“You’ve got a little bit of a stubborn streak, don’t you?”
More like self-preservation.
I scoured the room for any form of distraction. Seeing the pile of ruffled papers on the floor, I dropped to the carpet beside them. “Are all of these songs you’ve written?”
“Yes. Or at least have started writing. I can work on one for hours and get stuck banging my head against this invisible roadblock. I’ve learned it’s better to lay it down for a while and pick it up later when my head’s clear.”
Already beside me, Riley collected a handful of pages of unfinished sheet music. “My songs usually come out of something I’m going through. Sometimes the music flows the easiest when the emotions are close to home. And other times, I can’t break through it. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”
More than it should. I traipsed back over to the couch, distancing myself from how close I felt to him.
He strode across the room, gaze on me, each step ratcheting my pulse. He settled beside me on the couch with the side of his hand touching mine. It took everything I had to resist the unquenchable ache to be in his arms and scoot away instead. Not that it helped. An electric current channeled through the seat cushions between us. Heat crawled up my back, my own defenses rendered powerless against him.
We both sat still, gripping the couch on either side of our legs with matching white skin thinning across our knuckles. I unclasped the cushion, but the inward battle hung on, clawing through me. I leaped up and rubbed out the lines imprinted on my palms. “I should probably get back to campus.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. “Positive.” Thirty more seconds, desire would win the war over caution, and I’d be kicking myself for making a move I’d regret later.
He followed me to the entryway. “You know, you still haven’t told me what you’re passionate about?” Riley fished his keys out of the bowl on the table—the one I was now latching onto for stability.
“I’m sorry?”
“Earlier, you said you think we should choose a career where we can invest our lives doing something we were made to do.”
“I was talking about you.” I scooted the throw rug back and forth with the tip of my boot, afraid he’d see straight into the emptiness where vision was supposed to be. “Creating music isn’t something you do, Riley. It’s who you are. You can’t afford to settle—most of us can.”
“How can you say that?” He set a tender hand over my forearm.
The confinement I’d felt in my cubicle closed in on me again. Did he really want to see inside those gray walls?
“I’m not like you. Growing up, when all the other kids were daydreaming about being doctors, firefighters, and veterinarians, I was the one shrinking down in my chair, hoping the teacher didn’t call on me.” I traced the edge of the bowl and dodged his eyes. “Jae’s always telling me I don’t have to have everything figured out right now, but it’s more than that.”
His hand slid down to mine. “What is it then?”
The vulnerability I’d feared risking swept between us with the breeze through the open door, too late to hide, too real to ignore.
“We all had a hard time dealing with Dad’s death. Except Mom almost didn’t recover. Emotionally. Financially. It shattered her entire world. Austin and I practically had to force-feed her for a while. We spent months afterward trying to break her addiction to anti-depressants. The helplessness we felt . . . there are no words.”
I clutched my elbows, the memories still too vivid to shut out. “But I guess you find out how strong you can be when you have no other choice.”
Jake rubbed against me and hovered in place with his hind leg twitching while I scratched his backside.
“The day I had to drag her out of Walgreens before they arrested her for threatening the pharmacist was the day I vowed I wouldn’t end up like her. Never depending on anything or anyone. Told myself to stop caring about trying to find the right career, as if there was something out there I was made to do. As long as I could make something of myself, prove my dad was right about the potential he saw in me. That’s all that mattered.”
I straightened, sighed. “Which is why I should be happy with my internship. It’s exactly what I’ve been pushing for. A lead to a stable job. Opportunity for advancement, prestige. Financial security. But . . .”
Riley moved closer. “But?”
Some parts were harder to admit than others. I curled the edges of my sleeves under my fingers. “I’ve been so set on avoiding Mom’s footsteps that I’ve buried Dad’s in the process. He taught me to believe I could do something meaningful with my life. That I could make an impact, you know?”
Jake pushed my hand over his wet snout onto his head. “But the truth is, I’m scared. Scared he’s right, and I’m totally blowing it. And even more afraid he’s wrong. That this hollow life I’ve been living is all there is.” I faced Riley, too exposed to put up a front. “Dad promised me my life had a song worth sharing. But what if it’s not enough?”
“That’s not possible.” He leaned forward, voice urgent. “Don’t you see it?” His eyes held a song of belief that died in my heart the same night Dad did.
“See what?” I whispered.
He glanced at his cell and then back at me. “Showing you requires taking a little field trip.”
A field trip? Where’d that come from? My head tilted at the same time Jake’s did.
He grabbed my hand. “Trust me.”
Tell that to my heart.
We walked out the front door, leaving Jake and all the pretenses I’d tried to cling to trapped on the other side.
chapter twelve
Expression
My brows arched toward the green exit sign for downtown Portland passing above us. “You taking me to work? Because that’s definitely not gonna help your cause.”
Riley merged into the left lane. “We have enough work in our lives. Sometimes we need a little adventure instead.”
“An adventure. Thanks, Gandalf, but I’m all set.”
A grin slid across his face and settled over his whole demeanor. “Breaking your borders is good for you.”
I hunkered in my seat. “Not so sure about that.”
“Look where it led Bilbo.”
“To a fire-breathing dragon? Again, not helping your cause.”
He pressed his tongue to his cheek to keep from laughing. “Courage, Em. It led him to find courage.” He hooked a right onto Southwest Broadway.
He was taking me to the Cultural District? Made sense. The blend of the latest creative trends and the artistic roots of old-time architecture turned the streets into a group mural anyone could paint themselves into no matter what color or form their imagination used. A world where dreams were real. Riley’s world. Maybe he’d let me borrow his paintbrush. Just for the day.
At least five free parking spaces came and went, but Riley kept driving. Past the stately brick buildings and quaint corner pubs. Past the abstract sculptures and tree-lined sidewalks. Shadows from skyscrapers stretched behind us in a goodbye wave. Where’s he taking me?
At a stoplight, exhaust from the city bus in front of us leaked through the vents. Riley tapped the steering wheel until the light finally turned green. A left-hand turn led us onto a dead-end street.
The tires rumbled over the clunky gravel and came to a stop. I stared out the window. “An abandoned building. You shouldn’t have.”
Riley opened my door and extended his hand. “Trust me.”
Enough to step outside my borders? Jaycee’s warning about his past cropped up like a slide projected onto the boarded-up building but vanished the second I gripped his hand. It was kind of hard to remain sensible with someone who sabotaged every shred of willpower I had.
I followed him to an opening in the wall that had apparently had a fight with a sledgehammer and lost. “Guess it wouldn’t be Nightmare On Elm Street-ish enough if we used a door?”
He pointed to the crumb
led concrete at the base of the opening. “Cinderblock must’ve been easier to break than padlocks.”
“Why is that not comforting?”
A cop car rocketed past the side street, siren blaring. I retracted my hold from the wall. Probably wasn’t such a good idea to leave any trace of fingerprints.
Riley’s hand found the small of my back. “Relax, I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”
His assurance buried one fear behind another. Trusting him wasn’t the problem. Trusting myself was. I doubted I could hide the way he made me feel when in the safety of his arms.
Two crows launched off the ground the minute we stepped inside the open-ceilinged building. “Watch your step.” Without releasing my hand, he motioned to breaks in the pavement where overgrown weeds had uprooted the foundation and to piles of crumbled cinderblocks that had fallen from the tops of the walls.
Aside from two city benches that someone must’ve transported inside, the place could’ve been an old fortress¸ plundered and left in ruins.
He fanned his arm in a semi-circle. “What do you see?”
“Cement walls.”
He led me into the center and spun me around by the shoulders. “Look deeper.”
I shielded the sun’s glare from my face. “Colorful graffiti?”
“Don’t get hung up on preconceived ideas. You have an artist’s heart, remember?” He tapped his chest. “What do you see from here?”
Inhaling, I focused on the details around us. Intricate details. Walls turned into murals. Some sketches rushed and ragged. Some painstakingly beautiful. Others unfinished.
Visions of kids escaping their circumstances to come here to paint blurred into the scene in front of us.
“An outlet,” I answered. “Art. Creativity.”
“Exactly.” Riley beamed. “Most people see an abandoned, useless corner of the city. Same way they see the kids in this neighborhood. Even the way some of them see themselves. But here, something changes.”
He approached the wall and traced his hand over the designs. “Anger. Belief. Confusion. Dreams. Fears. Here, they find their own voices, tell their stories without holding back.”
He circled the perimeter. “I come here sometimes. Jam with the kids. Watch them draw or dance. Their expression is so raw, unfiltered. No glossed-over renditions or picture-perfect molds. Just straight from inside. Nothing withheld or refined.” He raised his head toward the open-ended sky. “They remind me to live without borders. Kind of like being with you.”
Me? And all my prescribed plans? I surveyed the freestyle artwork and almost snorted. “Think you got the wrong girl.”
“Or finally found the right one,” he said softly.
I turned. Right in front of me, his eyes cradled me in an embrace sweeter than any touch.
“You don’t recognize your gifts, do you? The way you see potential in me and aren’t afraid to call it out.” He cocked his head. “With some force, I might add.”
He nodded to the clouds. “You take time to see the world through a lens most people rarely do. Like these kids, you have a story to tell. One that matters. Just have to find your expression. You can do anything, Emma.”
Except breathe from the way he looked at me. Similar to how he’d taken in the art, he studied me as if he felt what was inside rather than only seeing it. Like he believed in me. Saw past my walls.
They’d been there so long—erected to safeguard my heart. Keeping the pain of loss out while holding the fear of disappointment inside. Suffocating me from both sides. If I lowered them, I might fall apart with the piles of cinder rubble. I couldn’t risk that.
Riley touched my hand with such tenderness that I gripped his sleeve to keep from melting through the cracks in the pavement. There wasn’t a single foundation he couldn’t break.
His lyrics replayed inside my heart again. “How do you hold on to a world where you don’t belong? How do you stay away from a dream that calls your name? Can we stay right here, for just a little longer?”
A world where you don’t belong. That’s where I’d been living. In school. At work. I wanted to believe there was something more. Something that called my name. Or someone.
I moved closer.
Riley’s hand constricted but then let go of mine and brushed through the knee-high weeds as he turned away. “This place has been sort of a refuge for me. I’ve written a lot of songs here.”
With his back still facing me, he raised his shoulders. “I thought it might bring you inspiration too. Help you see your dad was right. Your song’s already making an impact. You just have to hear it for yourself.”
His sincerity caused something inside me to wince with longing. A longing that lured me to the only one who made me feel like I belonged. Can’t we stay right here, for a little while longer?
“Thanks for sharing this with me. You’re right. Maybe a little adventure is good for me.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” His angled grin toppled his whole head sideways. “Was that just Emma Matthews conceding?”
I glared at him with all the pessimism I could fabricate. Pitiful. “Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants, I concede.”
He raised his fists in the air. “Sweet victory.”
“You know, gloating doesn’t become you, Riley.”
“Really? That’s funny because sore losing is adorable on you.”
I shoved him backward.
He laughed. “Yep, definitely adorable.”
“Hope you’re happy now.”
“Almost.” He headed for the trashcan. “Adventure’s not over yet.”
“Um, sorry, but I draw the line at garbage diving.”
He slipped his arm underneath the bag lining and withdrew two spray paint cans from the bottom of the receptacle. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
“Secret stash, eh? Who are you? Music Composer by day, Count Vandalizer by night?”
He made a superhero pose and laughed. “Wish I were cool enough to have dual identities.”
Arms crossed, I tapped my foot. “You really need to step up your game.”
He returned my feisty grin and handed me a spray can. “You first.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Sure I can.” He sprayed a three-dimensional box onto the wall. “Think of this box as your life. You can turn it into whatever you want.”
He was serious. Turn it into whatever I want. Like it’s that easy. I shook the aerosol can, walked up and down the wall. “I can’t believe I’m committing vandalism.”
“Technically, you’re stalling.”
“I’m thinking.”
He stopped me. “Don’t think. Feel.”
Feel. I breathed in, out, shook the can once more, and sprayed a daisy rising from the box with its face lifted to the sun. Free, flourishing—everything I wanted to be.
Riley’s gaze swept between the picture and me. He shook his can, added a lid flipped open along the back edge of the box, and sprayed the word Unveiled underneath it. “My favorite art piece so far.”
I cracked a smile. “It’s terrible.”
He tilted his head and stroked his chin. “I might not plan on a career in painting if I were you.”
I raised my can, threatening to spray him down.
He shielded his face. “But sometimes it’s good to color outside the lines.”
“Mm hmm. At least I did it.”
“Yes, you did. Your very own art.”
I dropped my arms, yielding despite his teasing. “Thanks for this. For inspiring me.”
“It’s only fair I get to return the favor.” He inched closer. The same intensity from earlier flowed in every movement, pouring over me until the ground felt like mud instead of cement. His fingertips found mine. “We all have a song to share, Emma. Sometimes we just need someone to help us remember how to hear the music.”
His words squeezed across my chest with the terrifying tenor of something I’d lost.
Hope. A song I wasn’
t sure would continue to play outside these walls.
chapter thirteen
Walls
A. J.’s Acura cruised up in front of Xander Technologies. He eased his sunglasses down his nose and peered at the mirror-glassed building. “Fancy, schmancy.”
“What would Corporate America be without a few flashy skyscrapers, right?” I unbuckled my belt, thankful for the last minute ride and even more grateful A. J. hadn’t let any awkwardness between us hamper our friendship.
He stared at me and tapped the steering wheel. “You like this internship?”
I gathered my purse and briefcase from the floorboard, smoothed out my skirt and blazer. “It’s great.” If I said it enough times, maybe I’d believe it.
“Wow, good thing you’re not a theater major.”
I shoved him and that goofy grin of his toward his door. “Fine, it’s a job, okay.” It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. But after spray painting with Riley, the unrest gnawing at me dug even deeper.
Reflections of men and women hustling around the corner traveled along the mirrored siding. I didn’t want to end up as just another suit.
“You don’t strike me as a girl who settles.”
“I’m not.” I whipped a glance at him. My focus slowly returned to the busy street corner. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right possibility to come along.”
“I’m counting on that.”
He got another whipped-around stare, but no words came out this time.
The side of his mouth hitched up his cheek. “Relax, Rosy, I know what you meant.” He jutted his chin toward the blinking crosswalk sign and a horde of incoming commuters crossing the street. “It’s five to nine. Time to get a move on. Word of advice, though?” He tipped his head. “Try working on those acting skills before you use them on anyone else today.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I resituated my purse strap on my shoulder. “Thanks for driving me. Sorry it was last minute notice. You should tell your best friend to man up and take care of Jae’s car inspection before it’s past due next time.”
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