by Caisey Quinn
After loading all of our equipment into the van, I take one last look at Austin. The bright lights glowing against the night. I breathe in rain-drenched air and look at the turbulent sky. Heat lightning dances across the blackness like strobe lights in a club.
Things are on the verge of changing irrevocably. I can feel it with everything I am. We have a manager now, a showcase tomorrow night, and who knows what will come after.
My hand slides against Gavin’s as he takes Oz’s case from me and places him gently inside the back of the van. That same spark, the one I’ve felt since we were kids, since the first time his hand touched mine, snakes up my arm and down my spine. Our gazes finally meet on the collision course I feel like we’ve been on forever. There’s a flicker, a brief flash in his eyes like he’s going to say something, but he looks away.
I want to ask him—no, I want to demand that he tell me if he’s coming to my room tonight or not. But Dallas is still going on and on about meeting up with Mandy.
“Hey, Dix, you look pretty beat. Why don’t you sit this one out?”
“Um,” I begin, unsure as to whether I should go or just head to the hotel. I wish I could say that Dallas needs to let Gavin get some sleep, because he’s had even less than I have, but I can’t. So I just lift one shoulder noncommittally. “Okay. I can take a cab or—”
“Naw, we’ll take one from the hotel. I want to make sure you get safely to your room before we head out.” Dallas smiles warmly at me and my heart swells a little in my chest. I love my brother, overprotective ass and all. But I really wish he wasn’t dragging Gavin out on the town tonight. “And I’m going to set half a dozen alarms on your phone.”
“Well . . . thanks, I guess.”
Once we’re in the van, Dallas in the driver’s seat and Gavin beside him while I sit in the back, my brother details our agenda for the next twenty-four hours.
“So it’s a twelve-hour drive to Nashville tomorrow. The showcase runs through Monday but all Mandy can get us is a nine o’clock slot tomorrow night. There was a last-minute cancellation. If we leave at six we’ll have plenty of time even with traffic. Sucks that we don’t have a demo to hand out but I have that recording you made us, Gavin. The one with ‘Whiskey Redemption’ and the encore medley on it.”
I take it all in, feeling wearier with each word, as if they’re weights my brother is handing me to hold.
“I have a cleaner copy on the laptop. Want me to burn another one and bring it tonight?”
My eyes trace Gavin’s profile while he and Dallas hash out the details. Even exhausted, he’s beautiful. And he’s going out tonight. Out out from the sounds of it.
“Nah. We might be out late tonight so just do it tomorrow on the way to Nashville.”
The word “late” pulls me from my greedy perusal of Gavin’s face. They’re going out and staying out. Dallas says something about sleeping in shifts and taking turns driving Emmylou to Nashville, but I’m still distracted by what they’re doing tonight.
The entire ride to the hotel I’m waiting. Waiting for Gavin to say he doesn’t want to go out, that he’s tired, or has other plans. Something. But he just keeps up the conversation with Dallas about rearranging a few songs and suggestions for tomorrow night as if I’m not even here.
Somehow in the four blocks to the hotel, anger has ignited inside of me and I’m fiercely pissed-off by the time we pull into the parking lot. Exhaustion has given way to frustration and I’m not even sure what exactly I’m so upset over—the cryptic comment he made about not wanting an out or the fact that I know he might meet someone else while out with my brother.
Dallas pulls into a parking spot and we all shuffle out of the van. Gavin leans against it and I force myself not to even look at him.
“I’m fine, Dallas. You were right. I’m beat. I’m just going to head in and crash. No need to walk me. I’m a big girl.”
“You sure?” My brother pulls out his phone, to dial a cab I assume.
“Yep. I’m good. Just tired.”
“All right. Text me and let me know you’re in safe, okay?”
“Sure.” I nod and adjust my purse containing the evidence from my road trip with Gavin. “Have a good night, boys.”
“Night.” Dallas nods and lifts his phone to his ear. Because I’m weak, my eyes drift over to Gavin as I turn to walk into the hotel lobby.
“Sweet dreams, Bluebird,” he says barely loud enough for me to hear.
With an obvious huff of annoyance and disappointment, I shake my head and keep walking.
I gave him an out. My brother gave him another one.
Seems he’s taking them both.
Sitting alone in my room while Gavin and my brother go out on the town is not an option. Unless I want to drive myself insane.
Dallas would have a come-apart if he knew what I was doing right now. I went to my room and texted my brother that I was inside safely, before promptly turning around and walking right back out of it. The rain has eased to a drizzle and it’s barely even dampened my hair by the time I get to the Driskill hotel. We played a wedding reception here once and I know the bar has a piano. It’s been a while since I’ve played one, but the moment I lay eyes on it, it calls to me.
The room is mostly empty with the exception of a few businessmen sitting in the bar. I make my way over and lower myself onto the bench at the baby grand.
Nana used to make me play a few warm-ups before launching into a complex piece, to keep my fingers from cramping, she said. But tonight I don’t have the luxury of taking my time. The bar isn’t open much longer and if I don’t lose myself in the melody I’m going to lose my mind in the abyss that is wondering what Gavin is doing right now.
Placing my hands on the keys and rounding my fingertips instinctively as I’ve been taught, I fall into a familiar hymn Papa likes before transitioning into a faster-paced classical number it took me years to master. Metamorphosis takes all of my focus and concentration. When I finish part one, I keep going. No one has come to kick me out by the time I finish Metamorphosis Two so I still have time to keep playing. There’s still a swirling hurt inside of me, the feelings I have for Gavin still ache to break free. Thankfully there are three more extremely complex parts to play. God bless Philip Glass.
Catching my breath and inhaling the sound, I let it pour out of the piano and into me. My fingers play of their own accord, and it’s not perfect, but it’s not terrible, either. Anything is better than crying.
Part four is the most haunting and the most difficult. It always has been for me so I shove my pain aside and focus on the keys and the timing.
Timing is the most important part, Nana used to say. You can play all the notes correctly, but if you screw up the timing, the piece is ruined. Timing couldn’t be taught, she also used to say. It had to be felt. Closing my eyes, I do my best to feel it as it is intended to be felt.
Part five is reminiscent of part one and by the time I finish, I feel as if I’ve come full circle. My fingers and back both ache but my soul feels whole again—or at the very least—patched in the sorest places.
I stand and am startled when my small audience applauds politely. A few gentlemen raise a glass in my direction and I bow before I leave, ducking my head so they don’t see how flushed my cheeks are. I completely forgot they were there.
And that’s why I don’t just love music. I’m not in a relationship with it. If I were, it would be a dangerously codependent one. I don’t think about whether or not I enjoy playing any more than I take the time to savor the flavor of oxygen. I play because I have to, because when everything falls apart and the walls of my world try to cave in around me, it’s music that holds me up. Right now it’s the only thing keeping all the parts of me together.
The rain was falling harder when I made my way back to my hotel so the first thing I did was remove my drenched clothing and get into the shower. Scalding water sluicing the bone-deep rain-induced chill from my body felt too good for me to do anything other
than enjoy it. I might have even moaned a time or two.
But now, alone in my room, while combing through my wet hair and looking at my two vastly different options of pajamas, I am hollowed out and cold once again.
Plain white tank and faded-out boy shorts or the sexy black lace nightie and panties I’d hoped to wear for Gavin. They lie side by side on my bed, the two parts of me, the girl I am versus the woman I wish I could be. Stepping into the lace underwear, I nearly laugh at myself. Who am I kidding? He isn’t coming. He practically breathed a sigh of relief when my brother ordered me to my room.
Throwing the remaining clothes on my bed onto the floor, I hold on to the fading sounds of my impromptu piano concert and slide into the shirt of Gavin’s that was still in my bag from our trip. I didn’t even take it on purpose, just forgot to put it back in his bag. But tonight I’m glad I have it. It’s a small thing, but a part of him I can wrap around myself.
Drowning out Glass, Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” plays in my head on a steady loop as I climb into bed. Tonight I can wallow in my self-pity but tomorrow I’ll have to put my game face back on and deal. Turning on my side, I curl around my pillow and mourn the loss of something I never had, until I fall asleep.
Chapter 21
THE FACT THAT IT’S STILL DARK OUTSIDE AND THE ONLY LIGHT IS from the soft golden glow of the lamp I left on before I feel asleep are the first things I become aware of when I wake up. The second thing is that I’m not alone. Someone else is in my room.
I remain on my side with my head turned toward him as I blink his figure into focus. He’s sitting in the chair with one elbow propped on the small round table beside it. His chin rests on the fisted hand covering most of his mouth but his eyes are open. He’s still wearing the jeans he performed in, the well-worn faded ones I love and his cobalt-colored T-shirt with “I’d Hit That” above the picture of a drum kit.
“You’re here,” I say quietly, my voice coming out rough, as if I’d smoked a carton of cigarettes before going to bed.
Suddenly joining the party, my heart begins slamming into my chest, singing as it realizes that he came. For whatever reason, he came. He’s here.
“I am,” he answers evenly, but his voice is heavy with exhaustion. “Mostly.”
“How long has it been since you’ve slept, Gavin?” I sit up and run a hand through my messy hair. The last thing I remember is taking a shower, so I must’ve fallen asleep with it soaking wet. Which means it looks like I was mauled by rabid squirrels then. Great. Very sexy.
“A while. I’m okay. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He lowers the ankle he had crossed over one knee and leans toward me. “That was a good-sized lump on your head, Bluebird. We should’ve had it checked out.”
“So that’s why you’re here? Checking to see if I’ve got a concussion?”
My shoulders fall noticeably. I hate myself for getting my hopes up. I should’ve known better.
He shakes his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine. No.
“Then why—”
The searing heat in his stare as he takes in his shirt covering my body stops me from finishing.
Oh. Oh. Oh God.
This is it. He’s here. This is our night, for better or worse.
I shove down every insecurity, silence every doubt, and stand before him. “I’m glad you came,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you’re wearing my shirt,” he says evenly, leaning back in the chair as his chin lifts slightly. “Now take it off.”
My legs tremble beneath me as I make my way to him. I reach him in three steps and lift the hem of his shirt over my head before dropping it to the floor.
His warm hands encircle my rib cage as he pulls me onto his lap.
“Gavin,” I whisper, but his name is lost in our kiss. His lower lip teases my mouth, brushing gently against me before his tongue thrusts violently into me. My hands tug at his shirt as I lower my hips onto his. I need skin. I need him. I need more. Always more.
We pull apart only long enough for his shirt to pass between us and then are drawn back together like uncontrollable magnets. My hands run greedily over his ink-covered muscles.
“I love the way you taste, baby. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head, haven’t been able to cure the craving since our little road trip.”
His words come out laced with desperation and bare honesty. I smile against him as they fall into my mouth.
“How do I taste, Gavin?”
“Like forbidden fruit I’ll never be able to get enough of.” I bite his lower lip and he growls. “You can bite me as hard as you want to. I like for it to hurt.”
“Me, too,” I whisper against his lips. “The way you grabbed me outside the warehouse made me so hot I’ve had to touch myself every time I thought of it.”
A deep, tortured moan escapes his throat and I drink it in.
“Show me. Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.”
“I will,” I say standing, using all the self-control I have to pull away from his hands. “But I want to taste you first.”
His eyes widen as I drop to my knees before him.
“Dixie, you don’t have—”
“I want to. Let me, Gavin.” I’ve wanted to do this since our road trip. “Let me.” I wait eagerly, looking up at him as confusion and lust mingle in his eyes and lower his brow. “Please? Pretty please?” I thrust my lip out in a pout and reach for his zipper.
He shakes his head and assists me with opening his jeans. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”
I lick my lips in anticipation. My heart pounds harder at the sight of his erection springing free in front of me. We work together removing his Calvin Klein boxer briefs and jeans from his hips and down his legs.
He’s big, which I assumed he would be after feeling his arousal against me the other night. But he’s thicker than I expected. It’s going to hurt going in and I can hardly wait. Part of me, a part in the southern region mostly, wants to climb back onto him and let him fill me. But I know I need to pace myself. This is our one night. I want everything. Want him everywhere. I want this night imprinted in our skin like our tattoos.
My fingers slide up his inner thighs and I stare at them as if they belong to someone else.
“Baby. Wait. You don’t have to do this. Have you ever—”
“No. I haven’t. You’re the first,” I say before I lean forward and take him into my mouth.
Tasting him is perfect oblivion. I close my eyes and my mind explodes in blues and blacks. The world around us disappears and we exist in nothingness. Just him and me.
His hands thread my hair and pull enough to hurt. It adds red to the blue and black swirling behind my eyes. I want more.
Licking up the underneath makes him squirm, sucking the tip makes him moan, and hollowing my cheeks to pull his full length to the back of my throat tears a sound from him I want to hear every day for the rest of my life.
Having this power, this kind of control of him, rattling the calm that seems to never leave him, makes me slick and needy between my legs. His warm arousal is sweet with a salty tang and I know I’m the one who’s going to have an incurable craving from now on. I’m throbbing so hard it’s tempting to touch myself, even if just to apply pressure for some relief. But I don’t because the aching for him is necessary, delicious torture.
“Christ. Enough,” he growls when I shove him hard to the back of my throat.
Before I can ask if I’ve done something wrong, I’m airborne as he lifts me from the ground and tosses me effortlessly onto the bed.
I giggle at the fierce expression he wears while glaring down at me.
“Think you’re funny do you?” His dimple dents his cheek when he smiles and I grin lazily up at him.
“Now we both have a craving.”
The moment burns between us, a lit fuse taking its time.
“Lie back,” he commands, and all the playfulness is gone. “Spr
ead your legs apart.”
I do as I’m told, swallowing hard and struggling to breathe as my entire body is exposed to him.
“Tell me about this.” He crawls onto the bed, hovering above me and his fingers graze lightly over the wild vine on my right side.
“Us,” I say softly. “The band.”
It’s a fairly large but simple display—three flowers on a vine that wraps from my hip to my rib cage. A blue thriving bloom in the center for Dallas, a pink succulent with tattered petals for me just above my hip, and closest to my heart, a black rose growing amid thorns.
“This me?” The pad of his thumb rubs across the rose just below my breast, creating delicious friction on my skin.
I nod.
“Why the thorns?”
I bite my lip and take a much-needed breath. “Because you survived the harshest conditions. You’re the strongest.”
I can’t read the emotions on his face, but they’re powerful.
“I’m not,” he chokes out while shaking his head, his eyes retreating from mine. “If I was, I wouldn’t be here.”
Sitting up, I use both hands to pull his face back to mine. “Gavin. Look at me.” His eyes meet mine and I rub my nose against his. “You are the strongest person I know. Being here tonight isn’t about being strong or weak. It isn’t about breaking promises you never should’ve made. It’s about us. Come back to me. It’s just us.”
My lips brush against his once, twice, and a third time before he finally kisses me back.
“And these?” he asks, catching my wrist on the side of his face.
“My parents,” I answer, nodding at the two larger swallows taking flight inked in black on my wrist. “Me and D,” I add, when he moves to the smaller ones left behind.
I shiver as he places a kiss on them before lowering my back onto the mattress.
His grins up at me, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he dips his fingers beneath the waist of my panties. “What are you thinking about, beautiful girl?”
“Ice cream,” I answer immediately.