by Rica Grayson
I cross my arms. “You don’t know Markus.”
“What’s so bad about Markus?” she asks defensively. She holds my gaze for several heartbeats, and I see the moment it dawns on her. “Wait. No, no, no.” She presses the tips of her fingers to her forehead. “You know something, don’t you?” The pained expression on her face makes me not want to say it. “Tell me.”
It would hurt her. But she’s right, and she has to hear it. “I saw him with a woman.”
Clearly upset but trying not to show it, she lifts her chin up. Good. It’s not her fault, and I’d have hated to see her break down.
“You didn’t tell me.” She punches my arm lightly, but her voice trembles. “You didn’t think I could take it.”
She was happy with him, when they were together. I saw that. “Didn’t have the heart to tell you what I saw.”
“You should’ve told me.” Her voice is brittle.
“I should’ve,” I agree. She sits down, processing what I told her. “I’m sorry.”
She groans. “God! The jerk had the nerve to tell me he’s going out with friends.”
That’s right. Let it out.
“And then all that time he was seeing another woman?” She huffs out a breath. I watch as she pulls herself together. An apologetic look on her face, she says, “I’m sorry for avoiding you when you called before.”
I shouldn’t have kept it from her. “We good now?” I ask.
“Yep.” She jumps to her feet. She’s definitely leaving.
“You’re going out?”
She smirks, taking out her phone from her pocket, a determined expression fixed on her face. “Out to kick some ass.”
Ah. “Need me to play backup?”
“Thanks. But I can handle myself.”
Something tells me she’ll do worse damage than I would. Christ. Maybe I should’ve done this from the start.
She pauses, hesitant, before a stubborn look settles on her face. The look that says she’s going to get something off her chest. She’s always been good at reading people—this time is no different. I just don’t understand how she could’ve been so clueless when it came to Markus.
Like a shark sensing a drop of blood, she continues, “So… You and Blaire? Are you really not together?”
Of course she went into it straight away. “No,” I admit. Not yet, if I could help it.
“But what’s stopping you? Blaire’s cool. She’s got her own channel and all, sings amazing, and I’ve never heard her say anything bad about anyone. Well… Except maybe you. She’s vocal about that.”
I just bet she is. “More like what’s stopping her.”
Understanding dawns on her. She catches her bottom lip in thought. “You were always picking on her.” I was, and now I’m paying for it. “I’ve never understood it. That’s how we became friends, actually. Did you say sorry?”
“Yes.” I had no idea they met that way.
She stops, thoughtful. “Did you say sorry and mean it?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Nat.”
She smiles brightly. “Then she’ll come around.”
I hope she would.
She pauses and turns around. “Oh, and by the way, she’s in the music room. She said she needed a quiet place.”
The music room? Writing music? I stand up to leave.
“Ry?” Natalie calls my name. I pause, looking back. She hesitates for a moment. “I still want her as a friend.”
“You’re not gonna lose her.”
She grimaces. “I’ve seen it happen one too many times.”
Fuck. I had no idea. Before I can speak, she adds, “No, you don’t date women all over the place, but when you break their hearts, some of the blow falls back on me.”
“I wouldn’t do that to her,” I tell her firmly.
A faint, humorless smile touches her lips. “I think you already have once.”
Something cold grips my chest. She’s right.
There are a lot of things I regret when it comes to Blaire.
The moment I hear some chords on the piano, I stop by the door, only a small gap giving a peek at what’s inside. I lean against the wall. If I came in now, she’d stop. But I want to listen. Why does someone who has so much talent and potential keep it locked up and hidden from so many? It’s a mystery to me.
Even though she’s mostly humming a tune over what she’s playing, something about the song is filled with so much pain. It’s haunting, almost.
It grips me and draws me towards her. I push the door open and walk in. When her last notes fade away and she trails off, only then does she notice me. She goes still, eyes wide in panic. From the start, she kept her lips sealed about her music, which only made me more curious about it. But seeing her fear now drives an instinctive need to protect.
She finally finds her voice. “How long have you been standing there?”
Chapter 19
Ryan
“Long enough,” I answer.
A soft blush rises to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Natalie said I could use the room for a bit—I’ll leave.” She stands up and closes her notebook in a hurry. Her hand shakes and she drops it. Frantic, she bends down to pick it up, but it lands close to my feet, and I grab it first… But I don’t hand it back to her. I sense that the moment I do, she’ll bolt out of self-preservation. And there’s no way I’d let that happen again. This time, I’m going to make sure she listens.
“Ryan.” Desperation bleeds from her voice, and I decide I don’t like hearing it from her. “Please don’t do this.”
Her eyes, panicked, tug at my chest. “I don’t care about what’s inside,” I bite out, tapping a finger on the book. As if I’d ever hurt her in the way she’s thinking. As if I’d ever felt this gut-wrenching, twisting need for anybody but her. “Want to know something, Blaire?” Even with the pleading look she wears, she has to know. “Yeah, you remember that diary several years ago?” I see the moment it hits her, a haunted look in her eyes. Like the sheer memory of it is her undoing. “I never read it. Not past the first page. I never cared about what’s in here.” I gesture towards the book. She tries to snatch it from my grasp, but I place it, arm behind my back, out of her reach. I press a finger to her chest. “I want to know what’s in here.”
Something cracks in her expression. “No.”
“You won’t talk to me. Won’t let me make it up to you. Couldn’t get closer if I tried.”
“That’s not—”
“It’s true.”
“No,” she repeats, but the word makes her voice break. I don’t know if she was saying it to me or to herself. I suspect it’s a little of both.
The corners of my lips curl up in a smile. “You can say that as many times as you want, Red. Won’t make it true.”
She can attempt to convince herself all she wants, but it’s not going to work. And because she deserves to hear it, I press on firmly, “What you were playing… That was really good.”
But then, it doesn’t really surprise me. She has a gift, even though she won’t believe it herself.
Still, her mouth’s sealed shut, her eyes focused on the piano keys in front of her. She bites her lip to stop it from trembling.
She acts as if I have her world in my hands, and anytime, I could crush it. Like I would if I could. That she even considers that I would sparks my temper. “Blaire. Say something.”
“I have to go. Give it back, Ryan.” She holds her hand out.
I don’t get it. Every time I ask her about her music, her defenses go on overdrive. Like she expects the worst. “It’s never going to be easy with you, is it?”
Her hand drops back down and she aims a glare at me, but I continue, unfazed. “That’s okay, Red. I’m used to it.”
Her eyes shut. “Two months.” When she opens them again, resignation stares back at me, the embers of her temper burning out. I wait, knowing that when she’s ready, she would tell me.
“I’ve been writing this song for two months and I k
eep coming back to it. It’s not that great. It’s not even ready yet.”
There it is again—that vulnerability that she’d always fought to keep hidden stabs at me. It cost her to admit that, I can tell.
I doubt she sees it the same way I do. “I understand that. But if this is what you’re hiding? I think it would be a damn shame if the world didn’t get to hear it.”
My response seems to surprise her. “I—I don’t even know if I want to put it out there,” she retorts.
Ah. Who are you kidding, Blaire? “You write because you have a desire to be heard. To be understood. If there’s one thing I understand about writing songs, it’s that.”
The fact that she carefully composed the melody, the chords, pouring her heart out into it means the intent must be there. “So, why were you really hiding it from me?”
Blaire
I didn’t mean for him to hear it. I only wanted a quiet area for a little while to steal some time to write, without anyone knowing. Breath knocked out of my lungs, I don’t know how to answer his question.
That he heard me playing feels like he’s seen the part of me I fought hard to keep mine. And now that he’s heard it, the fear is paralyzing.
Nobody probably understands the feeling better than he does… And at the same time, no one can single-handedly crush my dream in a few words like he can either. My fingers itch to grab my notebook back. He has no business taking it from me.
He never read my diary. I struggle to grasp what I’ve just learned. At the time, it hurt that he’d read what was supposed to be private. It was something that I had to learn to accept, because I couldn’t undo it. And now this.
“I want to release it someday. Maybe.”
He already makes me feel so much. If he knows this part of me, I don’t know how I’d pick up the pieces when this ends.
“Why won’t you show me your music?” he demands.
Why is he so persistent? Why does it matter to him, anyway? “You said I sounded like a dying rat.” The words rip out, like something in me breaks loose. I hate that my voice comes out shaky. Fragile almost, betraying how I feel. I’ve never forgotten what he said that day. It’s an eternity ago, but when I think back to that moment, the words are no less biting.
His eyes widen as the truth sinks in, and I watch as remorse takes hold. A dark look crosses over his face. “Your brother was watching me. Fuck, Blaire, I was eighteen.”
My mouth hangs open. Since when had he cared about what my brother thought? But… “It wasn’t just that, Ryan, you were rude. And only to me. No, with everyone else, your manners were perfect. Mom loved you, everyone loved you. But when it came to me, being nice was so hard.” That was difficult for me to come to terms with.
“And it was so easy for you to hate me.” His gaze is hard. Unyielding. “I almost think it’s because you wanted to.”
His remark silences the words on my tip of my tongue.
Is he right? Perhaps I had. But there was a time I admired him so much, only for him to casually tear through that burgeoning trust. “Maybe I did. I was just a girl with her guitar, and you seemed so…” Larger than life? So ridiculously talented and sexy it’s unfair? “Approachable.” Approachable? Ha. “Except you weren’t, to me. And I couldn’t understand why. Always with that cocky smile, and the way you’d drop over at the worst times. God.” I shake my head. “I didn’t think you even remembered my name. Is that why you kept calling me ‘Red’?”
But he doesn’t answer, his eyes going soft. Something grabs at my heart and squeezes. “Was I so forgettable?” I breathe out. So forgettable, he couldn’t even remember my name? It stuck, even now. Why did the thought of it hurt so much?
“Shut up, Blaire.” What? The roughness of his voice makes me search his eyes for the things he left unsaid.
He pushes my notebook back to me, pressing it gently to my chest. I take it, confusion sweeping over me. “You’re incredible, fucking incredible, and you don’t even know it.”
You’re incredible.
His words finally penetrate, and my throat tightens. No, don’t cry. Not in front of him. He doesn’t stop, relentless. “I bet anyone who would’ve heard you just then will tell you that.”
A lingering memory resurfaces. “Richard didn’t,” I say without thought. As soon as the words slip from my tongue, I freeze.
Uh-oh.
Brows furrowing, he asks, “Who the hell is Richard?”
Ryan
“Richard?” I repeat, still not getting an answer.
She blinks, bemused. “The lawyer,” she explains, as if I should know this.
Ah. That guy. “Not surprised, the way he only seemed interested about himself.” Couldn’t stand the way he was so self-absorbed.
She releases a shaky laugh, and a faint smile touches her lips. “I see that now. But…” But the damage was already done.
“People like to tear down others for what they only wish they could do themselves.” I know it too well. The fault they find in themselves, they blame in others. “I’ve seen it happen.”
She considers my words. “Why have we never been friends before?” she suddenly blurts out.
Oh, hell no. She doesn’t get to call it that—not after everything that’s happened. She’s not going to use friendship as a blanket, to throw some sort of wall between us.
Was I so forgettable?
I thought she knew. By now, I thought she understood—this impossible hold she has over me. It’s maddening and frustrating as hell.
“Gonna make something clear, Blaire.”
She looks at me questioningly, brows arched up.
“I do not want to be your friend.”
A scowl forms, and she opens her mouth, but I place a finger to her lips to quiet her, and the contact makes her go still. I draw closer, until we’re only a breath apart.
“I want to be more.”
Her eyes drop to my lips. “More?” she echoes distractedly.
Maybe after all this, she’ll walk away. But I’ve decided I want her to stay. If she’ll let me give her the chance.
Unable to help it, my fingers graze her cheek, and her breath catches. “I want you, Blaire. I think I always have.”
Chapter 20
Blaire
From the very start of our deal, I told myself two things—the first, that no matter persuasive he appears to be, no matter how much he spins his words to make this farce of a relationship seem real, whatever this is between us is just a front. And the second—that it won’t last.
We’re worlds apart. Him and all his fame, and me releasing covers and music videos in my pjs, and surprisingly doing well at it. But I thought I had myself convinced. It turns out that I hadn’t at all.
I could shield myself against the heat of the articles written about us. Against the ugly comments on my channel. Even against the fake dates and pretending with his family. But in the face of his admission, it crumbles.
He wants me now? This person who constantly teased me, the bane of my existence all these years? And he always had? “I—I don’t understand,” I stammer. “Why does it even matter to you, what this is between us?” My fists curl.
His gray eyes, fierce, pin me to the spot. “Oh, it matters.”
“It never mattered before,” I lash out. “In fact, you went out of your way not to be my friend. Remember the loud parties? And your group of friends?” There were a few of those.
A horrible thought strikes me—his sudden one-eighty with his attitude, the fake dates, and now this… “Is this what it is? I’m something to be won?” The thought that he’d done all this because I’m some sort of conquest jabs at my chest. “This isn’t funny. Just because you know I liked you, doesn’t mean you can throw those words at me.”
“I told you, I didn’t. Fucking. Know,” he snarls.
“You see, that would work if I believed you,” I snap back, just as viciously. “When I sang ‘Happy Birthday’ the loudest because your mom couldn’t make it, could
n’t you tell?”
I hear the sharp intake of his breath, but I don’t stop. “When I wore your first tour merch t-shirt at home, you didn’t notice?” I always fought to keep everything in, but this time, the words spill out.
A wave of emotion washes over him. “Blaire, I—”
“When you kissed me on my birthday, couldn’t you feel it? Or were you just that indifferent?”
He looks as if my words stuck him, all their weight and meaning sinking in. Cold realization rocks me. He really didn’t know. And yet… I don’t know if I can trust what I see. Because I believed in him once, and I know it’s the people you admire the most that can cut you the deepest.
He takes my hand and pulls me close. My pulse jumps.
“Indifferent, Blaire?” His voice is like warm honey. “You know what this is,” he says, pulling me close, a finger stroking against the inside of my wrist, “and it’s anything but indifference.”
My hand fists on his shirt, not sure whether to push him away or bring him closer. Did he really not know? Couldn’t he tell how deep my feelings ran?
“You said you were sorry,” I say quietly. He frowns, uncomprehending. “When you kissed me.”
Confusion melts away, understanding dawning on his face. “I was,” he acknowledges, rueful.
My eyes drop to his chest, unable to meet his gaze. I stiffen in his arms and try to push against him. He doesn’t move an inch.
“I was sorry because your brother was outside and it changed everything between us,” he adds firmly.
I didn’t know. I stop struggling to break free, my heart hammering in my chest. “W-what?”
“That’s why you ran,” he mutters in stunned realization. “I thought you wanted me to stay away. So that’s what I did.” Oh my God. All these years and I thought wrong. “Thought you couldn’t stand me.” Because of how I acted after the kiss, keeping my distance. Because I never really knew where I stood with him. And if I’m being honest, I still don’t. It’s the strangest feeling, hearing him say the words. I could tell him no, that it’s a little too late, but my lips can’t seem to find the words. Because maybe I need to trust whatever this is between us.
