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“I’ve seen the show. I’m just surprised it’s something you watch.”
“I don’t know, I like this channel.” He grins, sitting back before shoving an entire piece of bacon into his mouth.
“Okay.” I bite back a laugh and mirror his actions, relaxing back into the couch cushions before sliding some eggs onto my fork.
It takes Abel less than five minutes to clear his entire plate–almost all of which he spends moaning over how incredible my pancakes are–which I already knew. When he gets up to take his plate to the kitchen I’ve barely made a dent in the mountain of food he put onmyplate.
Feeling like I can’t possibly eat it all, I lean forward and set the plate on the ottoman, figuring I’ll pick at it in a little while after some of my food has had a chance to settle.
Spying a guitar leaning in a stand against the far wall, I push off the couch and walk toward it, running my hand along the sleek black head of it the instant I reach it.
“That’s my very firstrealguitar.” I jump at the nearness of Abel’s voice. Seconds later he steps up next to me. “My mom bought me a small one when I was younger, but it was cheaply made and didn’t last long, so I don’t count that one. It was enough to get me started, though.” He pulls the guitar out of the stand and looks it over. “This was my thirteenth birthday present. Back when my parents still thought my interest in playing was just a phase. I’d say if they knew I would spend my life chasing music they probably never would have bought this for me.”
“Will you play something for me?” I ask, watching him slide the strap over his shoulder and across his bare chest.
“Sure.” He turns, heading back toward the couch. I follow him, reclaiming my seat moments later.
He takes a seat in the matching chair that’s caddy corner from me, resting the weight of the guitar in his lap. Strumming across the strings, he fiddles with the tuning pegs for a few seconds until it produces the sound he wants.
“Any requests?” He readjusts the guitar and looks up at me.
“Something you wrote.” I pull my legs up and hug my knees to my chest.
“Let me see.” He strums out a couple of chords. “I know,” he announces before his fingers start to move effortlessly along the strings.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out he’s an extremely talented player. It seems so effortless and natural that I can’t help but think that he was spot on when he said he was born to play music.
When his incredible voice fills the space, goose bumps erupt across my skin. His tone is deep and smooth with the perfect hint of rasp. I swear the sound penetrates so deeply inside of me I can feel it vibrating against my bones.
He sings of being lost, of not knowing his place, of fearing he’ll forever roam the earth without finding where he belongs. The words cut straight through me, mirroring a lot of how I’ve always felt. Lost. Alone. Not sure where I fit. It’s unsettling and yet oddly comforting at the same time. To feel like we really are kindred spirits, even though our lives are nothing alike.
He grew up with everything. I grew up with nothing. He was popular and liked. I was poor and invisible. He could have any girl he wanted. I was lucky if a guy looked at me with anything other than pity or disgust in his eyes. We come from two separate worlds–polar opposites in every sense of the word, yet when you break it down we are like a mirror image of each other. And in this moment I’ve never felt more connected to another person in my entire life.
It’s like we were put on this earth to find each other. To complete each other. To give each other a place to belong. Unfortunately our timing a cruel twist of fate–finding what you’ve always been looking for when you know you can’t keep it.
No matter how much I pretend. No matter how much I try to ignore it, it’s there. The knowledge that when this night ends, I will have to say goodbye to Abel Collins... and when I do it will be goodbye forever.
