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Not like classical virtuoso player good, but… he knew his way around a piano, that was for sure.
Suddenly he started to sing “Hey Jude.”
I listened, entranced.
He had a good voice. It was pitched higher than Derek’s – closer to Rob Thomas’s of Matchbox Twenty, but that just meant that he sang the song more like the original version. If Derek had been singing it, it would have sounded dark and gravelly. Ryan’s voice made it softer and sweeter.
The song also brought back memories of my interview with Riley. She’d asked me to sing something by the Beatles, and that was the one I had hummed.
I know it’s one of their most famous songs, but it seemed almost eerie that he had picked it, too.
When he reached the chorus, he turned around and said, “Everybody!”
I laughed and joined in on the “Naaaaaah… naah naah NAH nah NAH naaaaah” part. We kept that up for awhile until he finally ended it with a flourish on the piano keys.
He turned around to check on me. “You bored yet?”
“Noooooo. That was awesome.”
“Alright… any requests?”
Anything except songs by Bigger,
I thought silently.
“You hit a homer on the first one,” I said. “You keep going.”
So he kept going. First it was “Piano Man” by Billy Joel, then “Old Time Rock ‘n Roll” by Bob Seger, “Champagne Supernova” by Oasis – which was kind of mind-blowing, since there’s no piano in the original song – and “Imagine” by John Lennon. The last song was absolutely breathtaking, with the final chords dying out beautifully in the wide open spaces of the room.
Ryan looked around at me, and a concerned look came over his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You’re crying.”
I blinked and felt the wetness on my lashes. It was true; I
had
been crying, just a little.
But not over Derek.
Over how beautiful the song was.
“I’m fine,” I said, and suddenly stifled a yawn.
“You’re tired,” Ryan said, and stood up, walked over, took my empty wine glass from me, and offered his hand.
“You’re cutting me off?” I asked. My words were a little slurred, I have to admit.
“Yup.” He grinned. “Come on, it’s been a long day for both of us.”
I took his outstretched hand. Even then, I got up unsteadily. “I want to hear more.”
“We’ve got a lot of nights ahead of us. Plenty of time for more songs.”
He walked me back to my bedroom. On the way, I was hit with an overwhelming need for sleep.
He stopped at the door.
I turned around and lifted my head to look at him.
I could feel it in the air – the slight tension between us. The longing on his part… and strangely enough, the conflicted feelings on mine. With more than a little yearning to feel his arms around me.
We looked at each for a few long seconds.
Then he smiled. “Goodnight, Kaitlyn. Sleep well.”
He turned quietly, walked down the hallway, and disappeared.
16
Either because of my lack of sleep the previous night, or the bottle of wine – or both – I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
But I dreamt. Constantly, vividly, nonstop.
They were all about Derek.
And all of them were variations on a theme.
In one I was following him through a crowded street. Suddenly the street was a hotel hallway, the way that dreams shift without need to conform to reality. I walked faster, trying to catch up with him. As I came up right behind him, a door opened to his left, and a woman’s bare arms reached out and dragged him willingly into the room.
As the door closed in my face, the last thing I saw was a glimpse of his eyes staring into mine – and his lips, which silently formed the words:
You knew what I was when you slept with me.
In another dream I was on the side of a stage, watching the band play to a giant arena.
Then suddenly I was among them – Killian off to my right, Ryan to my left, and Riley behind me. But Derek wasn’t there anymore.
I looked around the stage for him as the others played on, oblivious – except for Ryan, who watched me with sad eyes. I stared at him and saw his gaze flicker down into the audience.
I followed his eye-line into the pit, where Derek was crowd-surfing across an undulating mass of naked female bodies, their hands tearing off his clothes. He gave me a smug smirk as he slowly sank into their writhing, sensual forms, like a ship being swallowed by the sea.
In another dream I was with him on the beach, happy, frolicking in a bikini, him in a black pair of board shorts that showed off his muscles. We were in the water, kissing, our wet hands running over each others’ slick bodies.
Suddenly I felt a horrible pain in my back, a burning sting. As I gasped in agony, a hand dunked me underwater. I came up sputtering and stared into the face of the woman from the hotel room – except this time her features were malevolent and filled with hate.
She wasn’t alone. There was another woman with her, though I couldn’t see her face. They took turns clawing at my skin, forcing me beneath the waves.
I surfaced one last time and screamed for Derek. He was up on the shore, standing on dry sand, watching unconcerned as both women raked their nails down my face and pushed me underwater.
Before I finally disappeared, I glimpsed the face of my other attacker.
It was me.
I woke up in a cold sweat from that one.
I cried and sobbed bitterly. I hated him a little bit more as my heart broke into ever smaller pieces… and then the wine worked its magic, and lulled me gently back into sleep.
I don’t remember any of my dreams after that.
