He was right of course. “And Abel?”
Cole shook his head. “Whatever you’ve observed, he won’t admit to himself that he likes her. He’s got shit to figure out, and we need to let him.”
“It might get messy,” I observed, “if he’s not on board.”
“What did I say about what-ifs?” he asked, getting up. “And anyway, we’re getting ahead of ourselves given that we don’t know where Adeline’s head is at.” Plucking his suitcase off the ground, he added, “We need to let her take the lead, but we also need to show her that we’re open to it. Maybe you can hint at something when you see her this weekend?”
Suddenly, I felt nervous. “Because I’m the king of subtlety? Ezra is way better at that shit.”
Cole shrugged. “Well, you’re seeing her first, so give it a try. Just make sure to take it easy.”
Famous last words.
9
ADELINE
The next morning, I skipped breakfast and went straight to the gym. It had been almost a week since the performance in the Barnyard and I decided to call Liam on my drive over to catch up and see when he wanted to rehearse next.
He picked up on the fourth ring. “Ade?” He sounded rushed, and I could hear his fiancée talking to someone in the background.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Van’s folks are visiting up for the weekend. Give me one second. I’m going to find a quieter place to talk.”
“Okay.”
I could imagine him walking through the house, and the click of a door being shut sounded over the line.
“Give me strength to survive this week,” he said in a low voice.
I snorted. “Why are they here? Helping to get the baby’s room set up?”
“Yeah, and babyproof the entire house. They’ve been on my ass since they arrived an hour ago about retiling the bathroom. Now Van, who’s never said a word about the tiles, is nodding like it’s the smartest suggestion she’s ever heard.”
I stifled a laugh, “Hang in there. They’ll be gone soon enough and maybe Van will forget all about the tiles.”
“Can only hope you’re right. Anyway, what’s up?”
My question about our next practice suddenly felt inopportune. I decided to cushion it with some news first. “You know how Bleeding Moonlight came to the show last week?”
“Not something I’m likely to ever forget. We chatted to them for a little bit after you left. They were really cool, and they said they liked our set.”
“Right. They asked me to help them record a new album, as a session guitarist. We’ve been working on it for a few days now.”
There was a silence on Liam’s end, and I fingered the wheel nervously. “Liam?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just…wow. That’s incredible, Ade. You must’ve really impressed them.”
I sucked in a breath. “I guess so. I’m learning a ton from them, even in just the past few days. When do you think we can get together next? I have some ideas for covers we can rework.”
“How long is this for? I’m guessing you’re pretty busy while you’re working with them. Did you quit your gig at the bar?”
“Oh no,” I said. “This is just for a few weeks, so I dropped a shift and swapped with Frankie to work weekends. My schedule is more intense now, but I can make time for practice. Don’t want us to get rusty, right?”
“Right. Well, look, it’s a little bonkers on my end, and the in-laws are here all through the next week. Why don’t we plan to get together sometime next weekend? Maybe in the early afternoon if you’re at the bar in the evening?” There was something measured in his tone that I didn’t like.
“Okay, that works.”
“It will be good to chat about our plans for once Mason leaves,” he added as an afterthought, but I knew it was anything but.
“Yes. We do need to talk about that,” I conceded.
“All right, I gotta go back and make sure they don’t plant any ideas about the kitchen in Van’s head. Talk soon?”
“Good luck,” I said with a smile and hung up.
I’d expected all of the unspoken implications in that conversation, but I couldn’t help but feel disheartened anyway. I knew that Liam would likely want to quit before the baby came, and Mason’s departure was the perfect excuse. We were losing our drummer, and looking for a new one would involve too much work for any of us to comfortably take on. Still, this band was my lifeline, an IV that kept a part of me alive, and without it, the last link to my identity as a musician would die.
By the end of my first week working on Bleeding Moonlight’s album, I already knew that parting ways with the musicians in three weeks would be hard. Without Through Azure Skies waiting for me on the other side, I suspected I was setting myself up for a spectacular crash.
Silas lived in one of the few condominiums in town. I was greeted by an aging receptionist who looked at my ID for a few seconds before waving me into the steel-paneled elevator. The low-pile carpet smelled like it had just been cleaned.
I got off on the top floor and made my way to the penthouse unit at the end of the hall. The walls were painted with abstract motifs that caught me off guard with their intended trendiness. River Valley was not a trendy place by any means, although with more people moving outside of the cities, maybe that would change over the next few years. I wondered how that would impact the price of our home, and if I would be better off not selling it right now.
My thoughts were interrupted when the door to Silas’s unit swung open before I even knocked. Then they disappeared altogether.
Silas was shirtless, with broken-in jeans that hung low on his hips, revealing a prominent vee leading toward a place I had no business being curious about. His long hair was still wet from a shower and drops of water crawled down his muscular chest and well-defined abs. The tattoos on his right arm bled all the way over his shoulder. Were those dragons?
My tongue may as well have been sticking out of my mouth. Craning my neck to look at his face was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. When I finally made my way there, his eyes shone with an amused satisfaction.
“Hi,” I squeaked in a pathetically thin voice.
“Come on in. The security guard gave me the heads-up you were on your way.”
He turned around, giving me a perfect view of his enormous back. The way his muscles rippled under his skin reminded me of a mountain lion stalking his prey.
I took my shoes off while keeping my guitar close to me and then followed him into the open-concept kitchen. I expected the place to feel modern, like the hallway outside, but it was decorated in a cozy vintage style.
“Nice place.” I swiveled my head around, noticing how the art prints on the walls and the teal color of the crushed velvet couch and armchair all fit together. This wasn’t a hodgepodge of random belongings. Someone had put some thought into making this place feel like a home.
“Thanks.” Silas grabbed a T-shirt from the back of a stool and tugged it on. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as I watched his smooth movements.
“I’m kind of into interior design,” he added before moving to open the fridge. “Do you want some water? Beer? Soda?”
“Water’s great, thanks. So you put all of this together?” I asked somewhat incredulously.
“Is that so hard to believe?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“No, of course not. I just figured you’d be too busy with touring and recording. I guess I didn’t think you spent a lot of time here,” I said, accepting the glass from him.
“I got this place when the building was being just built. Four years ago, I think? I worked on it a room at a time, buying furniture and decor online so that it would get here when I was in town,” he explained, leading me to the couch.
I realized I loved his voice. It was like top-shelf whiskey—deep, smooth, and complex. I wanted him to keep talking, so I asked him about the print hanging across the room from us, a medley of chains thrown against a brick wall.
He laughed, a rich, booming sound that made my toes curl against the woven rug beneath my feet.
“I don’t know. I don’t believe that art has intrinsic meaning. The experience of looking at art adds to the piece itself. We bring our context, our past experiences, our emotions and view the art through all those personalized lenses,” he explained.
I considered his words, finding truth in them. “I would agree with that. So I guess a better question would be what do you see in this picture?”
He looked at the print, tilting his head slightly to one side. “I see a message about the barriers we face each day. Some of them are impenetrable, while others have gaps and holes. How good are we at telling which are which? How often do we underestimate our ability to break through them?”
Looking back at the print, I did what I always did before a show, and let my thoughts go. I wanted to see what would come to me on instinct rather than through rational analysis.
“I see someone straining to break free. The chains are taut against the surface, almost digging into it…as if they’re being pulled on from outside the frame. Anything can be chained and bound, no matter how strong it seems.”
Potent light from the afternoon sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating amber streaks in Silas’s warm-brown eyes when I turned back to look at him.
“I think I see that, too,” he said while watching me. His voice was slightly hoarse, and I let this new version of it wash over me. We were sitting close enough for me to pick up on his scent—subtle hints of leather and spice. I wanted to reach for a strand of his drying hair and curl it over my thumb.
Instead, I leaned back and cleared my throat. “Should we get started on the song?”
We grabbed our guitars and entered the second bedroom, which Silas had converted into his music room. The walls were lined with soundproof panels, the gray foam rippling in jagged waves. A two-person love seat was propped against the far wall, along with two folding chairs and a guitar amp by its side.
Silas pulled out a second guitar amp from below a wooden shelving unit and dragged it to the other side of the loveseat.
“Let’s get you plugged in.”
Once we were all set up, he began to lightly strum the intro portion of the second song. I watched him in wonder, noting how he made the complex melody seem so simple to play.
“Show me what you’ve got.” His gentle smile pierced right through my heart, making my insides flutter.
I played the song for him in its entirety, noting the parts I was still screwing up.
“Let’s work on the bridge,” Silas said, coming over to sit beside me on the loveseat. His left hand reached for mine, covering it on the neck of the guitar.
“You’re gripping too hard when you get to the fast part. Remember to keep the hand relaxed.” He pulled on my palm, digging his finger into the center and massaging it in circles.
I didn’t dare move. The air was suddenly hot and heavy in the small space. When Silas let go of my hand and moved back to his chair, I let out a quiet breath, feeling sweat start to pool at the small of my back.
We went over the bridge over and over again. Whenever I began to feel frustrated, Silas offered words of encouragement.
“You’re so close, Adeline. It’s going to sound just perfect after a few more tries.”
His absolute confidence in my ability to nail these parts made my insides feel like mush. When I finally got the bridge down, I wanted to leap out of my seat and pull him into a tight hug.
Instead, I settled on giving him my biggest smile. There was chemistry between us, and hugging him, feeling the contours of his flawless body against mine, might have made me combust. I couldn’t risk that. Getting involved with him would only lead to heartbreak and confusion. After all, he would be gone in three weeks. They would all be gone in three weeks.
Silas wore a triumphant expression. “Great work. Let’s play together now and see how we both sound.”
We dove into the song, the melody and the rhythm parts tangling together like old lovers. The song was called “Mid-flight,” and I thought the name was apt, because I really did feel as if I was flying. I soared through the parts I had just learned, amazed at how easily they came to me now.
When we were done, I gaped at Silas. I couldn’t believe how good a teacher he was proving to be.
“That was incredible.”
He nodded, looking at me with a similarly stricken expression. I tried to puzzle out how he was feeling in that moment. Moved? Inspired?
Slowly, he placed his guitar on a stand before reaching for mine. Our fingers brushed in the handoff, the touch sending electricity up my arm.
Our eyes met again, and this time, I knew exactly what I was seeing in them. I knew, because it was what he was seeing in mine.
Desire.
I needed to put some space between us. I stood up, but he mirrored my movements, inadvertently blocking my escape. He reached for my face. Calloused fingertips made contact, stroked my cheek, my jaw, before tracing my lips. I was frozen before him, dazed.
What are we doing?
He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, gently, as if I were made of precious glass. Everything inside of me rocked. This wasn’t a kiss that hinted at a casual hookup. This kiss was trying to communicate things I wasn’t ready to hear, and it scared the shit out of me. All of my confusing feelings toward Silas and his bandmates rose up in my chest and threatened to erupt.
As Silas’s palms cradled my face and his soft, full lips moved against mine, my mind screamed at me to do something other than just stand there. It seemed important to show him that he couldn’t kiss me like that. I crushed myself against his hard chest and deepened our kiss in an act of resistance. This was all this could be—a temporary madness fueled by raw desire that didn’t mean a thing.
Before he could respond, I tore myself away, out of his reaching hands and his soft touch. Panic flooded my veins. “What the hell?” I hissed at him and ran out of the room. He followed.
“Adeline, wait. I don’t know what happened. I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” I interrupted. “I work for you. You can’t just touch me and kiss me whenever you’d like. I’m not one of your groupies,” I seethed, hating myself more and more with every word I said. Some part of me knew that I was projecting, taking my own confusion and fear out on him, but what else could I do? Admit that I was drawn to him and all of his bandmates in ways that didn’t make any sense?
My gaze dropped to his bare feet on the carpet, I was unable to meet his eyes.
“Why did you kiss me back?” he asked.
“I…I don’t know. I didn’t mean to,” I whispered. There was a long pause.
“Okay,” he said. I could hear the confusion and hurt in his voice, and it killed me. “I’m sorry. I misread the situation. Of course, I know you’re not a groupie.”
At last, I lifted my eyes to his. The amber lines were gone. His expression was hard, his brows tense. I knew two things. I’d hurt him, and I needed to leave right away.
I grabbed my guitar out of the music room and packed it into its case. “Thank you for your help.”
He climbed onto a stool by the kitchen counter, the one his shirt had been draped over, his back toward me. “Sure, no problem.”
“I’ll see you Monday,” I said under my breath and walked out the door.
After work, I got home and locked myself in my room. My acoustic guitar stood perched against an old plastic stool, and my fingers itched to feel the rough vibration of the strings beneath them, but I was afraid to touch it. Afraid to hear what would come flowing out of me.
The kiss had shifted me off my axis. I tried to remember what chores I had intended to do, but it was as if the rational part of my mind had been wiped blank. I was spinning out, unbidden thoughts and visuals overflowing the confines of my brain and making me feel as if I were about to fall over the side of an
unknown abyss.
Only after closing my eyes and putting on my headphones to listen to some music did I manage to step away from the edge. My name was Adeline. I had a sister and no parents. I was helping a famous metal band record their new album. After we finished, I’d go right back to my old, boring life, and eventually all of this would seem no more than a dream.
Despite grounding me, the affirmations felt hollow. Why had I let Silas kiss me? His every touch leading up to it had been a question I’d ignored. I had no answers for him or for myself. I could have stopped him, but I didn’t. Instead, I’d lashed out and put all of the blame on him.
The shame was so visceral that I had to bury my face under my covers and scream into the mattress, the sound low and guttural.
10
EZRA
“Ezra, I fucked up.”
Silas’s worried voice burst through my phone. I had been watching a new sci-fi show on Netflix, and his call caught me off guard.
“What’s going on?”
There was a pause.
“I kissed Adeline.”
I swore and sat up on the couch. “I’m guessing by your tone that it didn’t go in the direction you were hoping for.”
He groaned, and I could almost hear him pacing across the floor of his apartment. “She asked me what the hell I was doing and told me she isn’t a groupie that I can just kiss.”
Shit. My mind was already spinning, but instead of thinking up ways to get Silas and us out of this mess, my thoughts were squarely focused on Adeline and whether she was okay.
“Silas, what the fuck, man?”
“It’s always the same fucking story with me, isn’t it?” he bit out. “I guess the conversation I had with Cole on Thursday just got this idea in my head, and then I thought she was giving me signals when we were working—”
“What conversation with Cole?” I interrupted.
Taut Strings: A Rock Star Romance (River Valley Rebels) Page 12