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Perfectly composing
As our hearts dance together.
Nothing makes sense.
Yet everything makes sense.
Perfect is so confusing.
A dizzy spell inside my head.
Thirsting for answers.
With nothing to drink.
Where do I go?
To find out who I am?
Chapter 9
Ayden
I try not to worry over the failed attempt of restoring my memories and instead concentrate on the band. It’s not like that session was the only chance for me to remember. Plus, part of me is relieved the session didn’t work. Relieved I didn’t have to relive the hellish nightmare. But another part of me feels guilty, like I’m not doing all that I can to help track down my brother’s killer.
A couple of days later, I’m sitting in Sage’s garage with Lyric, listening to music, attempting to focus on chords, notes, the strum of my fingers. It’s still Christmas break. December thirtieth to be exact. Everywhere I look still screams, the holidays aren’t over yet! Cheer up! We’re starting a new year! On top of everything going on with therapy, I haven’t heard anything back from Rebel Tonic yet and cheering up seems impossible when the possibility that he ripped me off gets higher.
Things remain pretty quiet for the first ten minutes or so while we wait for Sage and Nolan to show up so we can get band practice started. They were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, but Sage texted me and said they were picking up pizza on their way back from a concert they went to over the weekend. He also still needs to chat with me about something. He’s been texting me for about a week now, but has never gotten around to actually telling me what he needs to discuss. I’d probably worry about it a little bit more, but I’ve had other things on my mind.
“Self-defense class should be called kick your ass class. I’m so sore,” Lyric says, massaging her shoulder. “I feel like such a wimp.”
“That’s because you are a wimp,” I joke as I strum a few chords on my guitar.
She shifts in the sofa and lightly punches my arm. “Whatever. I so could kick your ass if I wanted to.”
“I was holding back on you in class.”
At the class, I’d been Lyric’s partner, which required a lot of touching and human contact. I didn’t flip out too badly, so I felt pretty proud of myself. I kept reminding myself that it was important for Lyric to be able to learn to protect herself, and in order to learn, I had to be a good partner. After everything she’s done for me, I owe her so much.
“I so could tell, too.” She fiddles with the microphone cord. “You’re such a softie when it comes to me.”
God, if she knew how right she is.
How much I melt just from just a simple look from her.
A glance in my direction
Sends my pulse racing.
Her green eyes melt away
The chill always in my soul.
I’m liquefying into something else,
Someone I don’t understand,
Someone different.
Someone not so handcuffed to my past?
I wish.
God, I wish, that were true. That the stress of my life was coming to an end instead of just beginning.
She prods the tip of her boot against mine. “You are doing okay with that, right? I mean, with all the touching we did in class?”
I twist the tuning pegs on the top of the guitar handle. “I’m fine. I promise. You don’t need to constantly worry about me.”
“That will never happen, so get over it.”
Quiet stretches between us as I work on tuning my guitar and Lyric messes with one of the amps. She’s wearing a short black dress with red flowers on the bottom. Every time she bends over, she flashes me. I don’t look away. I have tried too many times and realize how pointless it is to fight my attraction to her anymore.
“Oh, I thought of a name for our band.” She stands up straight, tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then her brows dip. “Wait. Were you just checking out my ass?”
I shrug, staring at my guitar. “Maybe.”
She laughs as she plops down beside me. “I so just busted you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it busting me since you willingly stripped down in front of me in the car. I’ve seen pretty much everything already.”
She teasingly bumps her shoulder into mine. “Are you trying to flirt with me right now, Shy Boy?”
“Maybe a little.”
She sweeps my hair out of my face. “You’re so adorable.”
I restrain a smile. “You do realize guys don’t like being called adorable, right?”
“Yeah, right. You totally love that I do. Love that I give you little nicknames that no one else gets. Admit it.”
“No way am I giving you that much power over me.”
She grins wickedly. “Oh, yes you will.” She tickles my side and my pulse soars erratically. “Because you love giving me what I want.”
“True,” I easily admit.
Her lips part to speak, but the buzz of her phone interrupts her. She scoops it up from the Sage’s stool, reads the message, and frowns.
“Who is it?” I set my guitar down on the floor.
“My dad.” She texts something back then sets the phone down on the cushion next to her. “He was wondering where I was, like he doesn’t know. I’m at the same place I am every Friday night.”
“Are you two still fighting over the club thing?”
“That and the fact that he and my mom think I’m bipolar.”
“I’m sure they don’t really think you are. They just worry about you.”
“Yeah, but instead of whispering about it behind my back, they should have told me.” She reclines back on the sofa. “All my life, I’ve been taught to just say things how they are, not to hold things in or keep secrets. I was taught to be honest even when it is hard. They should be the same way with me.”
“I know. I’m not saying what they did wasn’t wrong.” I relax beside her. “But don’t be mad at them forever, especially when they care so much about you.”
“I won’t, at least over the bipolar thing. The band thing, on the other hand…” She faces me, bringing her leg up onto the cushion and tucking it under her ass. “I just really wish he’d give us a chance, you know? I’m starting to wonder if he has confidence in my talent at all. Maybe this whole concern for my mental stability is an excuse.”
“I’m sure that’s not what it is. He knows how talented you are,” I assure her. “He’s probably just worried about you entering that life. He does know firsthand how intense it is to be a rock star.”
“I’m not trying to be a rock star to get famous.” She flops her head back and stares at the ceiling. “I just want to perform onstage and share my art with people who want to listen.”
“You’re too beautiful for your own good.”
“So are you.”
We stare at each other until the heat of the moment becomes too much.
Looking away, I collect my guitar from the floor. “Lyric, we will get to perform. Even if it’s not at your father’s club opening; we’ll get our chance one day.”
“I know we will. I just wish it were sooner. You know how impatient I can be.”
“Yes, I do,” I agree, positioning the guitar on my lap.
She narrows her eyes at me, but then laughs. “I’m just anxious. That’s all. No biggie.”
“Anxious about what?”
Her attention drifts to the wall covered in albums. “I don’t know. Stuff.”
“Lyric Scott.” I splay my fingers across her cheek and force her to look at me. “What’s going on?”
“Did you just last name me?” She elevates her brows accusingly.
“Call it payback fo
r all those times you’ve called me Shy Boy and dude. Now, fess up. What’s going on? I can tell something’s bothering you.”
