah, I think Cami’s—”
I knocked her hand down. “Stop. Please? It wasn’t a good night.” I stopped in the middle of the hallway. “That’s not true. It wasn’t a bad night, it just didn’t end on a good note. Okay? Can we drop it? I need to nap through homeroom if I’m going to make it through the day.”
“We’ll drop it until lunch. Then we want—”
Miranda interrupted, “No need.”
“Right,” Iris continued, “we need details.”
“School lets out after lunch.” I shook my head when it hit me again. It was my last day. Branson North had been my jail the last four years. It hadn’t been all bad, but it hadn’t been all good either. I sat in homeroom and stared out the window, the nap all but forgotten.
Memories shot out of nowhere. Stupid sentimentality. Losing out on a part in the spring musical because Mr. Hemmings, the director and music teacher, didn’t want a freshman playing Eliza Doolittle. He gave the role to a senior who couldn’t hit a high C. Mr. Hemmings refused to let me sing a solo my sophomore and junior years for state. I was regulated to small roles in the musicals too. During the last home football game, I sang the National Anthem after winning a contest sponsor
ed by a local newspaper. This year I finally got the role I wanted. Fantine in Les Miz was a dream part for anyone who loved musical theater. Mr. Hemmings gave me a pat on the back, and “theatre may not be for you” speech after the show closed. I wanted to win a Tony Award just to spite him, even though I knew I wasn’t bound for the Broadway stage.
Then there was my year with Rickie. We didn’t have anything in common other than a lack of money and a lack of anything better to do. He broke up with me after school started in the fall. It wasn’t a bad break up, and to be honest, we hooked up again for homecoming. It was sex and we needed comfort. That was our relationship. It wasn’t good, and it wasn’t bad. It just was.
I went through the motions of the morning, saying good luck and goodbye to anyone who said it to me. Everyone was in a wistful mood. There were a lot of “remember when” stories even if the when was just last week. Iris and Miranda didn’t bother, and I silently thanked them for that.
We sat at our usual table for lunch. I only had an apple and lack of appetite. It had nothing to do with school either. I’d avoided thinking about Dylan and how things had went down last night, but I knew I’d have to rehash every embarrassing moment.
“Dish,” Miranda said as she dropped into the chair beside me. She untwisted her water bottle and took a long drag.
“Jesus, Miranda,” Iris said, “slow down.”
Miranda shrugged. “I’m thirsty.”
Iris rolled her eyes then turned her steely gaze toward me. I’d caved to that look on more than one occasion.
“Fine,” I said, adding a dramatic sigh. Truth was I wanted their advice. The story rushed out of me like a broken facet. I barely took a breath, but there wasn’t a lot to tell I realized. We went to his house, had a drink, sung together, an almost kiss, then he took me home.
“That’s all?” Miranda raised her eyebrows at me. “That’s all you got?”
“He’s a gentleman,” Iris said, leaning against her fist. “Even if he pulled the bad boy card, he’s not going to be a dick to you. That’s a good thing.”
“But he rejected me,” I said. The desperation shook my voice.
“Not really,” Miranda said, squeezing her now empty water bottle. “He admitted to wanting to kiss you, didn’t he?”
I nodded.
“And more?” Iris asked.
“Yeah, I mean, that’s what he said, but he was probably letting me down easy. You know?” I shook my head as the bell rang. One more class and I was out of here. The only thing left was graduation this Saturday. I stared at ceiling for a moment. “One more to go.”
“Crazy, isn’t it?” Iris grinned. “We’re actually done with high school.”
“Rub it in, guys.” Miranda’s eyes welled. “I have to survive another year without you.”
Iris and I tackled hugged Miranda.
“If anyone can survive without us, it’s you,” Iris said. “Besides, I’ll still be around.”
But I won’t be. It suddenly hit me how much I was losing.
The final bell rang an hour later. Iris, Miranda, and I walked out of the building together.
“Need a ride home? I’m heading that way if you don’t mind only going twenty miles an hour,” Miranda said, twirling the keys to the hated moped around her finger.
“No, you’re not, but sure,” I said as Iris tapped my shoulder.
She pointed toward the front row of the parking lot. “I think you already have a ride.”
Dylan leaned against the passenger door of his rental with his arms crossed over his black t-shirt. His jeans rode low on his hips. The black sunglasses and disheveled hair gave him the air of rocker bad boy, but I wondered how much of it was an act. Iris was right, he’d been a gentleman. A true bad boy wouldn’t have given two shits about having sex with me.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” I walked toward Dylan, then spun around and waved to my friends. “I’ll see you guys Saturday.”
“Have fun,” Miranda said at the same time Iris said, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
They burst into a fit of hysterics and my cheeks burned. I dipped my head, not wanting Dylan to see how much that embarrassed me. He’d probably be upset I told my friends about last night. I mean, it wasn’t exactly highlighting his good behavior. Well, it was. God, I didn’t even know. One night hanging out and I was a jumble mess of confusion. When I couldn’t walk any further, I raised my gaze and couldn’t even tell if Iris and Miranda’s words bothered him. Stupid sunglasses.
Dylan pushed off the car and opened the door for me. “What’s Saturday? Are they going to the show?”
“Oh,” I said as I slid into the seat. “I don’t know.” I shook my head but he closed the door. It gave me a few seconds to untangle my thoughts. Dylan climbed into the driver’s side and pushed start, but he didn’t pull out of the parking lot. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, my head’s all over the place. Graduation’s Saturday afternoon. Then it’s over other than the parties.”
“Parties?” Dylan grinned. “I’m down for a good party.”
“No doubt,” I said with a fake laugh. Him at one of my parties scared me to no end. My mind swirled with the possibilities of Dylan doing Hollywood things at a Missouri lakehouse.
“So graduation, huh?” He put the car in drive and merged into the rush of cars leaving the school for summer. “Is that a big deal around here?”
“Well, yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” His tone caught me off guard. It was too chipper, but there was a layer of bitterness beneath it. “Wasn’t yours?”
“Didn’t go.” He shrugged.
“Why not?”
Again he shrugged. It drove me nuts. Not because he wasn’t telling me. We hardly knew each other after all. So why did it bother me so much? I decided to drop the entire subject and watch houses go by. It wasn’t any of my business anyway.
“Dad was on the road somewhere and Mom...” He choked on the last word and let the sentence trail off as he stopped at a red light.
I put my hand on his forearm. Dylan glanced at me, but I couldn’t see past his sunglasses.
“What is it about you?” he whispered before covering my hand with his.
A horn sounded behind us, breaking whatever was going on between us. Dylan yanked his hand away and dropped his other arm, making mine fall. I stopped it just before it landed in his crotch. That was something that didn’t need to happen.
“Anyway, what time is it?” he said, back to his nonchalant self.
“Is what?” Grabbing your crotch? Dylan was the last person whose crotch I needed to grab, accidentally or on purpose. My face burned to the tips of my ears.
“Graduation, Cameron, when is graduation?” He said each word slowly to make it clear to my befuddled mind.
“Sorry, it’s at two.” I finally glanced over at him. He parked in Mom’s spot in the gravel driveway. “Why?”
“Because of the show.” He silently added a ‘Duh’ with his tone.
“It won’t affect the show. I’ll be there on time.”
“Good.” He opened his door and jumped out.
My heart sank. I’d actually thought he’d show up. Why else would he ask? Of course, I should’ve known. The show was more important than some silly ceremony. I needed to get over this little crush on Dylan Walker. It was counterproductive. If he wasn’t coaching me vocally, I wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Maybe I needed to call Rickie just to get some of this out of my system. No, that wasn’t a good idea either.
There had to be a way to get Dylan off my mind and my libido. I just needed to figure it out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next several days were nothing but rehearsal, rehearsal, rehearsal. Between the band and graduation, I was rehearsed out. Plus add in my extra time with Dylan singing scales over and over, I was on the go twenty-four seven. I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep, but that was about to change for the better.
The morning of graduation came up fast. Mom had taken the day off, rare fo
r her especially on a Saturday. Dad was in a good mood. And my little brother wasn’t being a colossal dick. That was new in itself. Mom woke me up at ten for breakfast. I didn’t get home until almost two the night before and was grateful for the extra sleep. We had had our final band rehearsal with a live, private crowd of the elite in Branson and several members of the press. It went off without a hitch.
“So, who drove you home last night?” Mom asked as she put a plate of pancakes in front of me.
I reached for the strawberry syrup. “Dylan.”
“Dylan drives her home every night,” Dad said as he took too many pieces of bacon.
Mom smiled at him and put half the bacon back on the platter. “You don’t get to clog your arteries today.”
“Yeah, it’s Cam’s turn to do that,” Jake said.
I threw my napkin at him and laughed. It was rare to laugh with my family anymore. It was rare we were ever in the same room anymore. I missed this.
“Tell me about Dylan,” Mom said. She sat down and covered her lap with her napkin. Her hazel eyes widened as she grinned. I missed Mom like this too. She worked sixty to seventy hours a week at the restaurant. It was wearing on her. Gray streaked her hair and wrinkles curled around her eyes. She looked old. When did that happen?
“He’s the guitar player.” I ate a huge bite of my stack. Syrup oozed down my chin, but I really didn’t care. Mom’s buttermilk pancakes were the best. “And he’s helping me become a better singer.”
Dad laughed and stole a piece of bacon off Mom’s plate. “That’s not possible. You’re already the best.”
My cheeks burned. Of course, Dads had to say stuff like that about their kids.
“How so?” Mom asked me. Her eyebrows crinkled together.
“We’ve been working on projecting my voice more, stretching my vocals to see how high and how low I can go. Stuff like that.” I sat straighter as the previous night’s conversation popped into my head. Better posture, better vocals. “And simple things like a straight back and deepening my breathing.”