“No, I said I would help you and that's what I intend to do. Besides, I'm putting it on the business credit account and you need me to make that happen.” He never once looks in my direction.
We walk the remainder of the way in silence and I can't help but be extremely relieved when we finally reach the small music shop called Tones and Tunes. The store isn't much. A small space tucked away in between two much larger buildings. Zayne holds the door for me and I don't miss the way his hand falls to the small of my back as he guides me through the door. The contact causes my insides to bubble, but I do my best to not look too much into it. It's probably something he's used to doing.
A large guy with a shaved head and several piercings and tattoos approaches us almost immediately, greeting Zayne like he's known him his whole life. After a brief conversation between the two men, they both turn to face me as I explain to the man, who I now know as Beck, what exactly I'm looking for.
Zayne wanders the store while Beck shows me all the different acoustic guitars he has, explaining the pros and cons of each instrument before moving on to the next. Eventually we come across a black Fender guitar that has red detailing and I immediately fall in love. It's a CD-60 basic six string acoustic and while it's one of the cheaper guitars, it's absolutely perfect for me.
Zayne reappears as Beck is handing me the guitar and letting me feel it out. He looks at the price tag and back at me as if I have completely lost my mind.
“What?” I question, suddenly fearing that five hundred dollars is too much.
“That's pretty cheap. You sure you don't want something, I don't know, a little better in quality,” he asks, clearly confused.
“It's not about the price. It's about the piece and I love this one,” I say, not willing to discuss the matter further. Here I was worried he thought it cost too much, not the other way around.
Making my way to a wooden bench that sits along the back wall, I prop the guitar on my leg and strum a couple of chords. I listen to the sound bounce off the walls of the small space as I tune the guitar and then strum a couple more strings.
The men make their way to the counter while I play around with the guitar, eventually strumming out the notes to Imagine Dragons, "Stuck on You", a song I have been dying to strip down and play bare bones. Having not played it before and going strictly off memory, I fumble my way through the first few notes before I eventually find my rhythm.
I lose myself for a few minutes, loving the feeling of the guitar in my hands, of the notes vibrating through my ears.
“We're all set.” Zayne's voice cuts into my concentration and I immediately stop strumming to look up at him.
He's watching me curiously, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I've never heard that song played that way before. I like it,” he says, nodding his head in approval.
“I was just messing around.” I push to a stand.
Beck reappears, laying a case out on the counter and gesturing for me to hand him the guitar.
Once he has everything I need packed away in the case, we exit the shop with me holding my new guitar tightly against my chest. It's not the easiest way to carry a guitar, but right now I’m so happy that I own my very own guitar. I want to hold it as closely to me as I can.
Zayne gives me a questioning look before his mouth turns up in a slow smile. “You're adorable, you know that?” He laughs at the way I am clinging to the guitar. “Here, let me.” He pries the case from my fingers and secures it in his hand.
“Thank you,” I say, a little taken aback by how quickly his demeanor has changed. What started out as aggravation and annoyance seems to have molded into something else entirely.
He doesn't speak again until we reach the restaurant and after handing the valet my ticket, Zayne waits until my car pulls around before sliding my new guitar into the backseat.
“Hey, Zayne,” I call out as he starts to walk away. He turns back towards me, his face unreadable. “Thank you... for everything. I really appreciate it,” I say, forcing down everything else I want to say to him.
“No problem, Grace. You can pay me back by dedicating your first hit to me.” He grins.
“Well that's not gonna happen, but maybe I can play you the song I was messing with at the shop sometime. Once I master it of course.”
“I'd like that.” He throws me a wave and quickly walks away.
Wishing I could stretch the moment out longer, I sigh then slide into the driver’s seat of my car before heading toward my apartment.
I text Alec a thank you as soon as I get home and find myself wishing I had Zayne's number so I could thank him again too. Knowing that I am getting carried away with myself, I try to shake off the lingering thoughts of Zayne and lock myself in my room for the remainder of the afternoon.
Only problem is, I find myself unable to think of anything but him and every song I play somehow reminds me of him. Of his eyes, his lips, the way he says my name.
He has made it perfectly clear that nothing can happen between us and while that knowledge saddens me more than it should, it doesn't stop me from thinking about it or wishing that things could be different. Zayne is not the man for me, I know that without a doubt, but that doesn't mean I don't want him any less.
SUNDAY AFTERNOON ARRIVES way too quickly and I stumble into Vitos just before one in the afternoon, my new Fender guitar in hand. When I push my way through the thick wood door, once again my eyes take a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting. I blink a few times as the interior of the bar comes into focus.
I expect there to be several people here, all auditioning for the same gig, so I am more than a little surprised that the bar is practically empty. As a matter of fact, besides one girl behind the bar, there are only two people at the bar and a couple pressed tightly together at one of the tables in the corner.
I hesitantly approach the pretty girl behind the bar who has long black hair and a small hoop lip ring. While her appearance is rather intimidating, her smile is warm and genuine.
“You must be Grace.” She extends her hand to me. I reach out and give her hand a light shake before taking a seat on one of the stools. “I'm Becca. Jake told me you were coming. He should be here shortly. Late, per usual.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Anything I can get you while you wait?” she asks, pushing the sleeves up on her torn, long sleeve black shirt, revealing two completely covered tattooed arms.
“I'm good.” I prop my guitar against the stool next to me. “Where is everyone?” I ask, gesturing around the empty bar.
“You're it,” she says, a curious smile turning up the corners of her bright red lips. “Jake didn't tell you, did he?” She continues when I shake my head no. “You're the only audition we have scheduled. I think it's pretty safe to say that as long as you're even remotely decent, the job will be yours.”
“Oh. Well, no pressure or anything then, right?”
I think I would prefer to audition against other people, that way if I got the job, I would know that I got it because I was good enough, not because I was the only option.
Jake appears through a door that sits behind the bar, immediately wrapping his arms around Becca's waist and snuggling his face into her neck. “There's my girl,” he purrs, squeezing her tightly.
I can't help but smile at the two people in front of me. Both tatted and rocked out and clearly very into each other. Jake catches sight of me and loosens his grip on Becca, straightening his body which I now see hovers at least eight or nine inches over hers.
“Good to see you again, Grace.” He throws a casual nod in my direction. “You ready?” he asks, his dimples making an appearance.
“Um, well you never specified what type of music, so I have a few different songs I could do,” I say, standing from my stool.
“Rock, alternative, pop. Hell, we don't care. Just as long as it sounds good. Our weekend bands tend to be on the rock side, obviously.” He gestures around the room. He's pointing out the clear indications that this is v
ery much a rock bar. “But those are full bands and the bar gets pretty crazy. You will just be playing an acoustic set a few nights a week. Give our weeknight patrons something to listen to while they drown their sorrows.” I pick up my guitar case and tilt my head towards the stage, silently asking if that's where he wants me to play. “Yeah, just head on up. Show us what you got.” He wraps an arm around Becca's shoulder.
“Good luck,” she calls after me.
Those two are almost sickening but I can't help but be somewhat envious. I can't remember what it feels like to look at someone the way Becca looks at Jake. The way I used to look at Kyle.
I try to shake off the small bundle of nerves creeping into the pit of my stomach. There's no reason to be nervous. Not really. Considering that I am auditioning in front of a whopping six people.
I climb the two wooden stairs that lead up to the stage. Figuring I don't need the microphone or amplifier because the bar is so quiet, I don't bother hooking up the wires laid out on the stage. Instead, I take a seat on the stool sitting in the center and prop my guitar in my lap.
When I look up, Becca and Jake are sitting at one of the tables directly behind the small makeshift dance floor, both smiling encouragingly at me. I nod in their direction and then turn my focus back to the instrument in my hands. After tuning a couple strings, I begin strumming the intro of "To Whom it May Concern" by The Civil Wars. It's a duet but because the parts don't overlap, I’m able to do it as a solo act.
Within seconds of hearing the notes float through the room, the very few people watching fade into the background until all that is left is me. Me and my guitar and the feelings that spread through me when I play.
The song is about waiting to find that one true love. The way that person will feel, look, smell, and taste. It's all about waiting and because of this, I connect to the song on a very deep level. Not that I necessarily connect to the actual meaning of waiting for that one love but more just the waiting. Waiting for someone, something, to come along and make me feel alive again.
As I strum out the last chord, the room comes back into focus and my eyes fall to Jake, who is still sitting in the same chair, an excited smile across his face. Becca is standing, clapping like her life depends on it before she comes skipping over to the edge of the stage.
“Oh my god, Grace! You are amazing!” she squeals. “Jake! Wasn't she amazing?” She turns to address her boyfriend as he makes his way to join her in front of the stage.
“Magic, Grace. Pure magic. You have to play here. Please tell me you will take the job. Even if I audition for another six months, I will never find someone as good as you to play in a place like this.” He clasps his hands together in a silent plea.
“I'll take it,” I say, without a moment of hesitation. Becca does a happy squeal and wraps Jake in a huge hug.
“Come to the bar. We will discuss all the details over a celebratory drink.” He throws his arm around Becca's shoulder and ushers her toward the bar. After packing up my guitar, I make my way over to join them. Jake is standing behind it and already has three shot glasses filled with a clear liquid sitting in front of him. I take a seat on one of the stools next to Becca and prop my guitar next to me.
“Okay. So here's the deal. Sunday through Wednesday. You will play roughly three hours between ten p.m. and two a.m. with breaks in between. It's a hundred bucks a night and all your drinks are free. Well, as long as you don't get so drunk that you can't play, that's where I draw the line.” He chuckles.
“When do I start?”
“You'll start Tuesday. That way you have a couple of days to put together a playlist.” He passes us each a shot and then lifts his in the air. “To Grace. Welcome to Vitos.” He says, pouring the contents of the glass down his throat. I follow suit and am rather surprised that the alcohol does not have as bad of a bite as I expected. “Top shelf Tequila. Goes down like water,” Jake tells me, catching the surprised expression on my face.
I spend the next three hours at the bar chatting with Becca. I may have only just met her, but I know for one hundred percent certainty that we are going to be very good friends. For one, she loves Blue October just as much as I do. That scores people major brownie points with me. Two, she's the only other person I have ever met that thinks Master of Disguise is one of the funniest movies of all time. And last but not least, she is also a writer. Well, she writes songs.
Apparently she's very talented on the piano and we immediately make plans to do some type of guitar/piano duet together in the near future. Obviously, there is no room for a piano on the tiny stage, but a keyboard would fit nicely
I stumble out of the bar a little after four in the afternoon, guitar slung over my shoulder, having drank five more shots and a couple of mixed drinks that Jake calls 'The Sunday Special'. The sun instantly attacks my sensitive eyes, having been in such a dim room for so long. Wishing I had brought my sunglasses, I use my hand to block out the sun while I stumble my way down the sidewalk toward my apartment building.
I didn't realize how much of a buzz I had until now. The sidewalk seems to keep moving off to the side even though I swear I’m walking a straight line. I can't help but laugh at myself. How ridiculous am I? Stumbling through the city in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, completely smashed.
Very classy, Grace.
“My oh my, if it's not the girl of my dreams,” Carver drawls in his best country accent, pulling my attention to the curb directly in front of our building. Pulling a couple of shopping bags out of the back of a cab, he throws some cash at the cabbie, and he makes his way toward me, a wide smile on his face.
He drops the bags next to me and then immediately hoists me into his arms, guitar and all. “Oh Grace. Grace, Grace, Grace. Where have you been all my life?” he croons out, spinning me a couple of times in a circle. I can't contain the laughter that bursts from my mouth. “Sorry, I've always wanted to do that.” He lands a swift kiss to my cheek before setting me back to my feet.
You would think by now that I would have gotten used to all the theatrics and public embarrassment that comes along with having friends like Carver and Emma, but I haven't. Even through my alcohol induced haze, I can still feel my cheeks flush crimson as passing pedestrians huff around us, some even throwing dirty looks over their shoulders.
“What? Is a girl not allowed to literally be swept off her feet?” I blurt out at a woman who gives me a death glare as she steps around me and Carver, still taking up a good portion of the sidewalk.
Carver's eyes widen in surprise then a knowing smile creeps across his handsome face. “Gracie Morgan.” He puts his hands on his hips for effect. “Have you been drinking on a Sunday afternoon?” he asks, laughter vibrating through his chest.
“Oh shut up, Carv.” I give his chest a friendly shove. He grabs my arm and pulls me to him.
“Everything okay, Grace?” he asks, clearly worried that I have lost my mind or have officially jumped off some emotionally stable wagon and am sure to go into hysterics at any moment.
I snuggle into his embrace, laughter vibrating lightly through me. “I'm good,” I say, pulling my head back to stare up at him. “I got a job!”
“Holy shit, Gracie Lou. That's awesome. Where?”
I shake my head.
“It's a secret.” I wink dramatically.
Figuring he will eventually get it out of me, he doesn't push for more. Instead, he lands a light kiss to my forehead. Only then does it dawn on me how much Carver and I seem like a real life couple. His fingers entwine with mine as he pulls me toward the entrance of our building.
The contact between us is constant and it has always been that way with me and Carver. I have always held his hand and snuggled with him on the couch. I have always laid my head on his shoulder at the movie theater and fell asleep in his lap in the car after having too much to drink.
I peer up at his handsome face and give him a sweet smile. It doesn't matter what other people think. He’s my best friend and we love e
ach other, just not in that way.
I'm still staring up at him with a completely goofy grin on my face as we approach the front door of our building, when he stops out of nowhere, stopping me along with him. I follow his line of sight and gasp at the person sitting on the front steps of my apartment building glaring at Carver like he's ready to make him disappear forever.
“Zayne... What... what are you doing here?”
His eyes finally break away from Carver's face and meet mine for the first time. He stands, his usual air of confidence surrounding him. “I came to see how the new guitar is working out,” he says casually, gesturing to the case in my hand.
“It's good, great actually.” Nervousness laces my voice. Having never prepared myself for the day that Zayne Evans would show up on my doorstep, it takes me a few seconds to gather my bearings.
“Um Carver, this is Zayne, Alec's best friend. Zayne, this is Carver,” I say, feeling oddly out of place giving the introduction. The two men nod at one another and Carver reaches out, giving Zayne's hand a firm shake before turning his attention back to me.
“Would you mind running this up for me?” I ask, handing him my guitar case. He takes it without hesitation. “I'll be up in a minute.” I lean in close. “And can you not mention this to Emma, please,” I whisper, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek.
I know he picks up on why I'm asking. Emma tends to blow things up and I really don't feel like dealing with the questions right now. He gives me a quick nod before passing Zayne and pushing his way through the front door.
“So did you really come here to see about the guitar?” I ask, not trying to hide the questioning tone of my voice. He shuffles his feet for a moment before his eyes find mine again. “You know it's okay if you just really missed me and wanted to see me. I certainly wouldn't hold it against you. I, Mr. Evans, am a girl worth missing.” I playfully toss my hair over my shoulder.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks, making his way toward me, finally joining me at the bottom of the stairs. I peer up at his impossibly handsome face and have to resist the urge to push a lock of hair away from his forehead.
The Way Back Page 8