Her words sink down into my chest, much like the song they’ve shifted to onstage. This one’s softer, not quite a ballad, but definitely more swaying than head banging. The houselights come up a little, making the room’s vibe feel less like a concert and more intimate. My eyes trail back to Bryson, the heat in my checks doubling. His voice is so fluid, not silky like Cam’s, but more like a dark espresso, layered with that hint of bitterness to make it special.
He shakes his hair from his face, and this time when he looks up, I know he sees me. Either that, or the guy has an incredible ability to make a girl feel as if she’s the only person in the room. His eyes stay laser-focused on mine, his words raising goose bumps up and down my arms and legs. The lyrics are all about need. Needing peace, needing purpose, needing something you aren’t allowed to have. His gaze shifts then, and now the first two rows get his attention.
I’m left gutted and, more than ever, I have to know what Zoe meant earlier. I touch her arm, my voice a plea. “Please, Zoe. If you consider me a friend at all, I need you to tell me what he offered.”
She sighs like she knows she’s going to regret telling me. “He agreed to come to Thanksgiving this year.”
My mouth opens, the shock reverberating through my chest. “Why would he do that?”
“Why do you think?” She shakes her head. “Darcy. My brother gave up twelve years of silence . . . for you.”
My face freezes, yet somehow I find a way to speak. “I don’t understand.”
“Please tell me you’re not that naïve.” She pauses, studies me. “Oh my gosh. You are that naïve.” Zoe spots someone in the crowd and sits up straighter. “Word of advice. It’s time to start paying attention . . . to both of them.” She waves and then pats down her hair. “Liam’s here. Remember, you promised to keep Tony occupied.”
eighteen
The minute Liam joins us at the bar, Zoe snaps into full flirtation mode. I never saw her interact with Nate, so I’m not sure if this behavior is typical for her, but I’m quickly learning why none of Zoe’s relationships stick. The girl she’s portraying is nothing like the person I know she is.
Even worse, I’m stuck entertaining Liam’s talkative friend when I really just want to listen and try to make sense of the confusion in my head.
Tony leans in and shouts over the music, “They’re good, aren’t they?” He’s the collared-shirt type with playful brown eyes and light hair styled just enough to look unintentional. Not nearly as striking as Liam, who’s arguably prettier than Zoe, if that is possible.
“Yeah, they are. They’re friends of mine.” I glance at my roommate, who hasn’t taken her eyes off Liam since he walked up. “The lead singer is Zoe’s older brother.”
“Really?” He surveys the stage, then turns back to me. “Cool. Maybe you can introduce me to them after their set.” In truth, Tony isn’t a bad guy. Just, I don’t know, simple and a little too free with the hand grazes. I guess that’s the drawback to having an extraordinary best friend. My standards have always been ridiculously high. Thankfully, I’ve had two more lemon-drop cocktails in the span of our conversation, and a warm sensation has replaced all the earlier shock waves. Well, most of them anyway.
Tony continues to talk, asking me where I’m from and what my hobbies are. He volunteers that he lives and works in downtown Dallas, running some kind of computer program for AT&T.
“What about you, Darcy? What keeps you busy during the week?”
I swallow the final drops from my glass, disappointed it’s empty. “Dogs,” I say simply.
He chuckles and takes the glass from my hand to set it on the counter. “And what does that entail?”
I turn toward him, accepting my fate that I’m stuck keeping Tony occupied. “I train them. Right now, I’m working with a group of foster dogs in hopes they can find permanent homes.”
He inches in, his finger sliding down my forearm for not the first time. I subtly pull away, wondering when he’s going to finally get the hint. “Wow. I never would have pictured you as an outdoorsy type. You’re so tiny and feminine.”
It’s a good thing I don’t have a drink because I know I would have spit it out on him. I place my hand on my mouth, holding in a burst of laughter. “Um, thanks.” And now I understand why Zoe pretends. This environment isn’t where you go looking for a long-lasting relationship. It’s all about the persona you want to project. “The best things often come in little packages.” Why not throw some clichés in there? He’s not really interested in getting to know me anyway.
“True.” Tony’s smile grows bigger than it has all night. “How about another drink?”
I hesitate, but I guess something in my face says yes because Tony’s already on his way back to the bartender. Part of me is relieved. It gives me a chance to properly dissect Zoe’s words.
“For you,” she had said, like some great love affair came and went, and I was too blind to participate. Which is ridiculous because, despite what implications Zoe made about my not paying attention, I know one thing for certain. Bryson has never not gone after something he wanted. It’s part of what makes him, him. Not to mention that he’s had multiple chances to make a move, and the only thing he’s done lately is avoid me.
And now I’m frustrated with myself for letting Zoe detonate a bomb of self-doubt. The girl is an emotional wreck, and this wouldn’t be the first time she’s lied to me in order to maintain her image. If Bryson did agree to go to Thanksgiving, then I’m sure his reasons were way deeper than just me.
Black Carousel’s seventh song ends with two drumbeats and a flash of stage lights.
“Thank you, Dallas! You’ve been fantastic tonight,” Bryson yells into the microphone, every muscle in his arm flexing as he extends the microphone to let the crowd respond. And respond they do, cheering and screaming for one more song. Bryson pulls the microphone back, his adrenaline obviously racing through him and into the crowd. “Take it away, Lee!”
When his last name is called, Cameron moves the strings on his electric guitar like they’re running from the law. It’s overwhelming, the sound and energy he releases. I feel it, the crowd feels it, and I know Bryson and the band feel it, because when they come in on the beat, it’s like witnessing magic in the making.
The noise becomes deafening until suddenly I feel lost in it all. The atmosphere, the crowd, the sheer perfection that is their performance tonight. The vibration rocks my bones, and I want to dance and jump as ridiculously as the girls down by the stage. Byson and Cam come together, backs touching as their guitars belt out a duet that could rival the greatest of classic rock icons. They turn, sing into the same microphone, their voices blending, Cam’s high and smooth, Bryson’s deep and edgy. They work as one, a rhythm only possible when two people know each other like they do. And even though their relationship is complex, you can’t fake the kind of bonding that happens when two people share a childhood of laughter and now an adulthood of mutual dreams.
My heart fills with an impossible emotion for these two guys I’ve known forever. Though my future has died, their futures are just beginning, and it feels surprisingly euphoric to get to witness the birth.
Two hard beats of Harrison’s drums and the lights onstage go black.
Tony appears like an apparition, and I’m surprisingly grateful when I see the shiny yellow drink coming my way. My throat is dry, and my heart is pounding like someone just scared me from the bushes. I take a gulp and then another one. The second one burns though, so I quickly stop my guzzling.
“Zoe and Liam took off,” he says with a suggestive grin. “She wanted me to tell you thanks and that she owes you one. Whatever that means.”
My eyes dart to the corner, where she and Liam have been sitting all night, and confirm Tony’s words. She knew I was planning to ride home with Cameron, but still, she could have at least said goodbye. “She wasn’t planning to drive, was she?”
“Nah. Liam’s got her. He hasn’t had a drink all night.”
I consider
the information and hope Liam is as good a guy as Zoe thinks he is. At least she knows him and isn’t going home with a complete stranger.
“So, I was thinking . . .” Tony slides his arm around my waist, and I realize he’s expecting the same result from our little encounter. I guess the warnings I heard my whole life about not letting guys buy me drinks are true. His touch has shifted from careful to aggressive. “My place isn’t far from here, if you want to check it out. We have this private roof terrace on our building where you can see all the lights in Dallas.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely.” Not that I have any intention of finding out. “But I need to go meet up with my friends.” I try to move away from him, but his grip tightens.
An uncomfortable eeriness settles over me as I realize Tony isn’t as nice a guy as I originally thought. Zoe was right about my naïveté. I’m not used to guys hitting on me in bars, nor am I skilled on how to get away from them once the moment becomes uncomfortable. “Really, I’m sure they’re already wondering where I am.” I somehow untangle from his hold, finally able to back up enough to make my pulse stop pounding in my ears. “It was nice to meet you,” I lie, taking one more step back, only this time I collide with a hard body, one that not only doesn’t move but seems to shift in closer. I jerk my head and freeze when I realize it’s Bryson next to me, his eyes cold enough to commit a felony. Suddenly his arm is around my shoulder in an act of possession so overt that even I can’t miss it, especially since he pulls me in so tight I nearly drop the drink in my hand.
Tony’s surprise is no less obvious than my own, though he doesn’t share my relief. “Oh, hey, man. You’re with the band, right?” He takes a step away from us, and I can’t blame the guy. Bryson is pulsing with bottled energy, the high from the stage visible in his flushed cheeks and wild eyes. Tony clears his throat. “You guys were really good.”
Bryson doesn’t say a word. Not one word. He just stares at Tony with me clamped to his side. A horrible tension fills the space between us, and I would feel bad for the guy if I didn’t want him to disappear.
“Bryson, this is Tony. He works for AT&T.” I have no idea why that’s the one fact that flew from my mind, but it is.
Bryson looks down at me, and I see his mouth twitch in a barely-there smile. It fades the minute he looks back at Tony, and again he doesn’t say a single word.
By now, my new admirer is at least four feet from the two of us and slowly backing away. “Darcy, it was a pleasure. Maybe I’ll see you arou—”
“No, you won’t.” Bryson’s words cut the air like a chainsaw, and Tony must feel the residual sting because he turns away without a goodbye.
Bryson’s arm falls away. “You okay? You looked scared.”
“I think cornered was more like it. I was probably overreacting.” I swallow, trying my best to act unaffected. It’s harder than it should be, mostly because my head suddenly feels like it’s full of air and being tossed by the wind. I blink my eyes and try to shake away the odd sensation. That seems to work a little. “I’m sure Tony is harmless. His friend works with your sister.” The same sister who told me Bryson broke twelve years of silence for me. The same one who said I wasn’t paying attention. I stare at the way his damp shirt hangs over every muscle in his chest. Well, I’m certainly paying attention now.
Bryson snorts. “Trust me, the way he was looking at you was definitely not harmless. Guys like that make me sick. They know who to prey on. And you, Darcy, are an easy target.”
“I am not.”
“Really? Did he buy this for you?” He takes the glass from my hand, sniffs it, then takes a sip. Immediately his eyes widen and he coughs as if it went down the wrong pipe. “Please tell me you were smart enough not to drink this.”
And now I’m offended. “I’m not a teenager, and I’m not driving.” I steal back my glass. “And I don’t need your permission to have a lemon drop . . . or four for that matter.”
His eyes narrow, and I understand a little why Zoe might not have liked me when growing up. There’s no fun in being judged. “Since when do you drink?”
“Since I decided I’m done playing by all the rules.”
“And you think a stiff martini is going to solve all your problems?” His voice grows rougher. “I got news for you, it won’t.”
“And yet here you stand, the picture of mutiny, and every one of your dreams is about to come true.” And now the anger is back, alive and well. “Why does everyone expect so much more from me?”
“Because you’re better than this.”
“Obviously, I’m not.”
Before he can respond, a girl comes stumbling forward, her arms draping over the very chest I had admired before his words turned cutting. “Hey, you guys were amazing. Can I get your autograph?” She unbuttons her shirt down to the end of a long cleavage line and offers Bryson a sharpie.
He smiles sensually at her but writes his name on the inside of her wrist instead. “Thanks for coming.” His arm finds its way around my shoulders again, and I realize this time he’s not doing it for my benefit but his own.
She takes the hint and leaves, though I quickly realize she’s not the only one who’s noticed Bryson is now in the audience.
“Where’s Zoe?” He eyes the group moving toward us. “We need to get backstage.”
“She left with a guy from work.”
“Of course she did.” Bryson mashes his lips together and glances at the half-finished drink in my hand. “Who would have thought that she’d be the one influencing you.” And then with lightning-fast speed, he snatches the glass from my fingers and sets it on the bar. “Let’s go.”
His grip securely around my wrist, Bryson pushes us through the crowd until we’re in front of a closed black door blocked by a beefy bouncer in a tight black T-shirt.
“She’s with me.” Bryson waves his pass and opens the door without a pause. Beefy guy smiles, and I don’t like the once-over I get or the way he lifts his chin at Bryson as if it’s a secret high five.
“Is taking random girls backstage something you do often?”
Bryson stops and turns to look at me, his eyes dancing as if he can see the jealousy slithering up inside. “Are you calling yourself random?”
“No.”
He steps closer, his voice dipping with arrogance. “Then why are you worried?”
“I’m not.”
Bryson smirks but doesn’t call me out on my lie. Instead, he leads me through the dark corridor until Cam and the rest of the band appear, each exuding the same buzzing high that’s been springing from Bryson since he stepped offstage.
“Well, look at you, sexy mama.” Jay whistles, turning everyone’s head, including Cameron’s. “Bare legs, flushed cheeks. Just my kind of fangirl.”
“Save it, Casanova. She’s way too smart for your golden tongue,” Cameron says, pushing him aside affectionately. He eyes me with confusion. “Where’d you appear from? I was just about to come find you.”
“Bryson got me backstage.”
He lifts his chin toward his bandmate. “Thanks for looking out for my girl.”
“Anytime.” Bryson’s voice is flat, and I don’t miss the way he turns around right when Cam envelops me in a hug so tight I can hardly breathe.
“Did you feel it?” He nuzzles his nose into my neck and inhales like he’s only just begun breathing again.
“I felt it.” I may not be an expert in music like Cam, but I know when I’ve seen something supernatural. “You guys were perfect.”
Cam swings me into the air. It lasts only a second, which is a good thing because he’s come dangerously close to wearing regurgitated lemon on his shirt. When the room settles, I look for Bryson, but he’s gone.
“I knew tonight was our shot. After all the sacrifices, the wasted time . . . it’s finally going to happen.” When he releases me, his eyes are blurry, and I’m suddenly hit with a trunkful of emotion I can’t seem to control.
“I’m so happy for you, Cameron.
Really.”
Footsteps fall behind us, and we shift out of the way as three guys in leather huddle by the stage entrance. They each seem to have a pre-performance ritual. One’s bouncing on his toes, another is cracking his neck, while the third is moving his mouth like he’s going through the alphabet.
The neck cracker spots Cam when he’s on crack number six and pauses. “Are you the guitarist who just did that solo up there?”
Cam stiffens beside me. “I am.”
“Incredible sound, man. If you have some time after, we should hit some chords together.”
My poor friend falls speechless. I subtly elbow him in the side.
“Yeah, maybe,” he answers as if it’s even in question.
The guy knows it, too. “And feel free to bring your girlfriend. It’ll be a bunch of us.”
“Thanks.”
And since Cam spent most of the morning giving me this band’s credentials, including their brand-new deal with Island Records, I know he just possibly got the “break” he’s been waiting for.
We both remain completely still as the headliner the crowd is begging for fans out onstage. The lights go up, drums pump a beat through the air, and Cam looks at me in complete shock. “Did that just happen?”
I can’t breathe. “Yes, that just happened.”
He comes at me even more high on life than earlier. I give him the stiff arm, unwilling and truthfully unable to be spun around again.
“No spinning, please,” I beg. “My head is already swirly from all the excitement.”
“So you’ll stay and hang out with us?”
I pat his hopeful cheek and shake my head. “Not a chance. I promised you two songs. That’s it. Besides, do you really want to be worrying about me having a good time?”
He shrugs, disappointed, but we both know I’m right to decline.
We stand together and watch the manifestation of Cameron’s dream. “That’s us in six months,” he whispers next to me, his envy strong enough to taste.
My stomach tumbles at the surety in his voice. As much as I’ve cheered him on, supported his dream, and encouraged him when his faith started to falter, this is honestly the first time I truly believe he’s right.
Love and the Silver Lining Page 15