Just as I think that, my answer is right in front of me. My heart about stops when I see the person who walks out on stage first.
It isn’t Ian. It’s Will.
My lips part as I watch his every move like a hawk. He nears the middle of the stage, where a microphone and stool are set up, like how Marty has them at the bar for open mic.
Will sits down on it.
What the …
The crowd is loud with calculating whispers, and then picks up when Ian strolls out. He does it effortlessly, completely in his own zone compared to the uneasiness Will portrays in his stiff body language.
Will hates big crowds.
Ian pulls another stool closer to Will. Some guy I don’t recognize, who’s wearing a stagehand red polo shirt like the rest of the fair employees, comes out with a guitar.
He passes it to Ian.
My eyes are plastered on Will. He’s looking at Ian, murmuring something to him. I stare, trying to figure out the puzzle pieces. Some of the edges aren’t fitting in the slots, so I mentally ram them in.
Patience isn’t really my thing.
I catch Ian’s eye, and an obvious smirk—one of his devious, up-to-no-good ones—stretches on his face. His eyes move back to Will, gesturing his head toward where I’m standing.
I hold my breath when our eyes lock.
I stand a little straighter when he studies me over, his gaze is burning every inch he scans.
Then he does something that I haven’t seen in way too long.
He smiles.
And that makes my heart do very weird things inside of my chest.
I let out a breath.
Suddenly, somebody comes up on the right side of me. I look to see Bash sporting dark shades and a baseball cap hiding his brown locks.
Um … “What are you doing out here?”
Another person stands on the other side of me.
Dylan. He’s got blue aviators on and a grey beanie. I can only assume in disguise.
“We thought we’d have a better view from out here,” Bash answers, giving me a lopsided grin.
“And we figured we’d be able to stop you if you tried walking away,” Dylan adds, shrugging like what he said isn’t anything to analyze.
But boy am I analyzing.
“You guys are making me nervous.”
Dylan nudges my shoulder with his. “Just enjoy the show, Tess. I know I sure as hell am.”
My heart races in my chest with anticipation, my nerves making my body go into overdrive. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on, so many thoughts swirling in my head that I can’t seem to process even one.
Will, my Will, is on stage in front of a huge crowd.
And then he says my name. “Tessa?”
I freeze up.
He’s looking right at me; his eyes seeing past the walls, the doubts, the questions.
I don’t dare blink, or he may disappear.
“You know I’m not that great at this,” he says into the microphone, and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “But I want to show you that I’m willing to do whatever I can to let you know how sorry I am for walking away. I’m not sorry for what happened between us, I’m just sorry for being stupid enough to leave. For being a coward.”
My heart swells.
“And I know how much you like this song, although I don’t know why. Personally, I still think Sam Hunt is overrated.”
It makes me laugh, but gets a mixed reaction from the crowd.
Ian leans forward into the mic. “Ignore him, ladies. He doesn’t like any guy who tries stealing his woman’s heart.”
He winks, and girls go crazy.
Seriously, I think somebody just got pregnant.
“Anyway,” Will continues, clearing his throat, “this is my peace offering. I know it’s not an original song, but it’s one that I know you love. Even got some help from … from a friend to deliver it.” He’s gestures toward Ian. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t let me play the guitar myself. Guess he wanted to share the attention.”
Ian leans forward toward the mic again. “Wanted to make sure the ladies knew I had talented fingers.”
The girls scream in reply.
Dylan and Bash chuckle, and I shake my head.
Ian slaps Will’s shoulder. “Ready, man?”
Will glances at me one last time. “Ready.”
And the music starts. Instantly, I know what song he’s going to sing. It’s the same song I used to have on repeat until it drove him crazy.
“This song again?” he complains, flopping onto my bed like a fish out of water. Grabbing one of my fuzzy pillows, he stuffs it under his head.
“If you don’t like it, you can leave,” I say, soaking in every word Sam Hunt feeds me. “Come Over” has been my favorite song since I heard it first play on the radio. It tugs on my heartstrings.
“This is the fourth time you’ve played it since I’ve been here,” he mutters.
“It’s Sam Hunt,” is all I reply. Because, obviously that’s answer enough.
“This is worse than your Taylor Swift obsession.”
I doubt it, considering I used to play Taylor Swift nonstop. And she has enough music to last hours, even without some songs being repeated.
I don’t argue with him about it. “Sam Hunt is dreamier. Plus, the acoustic version of this is ten times better than the original. It’s, like, ovary exploding.”
He winces. “Doesn’t sound like a pleasant experience.”
When the chorus comes on, I sing along.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of depressing?”
I stare at him. “Why would it be? He’s singing about somebody he loves … how he can’t live without thinking about her. He admits he’s tried to forget her, but fails because she means that much. It’s romantic.”
“So, you’re saying you’d want this to happen to you?”
“Um, Sam Hunt serenading me? Yes please.”
He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Chicks fall for this crap?”
I nibble on my lip, wanting nothing more than for him to understand. Sometimes, music speaks to me. Like the lyrics are feeding my soul, giving it strength to live. To feel.
“Have you ever been in love, Will?”
I want to tell him, I have. But I don’t.
He averts his gaze, like shielding his eyes from me will hide me from seeing past the green hues. “Yeah … I have.”
I don’t expect the answer. It raises so many questions. Who is she? Is he still in love?
I don’t pry, although I really want to.
After all, this is Will. My Will. I know I don’t have the right to be possessive … but I am.
“Well, then you know what it’s like to constantly think of her. You fight how you feel. You deny it. You tell yourself it’s not worth the risk. Until, one day, it’s all consuming. You need that person. It’s … it’s beautiful.”
He looks at me like I grew a second head.
I blush. “So, yeah, I’d want somebody to feel that way toward me. To sing to me. To plead for me to come over because they don’t know what they’d do if I weren’t there.”
The look he gave me clears his face. It’s replaced with something else. Admiration. Warmth. His voice is soft, genuine, promising, when he says, “You’ll get that someday, Tess. Because you deserve it.”
Dylan puts his arm on my shoulders, snapping me from the memory.
Will is singing to me. Giving me exactly what I could only fantasize about. His gravelly voice sings every word perfectly as Ian strums the guitar. Will’s eyes are focused on me the whole time. Every word directed to me. Every feeling soaking into me. Every moment locked between us, a memory I’ll keep forever.
Tears form in my eyes.
He’s not just delivering a performance. He’s delivering me his emotions. His feelings. His heart.
He’s wanting. Pleading. Hooking me in.
And it’s beautiful.
A tear falls down
my cheek as emotions swarm inside of me. My heart hurts, but in the best way possible. Like I can’t hold everything I’m feeling all at once. I might burst. I might explode.
God, is this what it’s supposed to feel like to be loved so much?
Ian’s quiet voice sings backup during the last chorus as the song draws to a close. I feel Bash take my hand and squeeze it once. Dylan still has his arm on my shoulder, giving me a quick tug toward his body. A comforting hug.
Something encouraging. Knowing.
Girls are glued to Will as he sings. Or maybe they’re staring at Ian. Either way, the crowd is just as enthralled as me.
But I bet nobody feels the way I do.
Ian ends the song by letting the guitar fade as Will sings the last word.
Applause erupts, clapping echoing in the makeshift tent surrounding the stage.
I press my lips together as I watch him through blurry eyes.
He gives me a small smile, holding the mic in his hand. “I mean it, Tess. When you’re ready, come over. It’s all up to you, but know that I miss you. I hate not talking to you. I hate not being able to complain about what you make me watch, or how much you talk to your cat more than most other humans, or even how you put pineapple on your pizza. Because, seriously, you shouldn’t do that. That’s gross.”
Wiping tears off my cheeks, I laugh. He really hates when I order pizza without him there, because half of it is covered with pineapple chunks.
I do it mostly to bother him. It works.
“But what I hate most of all is knowing that I was so afraid of screwing up what we have, afraid of loving you the way you deserve, that I ended up messing up anyways. I don’t want to walk away anymore. I don’t want to be afraid. I want … I want you. I love you. Not just as my crazy, Batman loving, cat-obsessed best friend. As so much more. And I hope you see how much I mean that, because having everyone stare at me is really nauseating. You know I hate crowds.”
I nod and sniff back tears.
My mind can’t wrap around everything he says at once, because they’re narrowed in on three specific words.
Three words that everybody hears from their family and friends. Three words that are easy to say on of whim, but hard to say when you really mean them. Those three words weigh more than anything else in the world—they can change everything.
And Will said them to me.
I love you.
God, I want to tell him that I love him too. I want to tell him that what he did meant more to me than he could know. I want to do so many things, but my feet as plastered to the grassy ground, like glue is holding me back.
Dylan and Bash both look at me.
“Think about it,” Bash says, giving me a comforting smile, one of his dimples greeting me. “I think we all know what you’ll choose, but it’s not an easy choice to make. Loving somebody isn’t just a one and done deal. It’s a lifetime experience. An emotional roller-coaster. If there isn’t one moment that you’re not contemplating their murder, you don’t love them hard enough.”
That doesn’t make any sense to me.
But then again … maybe it does.
Because I’ve felt that. The hurt, the contemplation. Maybe not to his demise, but pretty close to it.
Will catches my eye one last time, and the corners of his lips quirk up in a hopeful smile.
Then he disappears behind the curtain.
Standing up, Ian takes the mic off the stand. “If you don’t take up that offer, I’ll snatch that hunky piece of man meat for myself, Tessa.”
The crowd whistles and applauds.
Even I join in.
“Well, now that that’s over, how about we get the concert on the road?”
The audience starts screaming in reply, so loud I have to cover my ears.
Dylan and Bash give me one last small, encouraging smile before weaving through the hyped crowd.
I wait for Will to show up, to come find me in the crowd.
He doesn’t.
He’s giving me space.
One hundred thousand dollars.
I stare at the number on the check in my hands. A check Ian handed me. A check that has my name on it.
I rub my eyes, thinking the number would change. Maybe a zero or two would disappear. But it doesn’t.
One hundred grand.
“H-how?”
“The benefit was for you and your family,” he answers, a black duffle bag hanging over his shoulder.
I look at him in awe. “But … how? I mean it’s …”
He stuffs a hand in his pocket. “Tess mentioned your situation on the farm. We all wanted to help, and so did the town. The concert raised about twenty-five thousand, and we matched it. Then there were online sales that we put toward the proceeds, and our label matched that. Something about them helping small-town farmers in need looking good for the company. Not to mention royalties from the song you wrote for us. ‘Relentless’ is what got us on the charts. You earn every penny from the sales.”
My eyes widen. “Does Tess know about that?”
I never told her I wrote a song for them, especially not the song that hit best-sellers lists. I’m not ashamed of it, but I still prefer it stays between us.
“That’s your secret to tell, brother,” he assures me. “Either way, you’ve got a hundred grand. I hope it helps.”
I try to say something, but I can’t.
He shifts the bag again. “You were good out there yesterday, man. It takes balls to go out in front of an audience and pour your heart out.”
“She hasn’t come over.”
“Yet,” he replies, sure of himself. “There’s no way in hell that she isn’t.”
Setting the bag down, he unzips a side pocket. He pulls something out, and hands it to me. “This is for her. A thank you of sorts for something she made me realize.”
I take the stuffed cat from him. It’s the angry cat from the memes online, only it’s dressed like Batman.
Because … naturally.
I laugh. “This is perfect. What exactly did she make you realize?”
He zips the bag back up and tosses it over his shoulder. “That it’s never too late to fight for what we want.”
I study him, soaking in the unexpected answer.
“So you’re leaving?”
He nods. “Got somewhere to be before we’re out. Somebody to see.”
I want to ask who, but it’s obvious he isn’t going to share that information.
We lock hands. “Thanks for your help, man.”
I mean it, which feels good. Everything I held against him is gone, an easiness filling my chest.
“And good luck on whatever you’re planning,” I tell him, seeing the determination in his eyes.
He drops our hands. “Anytime you want to join the band, we’d love for you to jam with us. Maybe even play a few shows when we’re around. If you ever want to make more money, hit me up. We could use some help writing more songs. Just like we’d pay Tess for her photos, we’ll pay you.”
I chuckle. “I have a feeling I’ll be busy around here, but I’ll keep that in mind.” I glance down at the piece of paper in my hand that feels just as heavy as the number indicates it should.
He salutes me, backing me toward his car parked out from of my parents’ house. “I’d say you’re officially back on a decent Taylor Swift song level with her. Maybe you two could do a duet like Swift and the ginger did. What song was that? ‘Everything Has Changed’?”
I can’t help but snicker. “Tess isn’t exactly a singer.” Her off-tune singing doesn’t stop her from singing at the top of her lungs in the car when a song she likes comes on.
But that’s why I love her.
She knows she’s not perfect. She knows she can’t sing. She knows so much about herself that people would criticize, yet it doesn’t stop her.
Not anymore.
Now … to wait.
The pungent scent of cow manure overwhelms my senses as I near the sliding doo
rs of the barn. As odd as it is, the smell is welcoming. Familiar. Homely.
That’s what happens when you grow up in the middle of nowhere New York surrounded by cows and corn fields. I’m not complaining.
The tourists who pass through, especially with Relentless sticking around for the summer on break, makes things entertaining. Their faces would scrunch up, like the smell is the worst things they’ve ever encountered.
It’s hilarious to me.
Will’s dad looks up from where he’s putting the machine on the cow next to him, a smile that makes him appear so much like Will (I guess technically it’s the other way around) is present on his face. There is no denying who gave Will and his brother the dominant genes in the family. The guys all share the same dirty blond-brown hair, green eyes that change shades depending on their mood, and a jawline that could cut glass. Really, every feature in between is practically identical with them.
“Something tells me you’re not here to see me,” he guesses, standing up from his kneeling position.
I give him a bright smile. “Who says I’m not?”
He chuckles. “Nah, pretty girls like you don’t come around here for old fellas like me. I could only be so lucky.”
He flirts more than Will does, something I find amusing.
“You’ve still got it, old man,” I tell him, shooting him a wink as I reach my hand out to the barn kitten perched on the stall bar.
His laugh is throaty, like Will’s, as he walks over to me. “Always a flatterer, aren’t you, Tess? Although, I could go without the old man add-on.”
I just grin, because he knows I’m teasing.
“Will and Ryder are in the back pasture,” he tells me, petting the kitten’s head. It’s a yellow tiger, it’s striped markings a darker shade—almost brown—compared to the rest of its fur.
“What are they doing out there?”
“Ryder didn’t close the damn gate this morning,” he explains, shaking his head. “At least half of the last group are out and about roaming around. They’re trying to get them back in.”
I nudge the ground with the muck boot that Will’s mom lent me.
He notices them. “Amy give those to you?”
I give him a sheepish smile. “I’m borrowing them. I thought maybe I could help?”
The Summer We Changed (Relentless Book 1) Page 22