The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1)

by Jamie Beck

  Chapter Eight

  The aging rock cover band took a break between sets, allowing Steffi to finally talk to her brother and Claire. Not that she had much to contribute to any conversation. A gnat’s attention span would exceed hers tonight, thanks to her “Ryan antennae” being fully operational.

  She leaned forward, pretending to be interested in Benny’s story about an employee’s perpetual problem with plumber’s butt. She might’ve pulled it off if her brother hadn’t caught her glancing toward the door again. She couldn’t avert her eyes fast enough to avoid noticing “that look” of his—the one that said he was onto her. But honestly, did he think she and Claire wanted to visualize Brian’s butt crack?

  Thankfully, Benny remained clueless about her current obsession with whether or not Ryan would show. If he didn’t, at least all the stomach clenching she’d done while sitting there hoping would give her abs of steel. If Ryan did show, what then?

  She’d only seen him at his mother’s house this morning when he’d strolled into the kitchen, fresh from his shower, and filled a tall YETI mug with black coffee. After a quick “Good morning,” he’d made himself scarce while she worked, probably to escape being pressured to show up tonight. A disappointing conclusion, but not as bad as her other thought. The one that whispered that he hadn’t been avoiding her at all. The same one that said he’d simply been preoccupied with the many things that were more important to him than her invitation.

  Indifference—a worse status than being hated. Who would’ve guessed she’d miss being hated?

  Ryan might no longer look at her with disdain, but that was a long way from wanting her company, as proved by the fact that he still hadn’t walked through the door.

  Benny continued staring at her while chugging his beer.

  “What?” Steffi finally demanded while mirroring his stance and then taking a long drag of her own beer. Taking an offensive posture had been her go-to method of backing her brothers down.

  “Me?” He snickered playfully—a frustrating sign that he hadn’t fallen for her ruse.

  “Yeah, you.” Matt’s age-old advice about braving it out rather than admitting defeat rattled between her ears. Show any weakness and the teasing only got more relentless, like the time her brothers had gotten her to climb so high into a tree that she cried when she realized she didn’t know how she’d get down. Matt came up to help her, but then she endured years of teasing and the nickname “Koala” because of the way she clung to the branches. “You keep staring at me with a weird look on your face.”

  He shook his head, not falling for her shtick for a second. “You’re the one who looks weird.”

  “Is my makeup running or something?” Steffi glanced at Claire while running her fingertips beneath her eyes, hoping for a little support.

  “No.” Claire and Benny exchanged a peculiar look, and then Claire added, “But you’re wearing makeup and jewelry. That’s sort of weird.”

  “And a skirt and heels,” Benny added, elbowing Claire as they chuckled. Since when did Claire choose Benny’s side? Another cardinal rule of the Lilac Lane League smashed to pieces.

  “Wedges,” Steffi corrected, and instantly regretted it, more so when her brother guffawed.

  She downed the rest of her beer, pretending her cohorts were both off base when, in fact, she did feel rather ridiculous, especially because Ryan hadn’t come. She’d guessed he wouldn’t, but that hadn’t stopped the sweet fizz of hope from tickling her insides all day.

  Hope—the sucker’s credo. From now on, September 7 would be the anniversary of the day that she’d officially lost her wits. Unable to stop herself, she glanced at the door, proving to herself exactly how deranged she’d become.

  “Another pitcher?” Her brother stood and strode to the bar for a refill before she and Claire replied.

  “He’s not wrong, you know. You’re barely present,” Claire said once they were alone. “Are you having another zone-out?”

  “No. I’m just going deaf.” Normally a joke would end the discussion.

  Claire clasped Steffi’s hand with a surprisingly firm grip. So strong it caused Steffi to look at their hands. Her own calloused, short, unpainted nails looked so different from Claire’s delicate hands and perfect pink nails. At first blush, not many would pair them up as likely friends, but somehow they were stronger together because of their differences. “Did you make an appointment for a CT scan?”

  “Not this again.” She withdrew her hand.

  Claire sat back in her chair and huffed. “Your attitude sucks. If I could fix my limp, I’d endure twenty more surgeries and hundreds of tests. We’re talking about your brain! Putting it off won’t make whatever’s wrong easier to cure.”

  No one could argue that point, although Steffi wanted to. “I can’t take time off when we’re so busy and gaining traction. Too much on the line right now. In fact, I need to hire some indie contractors.”

  “Do we have the funds to do that?” Claire’s doubt wrinkled her entire face.

  “I can’t take on more jobs without help. The margin we lose on any single project will be made up in quantity. There’s no other way to grow.”

  “Fine. You handle that, since you’re the one who’ll be working with whomever.” Claire rested her chin on her fist and studied Steffi. “If you’re not spacing out, then tell me why you’re so edgy . . . and dressed up.”

  “It’s Saturday night,” Steffi protested, noting Claire’s gray miniskirt and pink ruffled top. “I’ve been in coveralls and work boots for weeks. Can’t I look pretty once in a while?”

  “Sure, but why here?” Claire glanced around the worn floors and chipped furniture of the shabby old bar, with its stale beer odor and random strings of white lights hung on rusty nail heads for “ambiance.” Most of the men there wore camo shorts or faded denim, like her brother. “You don’t usually like girlie clothes, and this isn’t exactly a hotbed of fashion and culture.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t raise the standards.” Steffi shrugged, giving a vaguely honest reply. “We might fail, but at least we look good while trying.”

  That had always been Peyton’s motto. She’d rarely left the house looking less than perfect—which was hardly difficult for the Barbie doll look-alike. That was the past, though. Now Peyton sat alone in a stark apartment in the city, puking, sleeping, or crying—or all of the above. She probably didn’t give two figs now about Theory’s newest dress or the best hair glaze.

  Steffi looked at the empty chairs at their table. Misery stirred, swaddling her in a thick fog of melancholy. Even if she could reunite the old gang, it wouldn’t turn back time to give both Peyton and her their much-needed do-overs. Had she never seen Ryan again, she supposed she could’ve lived out her life knowing he hated her. Now she craved absolution, like an addict reintroduced to her favorite drug. In this way, she understood Peyton’s need to make peace with Claire.

  Claire hadn’t asked Steffi about her visit last Sunday. As pigheaded today as she’d been at twelve, when she refused to listen to Peyton’s advice about removing a fake tattoo from her cheek with baby oil and ended up losing a couple of layers of skin trying to rub it off with a washcloth. Hopefully, she wouldn’t live to regret her current obstinacy, too.

  Steffi glanced at the stage, remembering better days. “Remember how Peyton used to jump onstage with the bands sometimes and play the tambourine?”

  “Of course.” Claire’s lids lowered to half-mast. “She always loved stealing everyone’s attention, didn’t she?”

  Steffi clenched her hands into fists. “She’ll be queen of the chemo ward in no time, huh?”

  Claire’s gaze dropped to her lap. They sat in uncomfortable silence in the aftermath of the stark reminder.

  Benny returned with a foamy pitcher of golden ale, blessedly oblivious to the downshift in mood. “Anyone up for darts or something? I’m getting a little antsy.” He smiled while refilling their plastic cups just as the band took the stage again.


  The opening bass line of the Beatles “Come Together” began when, from the corner of her eye, Steffi noticed a familiar silhouette come through the front door. Everything that had been on her mind flew out that door as her thoughts scattered and hope shimmered like pixie dust around one man.

  She straightened in her chair, heart thumping, unsure whether or not to wave Ryan over. Doing so would set off another round of laughter from Claire and Benny. Acting surprised might temporarily spare her their relentless teasing, but playing coy wouldn’t win her points with Ryan. Plus, he’d likely bust her for inviting him. The only reason she hadn’t already told her brother and Claire about that was to avoid humiliation if Ryan had no-showed.

  Her hand shot into the air, waving wildly. Claire’s gaze followed Steffi’s, then widened. “Ryan?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Steffi pasted a smile on her face, telling herself that Ryan’s joining them wasn’t that remarkable. “Emmy’s with Val this weekend, so I invited him to join us tonight. I thought he needed to get out of his mom’s house and socialize a bit. I figured Benny would appreciate another guy in the mix, too.”

  “Ha! Don’t even try to pretend you did this for me.” Her brother made that goofy face he often made when he busted her chops. He glanced at Claire. “Did you bring bulletproof vests or anything?”

  She snickered. “Nope. I had no idea he might come.”

  Benny stood when Ryan reached the table and then slapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, man. Glad you came. Let me grab you a glass.”

  “Thanks.” Ryan watched her brother leave, standing stiffly. He scratched his jaw, then directed his attention to Claire. He leaned down to kiss her cheek before taking the open seat between her and Benny rather than the empty one beside Steffi. “It’s been a long time, Claire. You look exactly the same. How are you?”

  “Still a flatterer, I see. I’m well, thanks.” Claire smiled for the first time in the past twenty minutes and bumped shoulders with him. “You look great, Ryan. Fatherhood agrees with you.”

  “Keeps me young . . . though some days it makes me feel old.” He flashed Steffi a polite smile, then looked away as if he’d been caught shoplifting.

  Ryan didn’t look great. He looked amazing. Dark jeans fitted his slim hips and firm thighs like a second skin. His untucked blue-and-white-striped oxford shirt made him look three times as nice as the other men, including Benny, who wore earth-toned collarless pullovers. Ryan’s brown eyes twinkled like the strands of lights around the bar, which made her heart ignite.

  She even detected a whiff of some kind of cologne. That was new. He’d never worn cologne when they’d dated, but she liked that change.

  “Steffi says Emmy is a hoot.” Claire smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

  “I do.” He spared Steffi another glance; this time he nearly smiled. “Emmy’s interest in the renovation has been the first time she’s been curious about anything that didn’t involve dolls and sparkles.”

  “Well, she seems to be rubbing off on Steffi, too,” Claire said, gesturing vaguely toward Steffi’s rhinestone earrings.

  The traitor! Steffi’s whole face heated, but she stopped shy of fiddling with the sparkly hoops.

  Ryan’s eyes quickly scanned Steffi’s face, earrings, and halter top. With the right bra, even her mediocre cleavage could usually attract a little attention. Sadly, only the slight tightening of Ryan’s jaw gave her any indication that he’d noticed. Of course, that constipated expression could just be him holding back laughter at her fruitless effort to look like a normal woman. To be sexy, like Val.

  Benny returned with another cup and immediately started questioning Ryan about his new job, the Patriots, and other things men passed off as good conversation. Steffi feigned interest in the music, although she’d never been much of a Beatles fan. With one ear, she strained to listen to the conversation, aware with that odd sixth sense whenever Ryan glanced her way.

  Claire leaned close, forcing Steffi’s attention away from Ryan. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d invited him?”

  Steffi shrugged. “I only did it because I felt bad that Emmy left and he had no plans. I didn’t think he’d come.”

  “How magnanimous of you,” Claire teased, kicking Steffi under the table. “I’m not an idiot, you know. You’ve been twitchy since you started working at the Quinns’. Now I’m positive of why. You want him back, don’t you?”

  Inviting Ryan tonight had been a miscalculation. Benny and Claire would evaluate everything Ryan and Steffi did and said. That thought made Steffi’s skin itch. But another glance at Ryan washed away her misgivings. He had come, after all. That had to mean something, and that was worth being mocked.

  “Don’t be silly,” she whispered, an appalling lie. “The guy has hated me for a decade. I’m aiming to be friends again, that’s all.”

  “Friends, huh?” Claire grinned while pointedly staring at Steffi’s skirt and shoes.

  “Please don’t tease us. If he thinks I’ve got an agenda, it’ll be a disaster. I just want to be forgiven, Claire. Even if I don’t deserve it.” Steffi hoped her pointed stare would draw a parallel for Claire regarding Peyton and steer her away from her suspicions.

  Claire patted her arm. “Don’t worry. I think the fact that he’s here means he’s pretty much forgiven you . . . or wants to, anyway.”

  “I hope so.” Steffi shifted her position away from the band in an attempt to be part of her brother’s conversation. Ryan spun his half-empty glass round and round on the table, his “relaxed” expression as forced as hers.

  When the familiar drum-and-guitar riff of “Can’t Get Enough” tore through the crowd, folks whooped and rushed the dance floor. Energy stirred all around Steffi, making her restless.

  “Come on, Claire.” Benny pushed his chair back and held out his hand.

  She scrunched her nose and looked at her cane, shaking her head.

  “I’m not dancing with my sister when there’s another option.” Benny set her cane on the table. “I promise I won’t wear you out too much.”

  He grasped her hand and yanked her up, lifting her feet off the ground as he marched them to the dance floor. Surprisingly, Claire didn’t fight too hard. Benny might not be Claire’s brother, but they were as close as siblings. If anyone could make her forget about the ache in her hip long enough to enjoy the music, it’d be him.

  Within a few seconds, they disappeared into the undulating crowd.

  Steffi’s knee bounced beneath the table while she smiled at Ryan and groped for something to say. Reminiscing wouldn’t be wise. Small talk felt wrong. How long would it be until she and Ryan could have a casual conversation without layers and layers of things left unsaid distorting their words and intentions? Her tongue seemed to fill her whole mouth now, so she said nothing and bobbed her head to the beat of the song.

  More couples rushed past the table on their way to the dance floor until it seemed as if she and Ryan were the only people still seated.

  “Should we dance?” he ventured.

  She popped off her chair as if he’d hit an “Eject” button, because anything had to be better than sitting there like two awkward middle school kids. “Sure!”

  Ryan followed her to the dance floor, where they were absorbed into the mass of partiers. At first, they stood side by side with as wide a berth as possible, eyes on the band, self-consciously swaying while shuffling their feet. It took a certain level of concentration to dodge other people’s elbows and avoid trouncing toes while simultaneously trying to watch Ryan’s expressions using only peripheral vision. But within thirty seconds, the music and energy siphoned Steffi’s tension, giving her the courage to face Ryan.

  When they were younger, they’d used fake IDs to sneak into Dusty’s Roadhouse two towns west of Sanctuary Sound. In those days, they’d danced so close their bodies were as one, unlike now. Their relationship had ended well before her twenty-first birthday, so being on this hometown dance floor together tonight was a f
irst. The notion of sharing a new first with Ryan prompted a smile she didn’t try to hide.

  Their past might be riddled with pain, but the future could be different.

  Her gaze wandered nervously, propelled by a myriad of sensations as the sensual effect of dancing pooled in her core, reminding her of the security of his embrace. The tenderness of his touch. The heat of his kiss.

  Those memories clouded her mind—in a good way, for a change. Loosened her up enough to risk moving closer. Thanks to her daydreaming, she wasn’t sure if she’d lost her balance, been knocked forward by another dancer, or if she’d subconsciously acted out her fantasy. In any case, she fell against Ryan’s chest.

  When the lead singer belted the refrain, the irony of the lyrics wasn’t lost on Ryan, especially not with Steffi’s body pressed against his. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d held her by the waist, but this time the shock of it awakened every nerve ending. She blinked up at him, her cheeks as pink as one of Emmy’s dresses.

  He couldn’t help but smile. Rarely did Steffi look bewildered or at a loss, but he welcomed the momentary vulnerability even as he knew she wouldn’t let it last long.

  Up close, he stared into the warm brown tones of her irises limned in gold, made even prettier for the depth, compassion, and regret that came with age and experience. He still didn’t trust her, but he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t wish he could. Wish they could be friends. Wish . . .

  “Sorry.” She eased from his grip, finding the song’s beat again. To his chagrin, he missed the weight and heat of her. “Lost my balance.”

  He nodded, unable to speak because an unholy stew of beer, hormones, and memories pickled his brain. The song ended to rampant applause. He thought to make a break for the table, but his hesitation doomed him the instant the band transitioned to the classic Eagles ballad “Best of My Love.”

  All around them, the crowd paired up and began the slow sway couples manage on a tiny dance floor. Claire and Ben were still dancing and laughing, which left him no easy excuse to bow out.