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“Not all of them,” he said. His voice was soft, and I almost didn’t hear him whisper, “Not yet.”
21
Blaire
After dinner, when Campbell invited me downstairs to hear the new song he was working on, I only hesitated for a moment. I wasn’t stupid. I knew where this was heading. I knew the consequences of where it was heading as well. And still…I said yes.
The hotel he was staying in was more like a condo. It was a two-bedroom with a full kitchen and living room. Much fancier than any hotel I’d ever stayed in.
“This is nice,” I told him, setting my purse on the coffee table.
“Yeah, I thought it’d be easier than renting a house or something since I wasn’t sure how long I’d be in town, and now, I like the ease of it.” He shrugged out of his suit coat and threw it across the back of a chair. Then, he set to rolling up the sleeves of his white button-up.
I tried not to salivate as inch after bare inch was revealed of his forearms. The way he immediately looked more relaxed out of the suit. I almost wanted to tell him he could change, but I also wanted to keep him in this outfit as long as I could.
“It helps that one of the bedrooms can be used as a music room.”
He gestured to the open bedroom door. I peeked inside and found loose sheets of paper all over the bed with a few electric guitars on stands and lying on the pillows.
“So, this is where the magic happens.”
He laughed and reached for the acoustic guitar. “Not really. It’s more like a graveyard for discarded lyrics.”
I picked up one of the pieces of paper and read the lyrics on them. “This doesn’t seem bad.”
He took it out of my hand, balled it up, and chucked it at the already-full rubbish bin. “Trash.”
“Dramatic.”
“You can’t be a musician and not be a little dramatic,” he said as he tuned the guitar. “I can’t even believe that you just read that. I’ll have to make it up to you with this song.”
I followed him back out to the living room, where he perched on the armrest. I took a seat at his side and stared up at him, realizing just how similar this was to our viral video. There was a reason it had taken off after all. It felt entirely natural.
“I like the other songs you’ve been working on.”
He plucked the strings. “Yeah, I think they’re coming along. The band really picked up ‘Alone’ and ran with it.”
“I love that one.” It was about his mom and how he’d felt after her car crash. I couldn’t even imagine singing that over and over again as he did.
“Viv singing the harmony on ‘After You’ is really bringing that one together.”
“Do you have more ideas?”
“I have this one,” he told me. His eyes shifted to mine and back down. “I haven’t even shown the band yet. It’s not quite right, but the chorus…” He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “The chorus is right.”
Then, he strummed his guitar and began to sing. It wasn’t a bop, like the other songs. It didn’t make me want to get up on my feet and twirl and dance and sing at the top of my lungs. This was like sinking into a down comforter—soft and fluffy and all-encompassing.
His voice started off slow and almost mournful before growing more powerful as he approached that first chorus. His silky-smooth voice turned gruff as the words were ripped from his lungs, as powerful and emotional as if he were reliving the very experience that had created this song.
“Tell me this isn’t the end.
That I don’t have to go on,
Because I can’t live with myself
Knowing that you’re better off without me
* * *
The one that got away.
The one that got away.
The one…that got away.
* * *
There you are
With that cherry-painted smile
And all-knowing eyes.
Everything falls to a standstill,
Because you’re the one…
* * *
The one that got away.
The one that got away.
The one…that got away. (away, away, away)”
The words rolled over me in a torrent. Everything we’d been and everything we could be, all wrapped up in one song. The others were about me, but this one reminded me so much of how I’d felt the first time I heard “I See the Real You.” They weren’t the same song by any stretch of the imagination, but they were both mine.
Campbell repeated the chorus a second time, skipping another verse and bringing it to a bridge before going through the chorus again. Finally, the soft strum of the song died off, and he opened his eyes to meet mine.
He cleared his throat slightly. “So…it’s a work in progress.”
I didn’t respond because words couldn’t accurately describe what I was feeling. So, I got to my feet, ignoring his look of trepidation, and pressed my lips to his.
