by Callie Hart
“Urgh, no! You didn’t invite him?”
“Of course I did. He’s your biggest fan, sweetheart. I also told Heather and Debra from the wool shop. And Ms. Jones from the school said she’d try to pop by. I know a couple of folk are still busy with work and whatnot, but I’m expecting quite the crowd after five. I have some Pepto in the back if you need it.”
He makes a sharp exit from the table, leaving before Silver can change her mind. She shoots daggers at me, feigning annoyance, but I know the truth: the prospect of playing in front of a large group of people is terrifying the shit out of her.
“How the fuck are you not freaking out right now?” she demands sulkily, jamming another fry into her mouth.
“I don’t give a fuck about any of these people. I could give two shits if they like me or my playing. This is a low stakes game. The only person’s opinion that matters to me is yours, and I’ve already played for you. As far as I’m concerned, these bastards can all go fuck themselves.”
She thinks about this for a second. “So…you don’t care what my dad thinks? His opinion of you isn’t important to you? Not even a teeny, tiny bit?”
Okay, so she has me there. I guess I care about Cam’s opinion. Just a teeny, tiny bit. I don’t like admitting it, though. Shrugging, I plant a kiss against her temple, hmming. “I suppose it’d suck a little if he thought I was a hack. Won’t stop me from getting up there and playing, though, Argento.” Leaning down a little, so that my mouth is right next to her ear, I whisper my next words carefully. “If I suffered from performance anxiety, I wouldn’t have fucked you in front of a room full of people, would I, dolcezza?”
She shivers, like she’s remembering the night we descended into the basement of the Rock and gave in to our basest desires. It wasn’t such a long way for me to fall from innocence—I’ve been a depraved bastard for a long time now—but for Silver that fall must have felt like skydiving without a fucking parachute.
Her eyes are feverish, her cheeks flushed when she pulls back and looks up at me. I’m addicted to the sight of Silver when she’s turned on; the hitch of her breath in her throat and the way she licks at her lips like she’d suddenly kill a man for a glass of water makes my dick hard every single time. A second ago, she was afraid of what was going to happen when she took her seat up on the tiny, low stage in the corner of the diner. All it took to distract her and banish her worry was the mention of my hard cock inside her.
I really am that fucking good.
“You look pleased with yourself.” Silver brushes her fingers through the front of my hair, and it’s my turn to shiver now; I lose my shit every time she touches my scalp. I can’t help it. I wonder if she knows how utterly powerless I am against her whenever she touches me like this. “This is nothing like fucking me in front of a room full of people, though,” she says.
“What, you think playing a guitar is scarier than a bunch of people watching you get penetrated?”
She laughs, blushing deeply. God, my little Silver Parisi. Mine. She has no idea how fucking beautiful she is. She shyly feeds herself a fry, trying to hide from me behind the curtain of her hair. “I laid my body bare for people to see then.” She takes a second, thinking. “I know it sounds stupid, but…when I play, it feels different. I’m laying my soul bare. And that’s almost as intimidating as you are, Alessandro Moretti.”
With a careful touch, I sweep her hair back behind her ear, removing the shield she put up to disguise her embarrassment. “That doesn’t sound stupid. It makes sense. You’re a fucking legend, though. You make that guitar weep when you play it. People are gonna lose their minds. And…side note, I am not intimidating. I’m misunderstood.”
“Hah!” She covers her mouth with the back of her hand. “You do know that you terrify people, right?”
“Only the ones who piss me off.”
“You nearly made Halliday cry at lunch yesterday.”
“Yeah, well. She pissed me off. I like Halliday. Sounds like she’s dealing with her own shit at home, too. She had a hand in making your life a waking nightmare, though. It’s gonna take more than a couple of pieces of cake and a few tears to make up for that.”
“Should I make her walk barefoot across hot coals?” She raises an eyebrow, the comment a clear dig. She thinks I’m being too hard on her remorseful friend. Silver’s still a good person, though. Somehow, against all the odds, she’s still trying to see the good in other people, to give them the benefit of the doubt, whereas I’m more of the opinion that people are dog shit assholes who need to bleed in exchange for a second chance.
“She’s not Kacey,” Silver says quietly, dipping a fry into her milkshake. “Halliday’s softer. Not as resilient. If this were Kacey trying to worm her way back into my good graces, then it’d be a different story. You know what I think?”
Eternally. Always. The inside of that beautiful head of yours intrigues the living shit out of me. I’m embarrassed by how much time I spend thinking about what goes on in there.
I clear my throat. “Sure.”
“I think you should probably take a leaf out of my book and go a little easier on Zander. He’s really trying to make things right with you.”
My smile wants to shrivel up and die—the mere mention of Zander Hawkins will have that effect on a guy—but I fix it firmly in place. “He’s got a thick skin. He can take it.”
“Probably,” she agrees, leaning her head against my shoulder. “But he’ll give up one of these days. He’ll stop trying, and then what? I guess you’ve just got to ask yourself…aside from the fact that he paid someone to try and shank you, and he knew who your father was when you guys met, do you think he really was your friend? If you do, then you should probably forgive him and move on before you lose him altogether.”
Silver
Over the next thirty minutes, people filter slowly into the diner. My stomach roils, churning, and I begin to regret joking about throwing up on the stage. Why the hell did I agree to this again? What was I thinking? I’ve spent the past year trying to convince people not to notice me, not to stare at me, not to draw attention to myself, and now I’m purposefully putting myself front and center, asking the members of Raleigh to do exactly the opposite.
This is all Dad’s fault. If he hadn’t made out like we’d be doing Raleigh some sort of community service by helping Harry, then I’d be curled up on Alex’s couch right now, watching television.
Alex leads the way across the diner. He sets up my guitar for me, mic-ing it so that the sound will play through the large speakers Harry’s set up on either side of the little triangular stage that fits snuggly into the corner at the back of the diner. I watch him, my fingers tingling like crazy, adrenalin prickling all over my body. Fuck, I won’t be able to play at all if I’m shaking this much.
I keep my back to the people taking up their seats in the booths, around the tables, and at the counter, trying not to panic every time the bell above the door rings out and someone new arrives. Alex seems completely oblivious to the amount of people who have braved the weather and come out on a work night just to watch us play. He’s even and calm as he tells me to sit on a stool and he sets up the mic that I’ll be introducing the songs into. I’m seconds away from bursting into tears when he asks me to say something into the mic to test the sound level.
He nearly drops the mic when he looks over and me sees the state I’m in. Placing his hands on the tops of my arms, he ducks down so that he’s level with me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re really this freaked out? We can walk out of here right now if you like. My place is thirty seconds across the road. We’ll be locked inside the apartment and the door will be bolted before anyone even realizes we’ve made a run for it.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “Harry’ll never forgive me. Look at all the people who came. He’s going to double his takings tonight…”
There really are a lot of people here. They’re ordering coffees and hot sandwiches, chattering quietly to one another in their lit
tle groups, but their chairs are all turned toward our dark little corner, angled so they can get a better view of the mystery musicians who’ll be performing here tonight.
“Recognize anyone?” Alex mutters, casting an indifferent glance over his shoulder.
Slowly, I nod. “Halliday brought her little brother. They’re sitting at the counter. Dad’s a couple of seats down from them. Why the hell does he look so nervous? He’s not the one standing up here on a stage.” His face, anxious though it may be, is reassuring, though. He’s trimmed the beard that was starting to look a little scraggly back to a reasonable length of stubble, and he’s wearing a button down shirt underneath his down jacket, which completely breaks his new I’ll-never-wear-anything-smart-ever-again-because-your-mother-can’t-make-me dress code. A dress code I fully endorse. The dark grey material suits him, though. I’d never tell him to his face, but he actually looks quite dashing.
I continue my sweep of the diner, looking for familiar faces. “Harriet Rosenfeld from school’s here.”
Alex smirks, unraveling a long cable and plugging it into the back of an amp. “Ahh. The trumpet player. Aren’t you glad you agreed to give me lessons instead of palming me off on her? I could have been playing ‘Reveille’ up here with her tonight…”
“I didn’t agree to give you lessons. You gave me no choice. Oh god…is that…?”
Alex looks up, following my line of sight, and his hands go still on his guitar. “Yeah, it is,” he clips out. “I haven’t spoken to her since she came to the apartment. She’s been calling…”
On the other side of Harry’s, weaving her way through the crowd, Alex’s social worker, Maeve, looks like she’s trying to find somewhere to sit. She spots a vacant seat at the bar and grabs it quickly…right next to my dad.
“Well.” Alex clears his throat. He looks unhappy all of a sudden. Maeve shouldn’t be here. To Alex, I’m sure she’s an ill omen. She delivered the news that changed his life forever. That must have been so hard for her. It wasn’t her fault. Ben’s death had absolutely nothing to do with Maeve, but to Alex, every time he looks at her, I’m sure all he hears is her voice saying the words over and over again…
‘I’m so sorry, Alessandro. Truly, I am. But…there’s been an accident. It’s your brother. Ben…oh god, I’m sorry but Ben’s dead.’
At the counter, Dad turns and smiles at Maeve, and something uncomfortable twists in my gut.
“Alright, kids. I think that’s it.” Harry appears next to the stage with two cokes and a couple of glasses of ice for us. I’m one hot second away from asking if he has any tequila but then I check myself. Harry’s old school; he wouldn’t serve alcohol to a teenager even if he did have a liquor license. Also, Dad wouldn’t approve, and he’d be mad that I’d asked one of his friends such a dumbass question. “I think everyone I invited has arrived,” Harry says cheerfully. “I’m not sure what you two are planning on playing but some of the locals have made a few requests. Easy stuff. Y’know, Eric Clapton. The Eagles. I love Hotel California myself.”
Alex pulls a face. I think he’s trying to smile but it’s coming across all warped and twisted. “We’re not playing Hotel California, Harry.”
The old man brushes off Alex’s refusal like he saw it coming a mile away. “Okay, okay. No problem. I bet you guys have got it covered. We’ll all just sit back and enjoy the show. How about that?” He hurries away and stands behind the counter, not waiting for a response.
Alex hands me my guitar, then sits himself down on a stool three feet away from mine, putting the strap of his own instrument over his head. He seems a little grim now, as if Maeve’s presence has thrown a spanner in the works and destroyed the playful mood he walked in here with. “You ready?” he asks. His eyes are hard as jet when he looks at me, but then they soften. “You’re gonna be amazing. I already know you are. Just play. Don’t worry about any of them and I’ll do the same, okay?”
Taking a shallow, shaky breath, I nod. “Okay.”
My fingers move to the strings of my guitar, knowing exactly where they need to be without any assistance, and I pause, repeating the same phrase again and again inside my head. Please don’t fuck this up. Please don’t fuck this up. Please don’t fuck this up.
And then I begin to play.
The notes come haltingly at first. My fingers do what they’ve been doing for years, gliding up and down the frets, my other hand slowly plucking at the strings as they’re supposed to…but I can’t seem to move past the intro of the song, pedaling over the same notes, Travis Picking the same strings in a loop.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alex positioning his hands, ready to come in. When I fail to move past the same cycle of notes again, he speaks softly beside me, so only I can hear him. “Respira e basta. It’s okay. Just breathe. Show them how bright you shine, mi amore.”
The music comes unstuck immediately, my fingers breaking the cycle. I don’t even know how it happens, but the sound of Alex’s voice is enough…
Landslide by Fleetwood Mac flows out of me, the first line of the song already out of my mouth before I even realize that I’m singing.
I do not sing.
At least not in front of people. Never in front of people. This is something I do by myself, alone, when I’m sure no one can hear me. My father, Mom, Max. Not even Alex. I’ve never even hummed in front of him for fear of embarrassing myself.
“I took my love and I took it down…”
Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit. What am I doing? My own damned fear paralyzed my senses and I just reacted, just did what came naturally, and it’s too late now. I can’t just…stop. I’m on fire, my cheeks burning, my body shrinking, like I might be able to fold in on myself and just disappear…
“Climbed a mountain and turned around…”
Just breathe, Silver. Just breathe. Alex’s words ring in my ears, reminding me to fill my lungs, which is a good thing because I’m about to fall off my chair any second now. I daren’t turn my head to look at him. If I do, I won’t be able to keep going.
He was supposed to join in with me, playing a harmony along with the music, but he never comes in. His guitar remains resolutely silent next to me, and all I can think to myself is holy fucking shit, what if he thinks I’m the worst thing he’s ever heard?
Line after line I sing, my voice soft, lacking the power and confidence that bolsters it whenever I’m in the Nova on my own, or in the shower. Still, I hit the notes one after the other, emotion slipping into the lyrics, and before I know it, I’m lost. I’m on a journey with Stevie Nicks. I feel her pain. It’s my pain, and it bleeds through as each word leaves my mouth.
I dare to look up from the spot on the floor in front of me—the same spot I’ve been staring at since I slipped up and started to sing—and there, on the other side of Harry’s my Dad is on his feet, a hand pressed against his expensive grey button-down shirt that he wore here for me tonight, and he’s looking at me like he doesn’t even recognize who I am.
Oh my god. I’ve never seen him look so shaken and so…proud. My voice cracks, an ache burning in the back of my throat, but I keep on singing, too afraid to stop now. “Can I sail through the changing ocean tides…”
It’s as if a spell has been broken when Alex finally begins to play. I almost sob with relief at the sound of his guitar joining in with mine. I don’t feel quite so alone with him playing along, and the deeper, earthier texture of the music he plays compliments the light, brightness of my own. The rest of the song is easy because he’s with me every step of the way, every note and every rise and fall in the melody. When I pluck the last string, the song coming to an end, a wave of release comes crashing down over me, and it feels as though a breath I’ve been holding for a very long has finally been set free.
The crowd gathered inside Harry’s sits in silence, staring dumbly at us. They’re so quiet you could hear a pin drop. And then, from the counter, a single clap…
Dad.
He claps again. My eyes m
eet his, and I can’t bear it. I have to look away. It’s just too much. All too much. Applause, loud and raucous erupts inside the diner, the patron’s meals and warm drinks forgotten about as people slap their hands against the tables and stamp their feet against the floor.
I nearly have a heart attack when I feel a hand land gently on my shoulder. Alex faces his back to the crowd, the way I did earlier, and he whispers into my ear. “Marry me, Argento.”
“What?!” Leaning sideways, I try to look at him, but he places his hand against the side of my face, preventing me from turning. I laugh, too high-pitched, too adrenalin-soaked to react any other way. “Very funny. Sit down, Alex. We need to play another song before I lose my nerve.”
He takes his other hand and places it on my other cheek so that he’s cradling my face. Now he lets me turn to him, away from the crowd, so only I can see his face. His eyes are burning with emotion, fierce and determined. His expression is more serious than I’ve ever seen it before. A jolt of alarm squeezes at my heart. “Marry me, Argento,” he breathes. “Say yes to me before I lose my fucking mind. I can’t live another fucking second in a world where you haven’t promised to spend the rest of your life with me. I fucking can’t.” He shakes his head, rubbing his thumbs against my cheekbones, his eyes so bright that he looks a little mad.
“Alex—”
“Yes, Argento. God damnit, do it. You’ve gotta say yes.”
22
ALEX
The last place on earth a girl should be proposed to is Harry’s fucking Diner, in front of a bunch of strangers. I didn’t plan on proposing at all, but the moment Silver opens her mouth and starts to sing, I see her in that music room she talked about, dust motes spiraling on the air, and she’s bathed in sunlight, happy and perfect and home, and I want to give her the dream life she painted on the cabin so badly that it actually fucking hurts.
People often wonder how they’d react in a war type situation. When gunfire ‘s ripping through the air and shells are exploding all around them, shaking the ground beneath them, will they fall apart, or will all of that chaos galvanize them? I’ve never had to wonder that. I know war. I’ve lived through it nearly every day of my life. I’m used to the sky falling down and the ground renting open where I’m about to place my feet. I’ve never let the chaos and the calamity get the better of me.