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Emily’s hand squeezes my arm gently. A silent show of support. In this quiet moment under the stars, with her by my side, I feel a sense of peace I haven’t known in a long time.
“Sorry she went through that,” Emily murmurs, glancing up at me with something painful in her gaze.
“Yeah, my brother’s looking after her,” I reply. “But it’s not the same, you know.” There’s a heaviness in my voice, a weight that’s been there since Mom got sick.
Emily leans her head against my arm. Her presence, the warmth of her body against mine, feels like everything at this moment. I pull my arm around her, drawing her closer until she’s snug against my side, her leg draped over mine. We both gaze up into the clear night sky, a vast expanse that makes our world and problems seem minuscule by comparison.
“When I was young, I lost my mom to an overdose.” Her voice is low, barely audible above the quiet night sounds.
My heart clenches at her words, and I instinctively hold her tighter.
“Mom was a singer in a bar, and Dad was an all-star football player. They were both moving on to bigger and better things, but Mom ended up getting hooked on drugs.”
I listen intently, a pang in my heart deepening at the quiver in her voice.
“Anyway, Dad spent his time trying to get her clean, and she was when she was pregnant with me. Even then, the doctors said Mom took drugs at times, but not enough to make me an addict or anything,” Emily continues. “Then, as soon as I was born, my grandparents came to help her look after me. Dad was away with a game. He came back to my mom apparently struggling, and his parents explained that it was best they left me with them, but he refused, believing he could help my mom... well, that’s what he told me.”
She falls silent, and I rub her back gently, wishing I could take away her pain. Her story is a heavy one that stings, seeing how much ache I carry with fear of losing my mom.
“So, then my dad ended up looking after me mostly while she returned to her singing and the band… and her drugs. She’d steal money from him, then leave again.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper now. “Then years later, she never came home... until the cops arrived on our doorstep.”
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I murmur, my heart aching for her.
“God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. You’re just so easy to talk to… I don’t know… but I secretly think Dad’s protective of me and doesn’t want me to sing because he thinks I’ll end up like her,” she says, as though she’s given this a lot of thought.
“I had no idea. Real sorry,” I say, my mind suddenly flooded with thoughts of Coach. I think about how hard he is on the field, how he’s always there, rain or shine. It never occurred to me that he lost his wife so long ago and might still be struggling with that loss.
“I was too young to remember my mom very well, and it’s been my dad and me ever since. That’s also why I don’t think I’m ready to move out. I feel he’ll be lonely.”
Shaking my head, I pull her into an embrace. She doesn’t cry, just stares blankly up at the sky, as if she’s poured out all her sorrow and there’s nothing left to shed. The pain of seeing her suffering from something she can never change grows hard.
“I think you should keep going with your singing. You’re so talented,” I encourage her.
“Thanks. That means a lot. Our big gig is in a week’s time, and I’m really hoping it will open some doors for the band.”
As we lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the night envelops us in its quiet embrace. The two of us lie there in silence for a while, lost in our thoughts.
I glance up at the stars, thinking about how life throws us these curveballs, but somehow, in the midst of it all, I found someone like Amelia. We’re a bit more alike than I initially guessed, both of us living with an ache in our hearts.
“If this wasn’t a fake relationship,” I say. “I might consider taking you home to meet her. Mom would really like you.”
“I’d really like that.” She gives me a lopsided smile, slides her arm across my middle, and wraps herself around me.
Three nights have passed since the fundraiser, and tonight, I find myself in the garage, watching Emily and her band rehearse. I’m lounging in the corner of the garage, relaxed in a fold-up chair, as I watch Emily and her band of three members rehearse. She had half-heartedly invited me inside, probably out of courtesy, but I jumped at the opportunity. Since the fundraiser three nights ago, our dynamic has undeniably shifted. It’s this intense, smoldering sensation that feels like we’ve cranked up to a whole new level of connection. Frankly, I’m completely enthralled by her, even if she reminded me on the car ride here that this is still a fake relationship.
Emily stands at the mic, her side profile to me, and she looks sexy-as-fuck in torn jeans and a tight black t-shirt that keeps creeping up at her waist, showing skin. Her hair falls loosely around her shoulders, swaying gently with the rhythm of the music with her small movements.
The band’s playing a slow rock ballad, and Emily’s voice is the driving force. A sound that resonates deep in my chest. Every note she hits, every word she sings, seems to pull at something inside me. It’s not just her voice but the emotion she pours into every line, her eyes often closed as if she’s living in the world her lyrics have created. She’s singing about being set free, and it makes me wonder how much of it is about the heartache she carries about her mom.
I watch, mesmerized, as her hands grip the microphone stand, her body swaying subtly with the melody. The band members are in their element, too, but I don’t give a shit about them, only Emily, who steals my attention.
Every high note sends a shiver down my spine, every soft tone feels like a whisper directly to me. Damn, she is so much more talented than I realized. I hang onto every word.
As the song reaches its crescendo, then gently winds down, I can’t help but break into applause, hooting in admiration for my pretty girl.
Trev, the drummer, is glaring my way, not impressed with my enthusiasm. He’s obviously not thrilled about my presence here, or perhaps it’s more me telling him I’m Emily’s boyfriend. I shrug it off, not giving a fuck what he thinks.
Emily glances my way, and our eyes meet. There’s a smile on her lips, a subtle acknowledgment of my support. In that brief exchange, all my concerns—about her father, my mother’s illness, getting seen by a talent scout at our upcoming football—momentarily fade into the background.
