by Patty Blount
I stopped where I was, one aisle over and just watched. Everyone told me Elijah Hamilton was a player, a guy with no heart who collected girls to use and toss away when he was done. But the boy in front of me singing to his sister while he oh-so carefully buckled her seat belt showed me a totally different side to the rock god—a side I really wanted to know.
I took a step forward and felt my phone buzz.
It was like a bucket of ice water over my face.
Elijah and his sister made a pretty picture—so pretty, it was easy to forget he was the same jerk who made those stupid sexist comments about making me scream—stirring the primordial ooze out of which dozens of online trolls now crawled. That girl at the ice cream store after my show…the one he’d smiled for and spoke to—making her think—making her believe—he was totally into her. When he turned his back and walked away, she was forgotten—she wasn’t even a memory.
Insignificant.
Nothing.
I didn’t want to be his latest in-this-moment girl. I rolled my eyes when I remembered that In This Moment was the name of one of the bands he’d made me listen to. Music was all that was real to him. And his sister. I’d seen the panic in his eyes when she’d called his name. That kind of terror wasn’t fake. And the love I could see, even from here, was the real deal.
Was there room in his life for me? Was I real to him or just another voice through the speakers?
I rolled my shoulders and stepped forward. I had to know. One way or the other, I had to know.
“Elijah.”
He jolted upright, banging his head on the car’s doorframe. One hand clapped to his head, and he cut loose with a stream of curses. “What do you want, Kristen?”
I flinched at his tone but ignored his question and reached a hand up into all that dark hair to assess the damage. His eyes closed, his mouth fell open, and his hands gripped my arms.
Hard.
“I don’t feel any lumps, and there’s no blood. Does it still hurt?”
“What?” His eyes opened at half-mast. He looked a bit like…well, like a guy who’d just been hit on the head.
“Your head. Does it still hurt? Do you need me to drive?”
“Which head?” He smirked.
I was seriously tempted to smack him on the head. Maybe I would have if I didn’t still see the worry and flat-out terror in his eyes. “Be serious.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t tease you like that. I’m sorry.”
His subtle emphasis on the word you made me take a very definite step back. He leaned on the open rear door, one hand pressed to his head. His hair was tied back in a low ponytail, leather cuff strapped around his right wrist. He looked every inch the dark and dangerous rebel until you looked closer and saw the little girl behind him. I much preferred Elijah Hamilton’s sweet side. I smiled at the thought. God, he’d hate that if I told him.
He pulled his hand away and checked it for blood. “What?”
I started to shake my head, but then decided to risk it. “You’re very sweet.”
His face went red, and his eyes darted around the parking lot like I’d just revealed military secrets. He shifted his weight and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Fuck, Kristen. I’m not sweet.” He made a face.
I sighed loudly. “Don’t you know any other words?”
A smile teased his lips, but he wouldn’t give in. “I like it. It’s a multipurpose word.”
“A verbal Swiss Army knife?” I asked, considering. “Don’t you worry that, uh—” I broke off, looking pointedly at his sister, singing away in the backseat.
“Oh, um. Nah, she’s in her zone.” He turned, checked on her, and then turned back. “Thanks. For what you did back there. It helped.”
God, there it was again. Now that I’d seen that hint of sweetness hiding under his angry lyrics and punishing beats, I really wanted to throw out my No Way In Hell decision. “No problem. That was fun. Did you see how many people were watching?”
Dark eyes rolled to the sky. “Yeah. Kind of hard to miss when they’re all glaring at you.”
“They weren’t glaring. Just that one witch with the chubby kids.”
He laughed. “You shot her down.”
I winced. “Saw that, huh?”
“Pretty sure you drew blood. You do have looks that could kill.” His smile faded. “So, um, where’s what’s-his-face?”
“Glenn? He’s in the mall.”
“And don’t you think he’d mind his girlfriend hanging out with Ride Out’s lead singer?”
“I’m not his girlfriend. He took one look at you and backed off.”
Elijah’s eyebrows went up, and a very definite spark of joy lit up those dark eyes.
I was sure of it.
“At me? I don’t get it.” He shifted and leaned closer.
I ignored his question. “What about you? Looked like you made a good impression on that dark-haired girl last night.”
“Kaylie. No, Kylie. No, wait—”
Pop went all my wishful thoughts. “Oh my God, you seriously don’t even know her name? You had your tongue in her mouth!”
“No. She kissed me. I was trying to escape.”
I gave him the side-eye. “Come on. You didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable.”
“I may not have looked it, but I was miserable. I need the fans. I can’t be rude to them. You’re a performer. You know the routine, Kris.”
I bit my lip. I did know the routine. I just couldn’t be sure if I was part of it or not.
He squirmed under my gaze. “Truth? The whole time we played last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you.” He grabbed my hand, and my temperature spiked, and the really odd thing was that his hand shook. It actually shook. But he still didn’t move closer.
“Just kiss?” I asked and clapped a hand to my mouth. Oh my God! I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.
The smirk returned. “Say the word, Broadway, and I’ll make your—”
“Don’t say it!” I gave him a push, but he just laughed. “I meant the music, you jerk. You know,” I prodded when he just blinked at me. “Our song?”
“Right.” He shifted, sighed, shut the door, and took out a set of keys from his pocket. “Get in. We can work on it at my place. Unless you have your own car?”
I shook my head. “I came with Rachel. Elijah, Sam already hates me. I don’t want to make things worse. If working on my song pisses him off…”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I can handle Sam. You coming?” He walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the car.
After a moment’s consideration, I got in too.
But I still didn’t know if this was real life or just a fantasy.
15
Elijah
BryceG: Purr for us, @BroadwayBaby17
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I cursed my best friend for the first mile of the drive home.
Sam was an asshole, making me promise I’d keep things professional, dooming me to be this close to Kristen Cartwright but never be able to touch her.
Kristen gave me a sharp look so I opened the center console, took out sunglasses, and slipped them on. She could never know how close I’d come to kissing her.
Damn it, why didn’t I? Everything we always wanted, everything we’d been working for…it was right here. Two more paying gigs, plus the huge county festival—we should get news on that any day now. Our online presence was climbing like a rocket, and I even had a whole bunch of ideas for new songs.
It was happening.
And the really weird thing? I wasn’t sure I cared anymore. Mom and Dad were still fighting like toddlers over every damn thing, Anna’s behavior was still getting worse instead of better, and—and maybe the guys were right. Maybe Anna would be better in a different environ
ment. But was I saying that—thinking that for Anna or for me?
Because here’s the truth—raw and unplugged: I wanted Kristen.
I slowed for a stop sign. Anna had been singing those damn ding dongs for twenty freaking minutes, and I was about to lose my shit. I flipped on the radio, scanned through the stations until I found “Shake It Off,” which was better—though not by much in my eyes. “Taylor Swift, Anna.”
“Shake, shake, shake!” She sang and bopped in the backseat. The only time Anna was truly verbal was for songs she really liked. I checked my mirrors, but that was really just a handy way to sneak a look at Kristen. She was staring straight ahead, one red-tipped finger slowly rubbing her top lip.
Didn’t mean anything.
Maybe she was just itchy. Or thirsty or something.
It absolutely did not mean she wanted to kiss me.
Ten more silent and uncomfortable minutes later, I parked in the driveway and busied myself getting Anna settled. Mom’s car was gone, but I found Mom reading a book in the living room. “Hey, Mom. We’re home.” I led Anna into the living room, Kristen trailing behind us.
“Mama.”
“Hi, you guys. Did you have fun at the mall?” She carefully marked her place in the book, closed it, and took off her glasses.
Anna shook her head. “Bun.”
Mom sent an exasperated look my way. “Oh, Eli, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did. Come on, Mom, lighten up. When you go to the mall, you buy a cinnamon bun. It’s what people do.” I handed her the box that held the remaining cinnamon bun. Anna eyed it with anticipation, sat on the floor beside the coffee table, and opened her mouth like a baby bird.
Laughing, I waved toward Kristen. “This is Kristen Cartwright. She’s singing in the band.”
Mom’s mouth fell open. “Oh! Hi, Kristen. I’m Stephanie Hamilton.” She stood up and held out a hand.
Kristen crossed the room and took Mom’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton.”
Mom’s eyes met mine, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. Should I book the church? I’d never brought a girl home before. I shot her a be cool look and took Kristen’s hand. “We’ll be in the garage, practicing.”
“Okay. Say bye, Anna.”
Anna waved. “Bye bye.”
“Bye, Anna.”
“Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.”
Kristen laughed and applauded. Mom looked confused.
“What on earth is that about?”
“Oh, um,” I hesitated, smoothing my hair back. “Anna dropped her bun and nearly flipped out.” I snapped up both hands when a dark cloud crossed Mom’s face. “Kristen starting singing ‘Carol of the Bells’ and got half the food court singing along. Anna loved it. She’s been singing the chorus ever since.”
Mom smiled at Kristen. “That was smart thinking. Thank you.”
Kristen shrugged. “I knew she liked the song, so I figured, why not sing it in April in front of a few hundred strangers? At least they’ll remember my name.”
Mom let out a loud laugh and winked at me. “Keep her around, Eli. She’s great.”
Yeah. She was.
Which was exactly why I wasn’t going to touch her. No matter how much I tingled and burned.
I led Kristen through the kitchen and into the garage. “Have a seat. Want anything? Water or a soft drink or something?”
“No, I’m good.”
She grabbed a stool near the sound table and shook the hair back from her face. She had on dark blue jeans with rhinestones on the rear pockets, a hoodie, and those hot red boots again.
I’d had dreams about Kristen and those boots. They’d been all she was wearing. I cleared my throat and grabbed my tablet and guitar. “I started playing around with some song ideas for you. Just to get a feel for what you want.”
“Cool.” She smoothed her hands down her thighs, and there were those fucking tingles—running up my thighs like she’d touched them instead of her own.
I shifted the guitar to hide my groin, cursing Sam Gowan to hell and back, and while I was at it, I added in all his descendants too. “Tap the three newest files in GarageBand.”
Kristen tapped the screen and nodded as she read my drafts. “Oooh, I like this: I want the fame. I need the glory. There’s another side to this story. That’s good. That captures me, you know?”
“That’s what I do.” I grinned. “I was thinking you’d want to stick with your basic love gone bad song.”
“Oh, right. Because I asked you for anger.”
“It’s called ‘The Way It Hurts,’ but we can always change that if you want.” I really hoped she’d keep the title. Not that anyone would believe it, but it was slowly killing me to be this close to Kristen Cartwright and not do anything about it. I tried to write lyrics that she might use, but they were mostly me. About me, for me.
Because I was falling hard for this girl and couldn’t ever tell her.
“I watch you battle your way through the night, every little thing puttin’ up a fight. I’ll be there next to you, just for you, for the rest of my life.” She looked up. “Elijah, that’s really beautiful. Was that…were you writing for Anna?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just words I figure you could put a lot of emotion into. Want to hear a few melodies?” I took the iPad from her, tapped a few buttons, and played the files I’d made. Kristen shut her eyes and swayed to the beat.
“Oh, that’s really cool.” She covered my hand when I played the second file. Her touch, no matter how innocent, was just more fuel on a raging fire. Never should have imagined kissing her. Now it was the only thing I wanted to do.
I repositioned the guitar in my lap, grabbed a pick, and started strumming. “Give the first version a try.”
Kristen angled her head, frowning at the tablet. “How? I don’t know the key, the timing, or the scale.”
“That’s because we haven’t decided them yet. Right now, anything goes. Just pick.”
She blew the hair out of her eyes and shook her head, but gave it a shot. She hit the first line with a high clear D, which sent more tingles down my spine. I hadn’t written the song for that range, but damn if she didn’t nail it. She extended the lyrics, holding some words for an extra beat while softening others. Words have their own rhythm and have to fit their music. Kristen was instinctively aligning those sounds on the fly, and it rocked me down to my bones. Who knew BroadwayBaby17 really did know her shit?
I fumbled a chord. I’d really been an ass to her.
“What?” She broke off, shooting me an embarrassed look.
I quickly shook my head. “Nothing. Don’t stop.”
She picked it up from the top, and I adjusted my strumming. “Try it at a slower tempo this time,” I suggested.
We went through the first version three times, trying out different tempos, different moods. “Oh, that feels good,” I murmured, tapping a note into the tablet. “Start soft and slow, build the cadence, build the emotion, and then belt out—”
“Oh, yeah.” She nodded, catching on. “Right here?”
“Or here.” I guided the finger she drew along the screen to a different line.
“Can we try it out?” She waved a hand at the equipment.
I stood up and got the camera and the mics set up. “Keep the mic about here,” I reminded her, holding it about six inches from her mouth.
Her mouth. God.
She took the mic and regarded me with a cautious look in her eyes. Obviously, I wasn’t hiding my feelings very well. I turned my back on her, trying like hell to get myself under control. I fiddled with dials and switches and counted off. “Two, three, four…” I opened with the first chord and played a short intro, and Kristen took a deep breath.
I held mine.
She sang just like we discussed…soft and slow, her voice war
m and delicate. She told the story…her voice, her facial expressions, and her gestures all instruments of her craft. The guitar hummed under my fingers, but it wasn’t me—it was her, all her, just bringing me along for the ride. She sang the first verse and hit the chorus like an explosion, and the blood vibrated in my veins. This song could be an overnight success, it was that good, but still—something wasn’t right.
Something was missing.
I slowed the tempo and faded out, waited a beat, and said, “Check.” I’d edit that out later.
“You’re making a frowny face.”
I looked up with a laugh. “A frowny face? What are you, six?”
She rolled her hands, ignoring my taunt. “Whatever. Spill it. What was wrong with that?”
Slowly, I shook my head. “I don’t know. Something feels like it’s missing.”
She nibbled on one of those red nails. “Can we hear it back?”
I handed her a headset, grabbed one for me, and jacked in. A few keystrokes and the sound filled our heads. It was acoustic and needed percussion. We could try it again with a computerized drum beat. Maybe that would help. I shook my head again. That wasn’t it. Kristen’s voice was beautiful as always, but…but what?
“You know what this needs?” she asked.
“More cowbell?” I shot back.
She slapped my arm. “Yeah, yeah. Be serious. I was going to say I think it needs two voices. Sing it with me?”
Two voices. Yeah. Yeah, that could be it. Kris versus Eli. The missing piece was that emotional battle we could practically trademark, we did it so well. But it was her song.
I sighed and knew this wasn’t going to be easy on me.
When she looked up at me, blue eyes huge and pleading, I’d have agreed to pretty much anything she wanted. I reset the equipment, and we took our places. I counted us off again.
“I want the fame, I need the glory, but there’s another side to this story.” Kristen started off slow and easy, just like before.
I added in a new line. “Baby, I’m yours, but this is too tough. Why am I never enough?”
Kristen turned and sang to me, and damn if that didn’t amp up the song’s punch. When we finished, she was grinning ear to ear. “That felt good. Really good!”