I gave him an are-you-seriously-concerned-about-my-whereabouts look and he sighed. Then I gave myself an is-he-seriously-not-concerned-about-my-whereabouts sigh.
“I made you a key. It’s hanging in the front hall,” Henry said as I stood up from the table.
Well, that was thoughtful.
All dressed up and ready to go out, I opened the wooden box and pulled out my bucket list, staring at all of the choices. I knew I needed a note from Gabby. I just had to find an easy way to get to one without breaking her rules of just ripping a letter open.
The clock sitting on the dresser read nine thirty p.m. Hailey walked into the room and smiled my way. “Just arrived a few days ago and you’re already trying to leave?” she laughed.
“No…it’s not that. It’s just…”
“Too much change?” she asked, finishing my thought before I’d even thought it.
I nodded and couldn’t help but smile when she stood up and tossed me her keys.
“Take my car. It’s the Ford Focus. I’m not going to ask where you’re going because I’m a terrible liar. And if I had to rat you out, I would feel bad.”
“Thanks.” I picked up a couple of the CDs from my collection to play in her car and prepared to make my exit without running into Rebecca or Henry.
“Welcome. And Ashlyn?” Her voice heightened as she reached for her bottle of facial lotion and started to apply it to her skin. “It’s not so bad here.”
“Yeah. It’s just that I miss there. I’ll be back later.”
In Hailey’s car, I listened to the music blaring from the CD player. I glanced over to the passenger’s seat, and for a split moment, I could have sworn I saw Gabby sitting there singing along with me. Over the past few weeks, it hadn’t been uncommon for me to sit and talk to her as if she really were there, to try and imagine what she would say, how she would comfort me.
“Mom hasn’t called. Whatever… It doesn’t matter. Can you believe that Hailey calls Henry Dad?” I muttered to my invisible sister. “I’m not jealous or anything. It’s just…weird.” I stared at the empty seat and bit my bottom lip.
She didn’t reply.
Because when people died, they took their voices with them. I wondered if they knew how much the people left behind would kill for their sounds one last time.
As I drove down Main Street, I saw that there were a bunch of smokers hanging around outside a bar. Joe’s bar. I pulled over to the curb, put the car in park, and hopped out.
On a chalkboard sign sitting near the door read the words, ‘Live Music. Half-priced shots. $2 beer.’ Blue and purple balloons were tied to the sign. I watched as one of the smokers joked with his friends and untied one of the balloons, releasing it into the hot air. It floated up, up, up and away, allowing the wind to guide its patterns of travel.
I pursed my lips together and blew out a small bit of air toward the flying object. Sometimes I wished it were that easy. To just get up and fly, fly away. Glancing at my bucket list, I read the one that I was hoping to accomplish that night.
#14. Dance on a bar.
I could do that—even if I really didn’t want to—if it meant a letter from my sister.
The doorman looked at me, checked my ID, and put a big, ugly black stamp on my hand—an instant sign that I was underage and shouldn’t be allowed to have a drink or five. I’d expected that, since Mr. Beautiful Eyes had told me from the beginning.
What I hadn’t expected were the emotions when I stepped inside. So many memories came rushing back to me from just standing inside the bar. The band was setting up onstage, and I choked on tears that were fighting to pour out. Where did that come from? Why did I feel like crying?
“I’m going to do that,” Gabby smirked, eyeing the stage as we walked past a bar. “When I get better, the first thing I’m going to do is perform in this bar.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing at my sister. “After you get better, the first item on your agenda is to sing in a dirty bar?”
“What can I say? I like to live on the edge.”
Within a second, I was standing outside the bar again. Moving to the side of the building, I felt my hands sweating up and my eyes watering over. It was too much—all of the new changes to my life. All of the old things that had been taken away from me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even move anymore. I stayed bent over, crying.
Air filled my lungs, but I couldn’t exhale fast enough, causing me to hiccup over the tears. I was certain that it would only be a matter of time before my body crashed down to the hot cement. My knees began to prove my thoughts of fainting right, yet before I could fall, I heard a voice coming from around the corner.
“Hey, are you okay?” a deep, masculine voice whispered as he stepped closer to me.
My insides tightened as I heard his footsteps growing closer. I saw his hands reach out toward me and I jumped out of my skin, wanting him not to touch me. He must have noticed my reaction, and he stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and I bent my knees, getting closer to the ground.
When I found his face, everything froze. The world went quiet, and I was staring into blue eyes that made the earth’s brightest oceans look dull.
Beautiful.
Breathtaking.
Brilliant.
Blue eyes.
He was Mr. Beautiful Eyes, and a small sigh fell from my lips.
“I’m not going to touch you,” he promised. “I’m not going to hurt you.” There was something so sincere about how he said the words to me that I almost believed him. He made sure to stay a good distance apart from me, but he felt pretty close, too. I liked how close he felt. “Shhh…” His gentle whispers brought me the comfort I needed.
I could smell his cologne and shaving cream from the distance, which tickled my senses, making me want to breathe him in deeper. My hand wiped across my mouth. When I collected my bearings, I returned to a standing position.
My eyes fell to the ground and I watched as he stood up, too. I felt so stupid.
“You’re okay?” he questioned, but the way it had fallen from his mouth made it sound like more of a statement.
I nodded yet still felt the tears falling down my cheeks. “I’m okay.”
He frowned and patted at his pockets. “Sorry. I don’t have any tissue or anything.”
The tears fell harder, probably from embarrassment.
His fingers traveled down to his back pocket, where he pulled out his wallet. He reached in and grabbed a pocketknife and I gasped, taking a step backwards. He saw my reaction and a strong level of guilt took over those blue eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you, remember?”
There was vulnerability in his voice, a softness that almost made me want to look so deep into his eyes so I could see eternity. This stranger made me feel forever, which was something I’d never known could be felt. Who are you?
He took the pocketknife and ripped the sleeve off his white t-shirt. He then put the knife back into his wallet, which went back into his jeans pocket. The sleeve rested in his hands until he reached it out toward me. I stared at him, confused, wondering what he was doing.
“For the tears,” he instructed. I stared at it for the longest time, and he sighed. He placed the edge of the sleeve between his thumb and pointer finger and stretched his arm closer to me. “I won’t touch you.”
Warily taking the sleeve from him, I wiped away my tears and listened to him sigh with relief.
We took in each other’s breaths, and he didn’t move until my breaths slowed down to the speed of his own. “You’re okay…” he repeated as he slid his hands into his jeans pockets. I could almost see his muscular build underneath his shirt. I could almost embrace his soul, which he was so willingly wearing on his sleeves that night.
Well…on one of his sleeves at least.
“I’m okay…” I replied, still feeling my knees wanting to buckle. I missed Gabby so much it hurt to stand. It hurt to cry. It hurt to be alive. I trie
d my best to avoid crying anymore, but when he looked at me and tilted his head to the left, narrowing his eyes, I felt a wave of emotion flying back to me.
“But it’s all right if you’re not okay,” he whispered.
I sobbed onto his t-shirt sleeve for quite a few minutes after that, losing myself in the sadness. He didn’t move. He didn’t get tired of my emotional breakdown. He just stood there, and for some reason, I felt a hug he never even delivered to me.
I pulled myself together.
I was okay. For now, at least. I shrugged my shoulders and blew my nose into the sleeve, making a very unattractive sound. He laughed lightly. I just felt silly.
“I have to get back…” he stated, sounding apologetic for having to depart, but I knew it was truly the perfect moment for him to disappear. “I’ll see you inside?” he asked.
He still wanted to see me inside? After this?!
One nod was all I could give him, and one nod was all he needed. Without hesitation, he rounded the corner and disappeared back into the bar, never looking back at me. My eyes followed him, silently thanking him for being the distant wall I’d needed to hold me up.
After a few minutes of pulling myself together, I reentered the building, made my way to the bar, and ordered water with lemon. The live music had already started, and from the sounds filling my ears, Mr. Beautiful Eyes hadn’t been wrong. I was going to enjoy it.
Glancing down, I saw their CDs resting on the bar counter. Lifting one, I turned to the bartender. “How much are these?”
“Ten bucks.”
I tossed the cash onto the bar and thanked the bartender for the drink and CD. It felt weird, being in a bar when I was under twenty-one. There was a bit of a rebellious feeling running through me, even with the black ink on my hand.
I turned and ventured toward the stage to watch the band perform, already falling in love with their vibe. Each and every one of the band members sounded at ease, in their comfort zone.
My eyes froze on the lead singer—my distant hug. There, like a freed bird, he sat on a stool and sang. He sang as if he would never sing again, with emotion in each note, feelings in every pause. The bar lights winked above him, and he closed his eyes, holding the microphone close to his lips. His eyes opened again and they had the love and gentleness of the shining stars.
He was beautiful up there. Not in the over-the-top handsome way, but in the quiet, whisper style. He was simple with his white t-shirt, which was semi-soaked with his perspiration—and missing a sleeve. He was wearing dark jeans, and a chain hung through his belt loop, which attached to the wallet that was resting in his back pocket. His arms had no tattoos, but the way he held the microphone so tight showcased his physique.
And those lips. Ohh those lips. My cheeks flushed when I stared at his mouth.
The music almost died away, but then it burst like a pent-up flood. The louder it grew, the steamier his voice became. He lived the words he sang, he adopted the rhymes the band crafted as if they were his own children, and he inspired me. His voice was as light as rain, yet I knew it could create a rapid storm if he powered it to.
He gripped the microphone in his large hands and cradled it like it was his lover, and when his eyes looked up into the audience, he found my stare. I didn’t look away, I couldn’t. He’d hypnotized me, leaving me in a daze. I was secretly one hundred percent okay with being locked away in those eyes.
I’ll be your best friend, darlin’, if you tell me your name.
I’ll be your sunshine when you grow tired of the rain.
The corners of his mouth turned up as he continued to sing. His smile alone made me grin. When was the last time I’d smiled? He nodded once at me, and as he finished the final words of the song, I felt as if he were giving me a private concert.
You can walk away and I’m sure I’ll be all right.
But just so you know, you’ll be in my dreams tonight…
My eyes moved away from him, my gaze falling to the ground. The pinkish tint attached to my cheeks caused a heavy amount of embarrassment. My eyes stayed glued to the ground for the next few songs, and I awkwardly tapped my foot along to the beat.
I could hear the smile in his voice as he thanked the audience after the sixth song. “We’re gonna take a fifteen-minute break. Thanks for hanging out with us tonight, and remember we have CDs for sale at the bar. Check them out, grab another drink or two, and stick around for the next set. We are Romeo’s Quest and we are so fucking stoked that each and every one of you badass, beautiful people are here tonight.”
Romeo’s Quest. How had they come up with that name? Who’d taught the band members how to play the instruments? How did the drummer make my heart smile with his skills?
And who in the world was the lead singer?
I smiled down to the CD in my hands and wandered to an abandoned booth in the back corner. From the ‘thank you’ section of the CD, it said that his name was Daniel Daniels, and I couldn’t help but smirk even wider at the idea of that.
“Oh God… Don’t tell me you actually bought one of those crappy CDs?” I looked up to see Daniel staring at me, and all I could do was stare back. He slid into the booth across from me with a beer in his hand. Like something fashioned in a dream, he smiled at me, and I hiccupped.
Suddenly overawed by a strange, vibrant shyness, I brushed my finger against my left earlobe. “Your name is Daniel Daniels?”
He smiled as easily as the sun shone and rested his arms across his body. “My father wanted to name me Jack, but Mom always worried he had a bad drinking problem. When it comes to my name, well… My mom always had a double problem.”
“A double problem?”
He laughed lightly, rubbing the palm of his hand against his jawline. “A double problem is when you have one of something you really love, so you go out and get the same thing, just in case the first one breaks or something. When she married my dad, she was in love with the idea of taking his last name. So I guess it was just fitting that I was the double to the last name she loved.”
I was still as a stone as I watched his lips form words, and curiosity rocked my being. I wanted to know more. More about the double problem. More about his parents. More about him. I wanted to know anything and everything about the stranger who played music that had the power to make me feel good for a few moments.
I wanted to know more about the stranger whose lyrics had wrapped me up and yanked me away from sadness. His mysterious approach drew me in, and his friendly nature kept me there and focused on him.
“I’m sorry about your shirt,” I said, eyeing the missing sleeve.
“It’s just a shirt,” he smiled.
Yet I knew it was much more than that.
A silence came again, and my eyes shot down to my water, where I stared at the lemon for the longest time. When I looked up again, he was still smiling, and I racked my brain for anything to say, anything to make me not appear like a nineteen-year old sitting in a bar.
“Where did you get your band’s name from?” I questioned.
“Shakespeare. Romeo’s quest to find love.”
“That play ended pretty tragically.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know. There is something about the tragic stories of Shakespeare. It’s as if we all know how it will end, but the adventure makes it worth it. And the story is complicated, but not as much as the others. Romeo loves Juliet, and she loves him. Life just gets in the way. I like to think that the quest was worth the destination.”
“That’s depressing,” I laughed. My gosh… When was the last time I’d laughed? I hadn’t laughed in so long that it kind of felt unnatural. And warming. And exciting. And free.
“I’m a musician. Depressing is my middle name.” He leaned back against the padded booth, making himself comfortable. His words, almost a whisper, stumbled off his tongue. “Speaking of names… What’s yours?”
I wanted to impress him for some reason. Sliding my stamped hand under the palm of my other, I smiled. I
wanted to take away all doubt from his mind that he was sitting across from a girl who was sitting in a bar only because she had a stamp stating she was a certain age.
Clearing my throat, I prepared to embarrass myself. “By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself...” When in doubt with what to say, go to Shakespeare. He always had a good thing or two to express.
“Because it is an enemy to thee. Had I it written, I would tear the word,” he said, finishing my quote. And within a second, I was captivated by this beautiful stranger. His lips turned up. “Jesus. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t sexy as hell hearing a beautiful woman quote Shakespeare.”
“I love Shakespeare,” I replied, somewhat excited about the fact. “Othello was the first one I ever read in the fifth grade.” Daniel looked a tad bit stunned by my statement. “What? What is it?”
He ran his hands through his hair and leaned forward. “Nothing. I just gotta say… It’s not every day I sit in a bar and talk about Shakes. My collection back at home is pretty impressive, but it doesn’t exactly bring me too many dates.”
“Yeah, same here. Most people think it’s weird—my infatuation with Shakespeare. My sister was the only one who really understood it, but no one else. She called it my golden.”
“Your golden?”
“Everyone has a golden. It could be anything—a song, a book, a pet, a person. Anything that makes you so happy your insides cry of pure joy. It feels like you’re on drugs but better because it’s a natural high. Shakespeare is my golden.”
“I like how your brain works.”
My cheeks heated up from his comment. Was he flirting with me? Because if there was ever a time I wanted a person to flirt with me, it was definitely while we were talking about reading. There was nothing sexier than a smart banmoy, especially when he was able to make my heart do cartwheels.
“Your music made me smile,” I said, sipping at my water. “I haven’t smiled this much in a very long time.”
Daniel laid his forearms on the table and laced his fingers together. He studied my face unvoiced for a moment. The smile he softly used filled the silence like a perfected speech. His eyes pierced my spirit before he tore his gaze away and lifted his beer up for a swallow. “That’s a real shame.”
Loving Mr. Daniels Page 5