Because of You
Page 26
I haven’t seen Brady since the day he told me I was just a job and pushed me away. I have a few wonderful memories of him telling me he loved me, but I have no idea if those memories are real or just part of my brain mixing things up from that day. June told me during one of my many crying fits over the last couple of months that he was out of his mind with worry trying to find me that day. She told me he stayed by my bedside until I went into surgery, and Gwen and his friend Austin had to forcibly remove him from the hospital because he put up such a fight about leaving. None of that makes any sense though. Aside from the letter that came in the mail a few days after I got out of the hospital, I haven’t heard a word from him. If he was so broken up about what happened to me, why wasn’t he there? Why didn’t he stay?
I push thoughts of Brady from my mind and try to concentrate on what I’m about to do. Thinking about the man who is still taking up residence in my heart will make me want to curl up in the corner and cry, and that wouldn’t be good. I’m here to say goodbye to one chapter of my life and hello to a new one.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. I’m nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. The kind that excites me and makes me want to push through it until I come out on the other side, proud of myself and what I’ve accomplished. Pulling the note from my father out of my back pocket, I read through it for the hundredth time without any tears for once. I smile as I fold it back up and stick it inside the sound hole of my nineteen-sixty Gibson Hummingbird guitar and tighten the strap that holds the instrument around my neck.
Tonight is the first stop of my farewell tour. It's not a long tour, just a small handful of cities. I don’t have the energy to travel the globe, and thankfully, after what I’ve been through, my fans have understood.
I’m beginning this tour of saying goodbye at the place that started it all: The Red Door Saloon. For the first time in my life, I’m doing things my way, singing the songs I want to sing and playing the music I want to play. I’m taking my father’s advice and letting the music take me where I want to go. I want to be a songwriter, not a performer. I don’t have the heart for performing anymore.
June did a few renovations in the last few months, and the bar finally has an actual stage instead of just a platform in the corner. Now there’s room for a guitar player, a piano, a set of drums, and a singer, and I couldn’t be happier to be christening the stage for her tonight.
Standing off to the side of the stage behind the curtain, I watch as June walks to the middle of the stage and taps the microphone a few times.
“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Nashville’s very own, Layla Carlysle!”
The small crowd of around two hundred and fifty people, the most The Red Door Saloon has ever seen in its lifetime, all stand up from their seats, clapping, shouting, and whistling as I take a deep breath and walk out on stage.
I take a few moments to thank everyone for coming and introduce them to my band before adjusting the guitar around my neck and strumming a few chords to warm my fingers up.
My arm and shoulder are still a little sore, and my physical therapist advised waiting another week before starting the tour, but I can’t do that. It’s now or never. If I want to truly heal, this is something that I have to do, right now, before each day that I’m away from Brady makes me forget what it is I’m fighting for and why I’m happy to be alive.
I open my set with one of the first songs I ever wrote when I was a child, back when I had my whole life ahead of me and nothing to fear but the unknown. It’s a song about growing up and moving on and not being afraid. I sing with my heart and I can tell that the crowd senses the difference. They clap along with the rhythm of the drums, and they sway to the beat of the music. I’m not just going through the motions performing like a robot. I’m performing like I love it. And I do.
I sing eight original songs tonight and I mix in a few covers to get the crowd up on their feet and singing along with me. I smile easily and talk to the fans happily in between songs, but even though there’s a feeling of freedom and peacefulness that flows through me tonight, there’s still something missing. There’s still someone who isn’t here that should be. My heart is full of pride in myself and love for what I’m doing, but there’s a huge chunk that remains empty: a piece of myself that has broken off and lives in someone else now, someone who saved me but then walked away.
“This last song is something I wrote not too long ago. It’s called Your Breath on Me,” I tell the crowd with a smile as they whistle and cheer some more, and I place my hands where they need to go on the frets. Maybe singing this song isn’t the best choice to close with since it cuts my heart open all over again, not the brightest idea when I’m trying to heal, but I’m pushing through and I’m doing it. I’m not going to let my fears control me anymore.
I close my eyes and begin the song, singing from the heart and pushing my voice as far as it will go, hoping just like I have every time I’ve practiced it the last few weeks that maybe he’ll hear me.
When you’re wrapped around me,
my soul feels alive.
Maybe this is a fairytale,
and not meant for my life.
I need you to hold me in your arms,
and chase my fears away.
Your breath on me
makes me sigh your name out loud,
gives me warmth when I feel cold
Your breath on me
makes me ache to touch your skin
gives me strength to live again.
When the morning sun comes in,
I’m not afraid of what the day will bring.
Your fingertips that touch my face,
and your eyes that know the truth,
show me that I’ll be okay,
as long as I have you.
Your breath on me
makes me sigh your name out loud,
gives me warmth when I feel cold
Your breath on me
makes me ache to touch your skin
gives me strength to live again.
This dream of mine has finally come true.
I’m living every day just how I intended to.
But there is something missing, and I just can’t let it go,
that piece of the puzzle, that I need to feel whole.
Your breath on me
makes me sigh your name out loud,
gives me warmth when I feel cold
Your breath on me
makes me ache to touch your skin
gives me strength to live again.
Gives me strength to live…
Gives me strength to live…
without you.
I slowly open my eyes when I hear the roar of the crowd, and I smile despite the ache in my heart that singing this song always brings. I take a small bow and clear the emotion from my throat so I can push the man this song is about from my mind and accept the crowd’s praise without breaking down.
An hour later, after the bar has closed and everyone has gone home, I sit alone on the stage with my legs hanging down off of the edge. The only lights on in the place are the ones directly above me; the rest of the bar is swathed in darkness, and I can barely make out the tables and chairs that fill it. I quietly strum my guitar and hum softly to myself, thinking about all the ways my life has changed in the last few months.
“Hey, Layla. The band is all packed up and ready to leave when you are.”
My hand stills on the guitar and I turn to face Dylan, my new bodyguard as of two months ago. He’s twenty-eight years old and probably could have made more money as a male model than a bodyguard, but he loves his job and he’s good at it. He came highly recommended to my management team. I have a feeling Brady was the one who suggested him. When I questioned Dylan about it, he explained it was better if I didn’t know. I ignored the feelings of disappointment knowing Brady would rather send someone he knows to keep me safe instead of doing i
t himself. Dylan has stuck to me like glue since his first day, even though in the beginning I was a total bitch to him because he wasn’t Brady. He’s extremely professional and does everything by the book, but every once in a while he’ll let his guard down and show me a fun, playful side of himself that puts me at ease.
“Thanks, Dylan. I’m just going to enjoy the peace and quiet for a few more minutes before I have to get on the bus with a bunch of rowdy boys,” I tell him with a smile as I move the guitar off of my lap and set it down on the stage next to me.
Dylan crouches down next to me and searches my face for any signs that I’m not okay. He knows better than to come right out and ask me anymore after the last time he did it and I told him I would shove my foot up his ass if I heard that question from one more person.
“You need me to stick around in here?” he asks softly.
I stare at his handsome face, and I wonder why I feel absolutely nothing when I look at him. My heart doesn’t speed up from his gorgeous brown eyes, and my stomach doesn’t flutter with butterflies when I watch him lick his lips as he waits for me to answer him. He’s never come right out and said that he wants me, but sometimes a woman just knows. Sometimes, all it takes is a look, and right now he’s giving me that look. It would be so easy to just close my eyes, lean forward, and let him help me forget. Let him kiss me and touch me and help me fill in the gaping hole in my heart with new memories. I feel myself leaning towards him as I stare at his lips, willing myself to feel something, anything. I pause, an inch away from his mouth and pull back quickly with a sigh.
“I’m sorry, that was stupid,” I mutter as I stare down at my hands in my lap.
I see him rub his hands over his face out of the corner of my eye and I’m filled with guilt. Dylan is a good man, an honest man, and he’s slowly becoming my friend, and here I sit, thinking about using him just to help me stop remembering someone else. It’s not fair to him.
“It wasn’t stupid. This was a big night for you, and you’ve got a lot of shit going on in your head right now. I’m not going anywhere,” he explains as he stands up. “When you finally get that jerk out of your system, I’ll be here. In the meantime, I’m going back out to the tour bus to make sure the band hasn’t mooned anyone or snuck any groupies on.”
We share a laugh and I watch as hops down off of the stage and turns to look at me one last time. As I sit here staring at him, thinking about the huge mistake I almost made, I hear the buttons of the jukebox being pushed and the click and slide of a record falling into place. Within seconds, the soft sounds of piano music fill the empty room.
My heart stutters in my chest, and I hold my breath, not really believing that this is happening, that this song is playing right now. It’s a song that will always be synonymous to him. It’s a melody that will always remind me of dancing close to him, our bodies pressed up against each other as we swayed to the erotic beats in the club what seems like a lifetime ago.
“I have a confession to make,” Dylan says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “There’s no way I would have taken advantage of you like that. Not when I know your heart belongs to someone else. I just wanted to make sure HE WASN’T GOING TO PUSSY OUT ON THIS WHOLE THING TONIGHT,” he explains, shouting the last part of that statement so his voice would carry through the bar.
Dylan winks at me and I watch him in bewilderment as he walks to the side door and pushes it open, disappearing into the parking lot.
After the door slams closed, I slowly slide down off of the stage and stand still right in front of it, barely breathing, feeling every emotion this song brings out of me as the beat of the drums and the soulful voice belts out the hypnotic words. As the man sings about words being like knives and cutting you open, Brady walks out of the shadows with his hands in the front pocket of his jeans like something out of a dream. His hair has gotten a little longer, and his face looks tired and sad, but otherwise, he’s exactly as I remember him: tall and commanding as he strolls towards me, the long-sleeved T-shirt he wears molded to his sculpted chest and arms. I can’t believe it’s only been a few months since I last touched him. As he closes the distance between us and the subtle, masculine scent of him surrounds me, my mouth waters and it suddenly feels like years since I was this close to him.
The music continues to play and the words flow through me as he stops directly in front of me. He doesn’t smile, he just stares. He searches every inch of my face like he forgot what it looks like and he’s busy memorizing every feature. His eyes pause when they get to my lips and I nervously wet them with my tongue. He lets out a shuddering breath and pulls his hands out of his front pockets, holding one out in front of me, palm up.
“Dance with me.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and I don’t even hesitate before sliding my hand into his and letting him pull me against him. His body is just as I remember it: rock hard in certain spots and soft and warm in others. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer and within in seconds of being enveloped in his arms, I feel like I’m safe. I feel like I’m home.
My nose and lips are right against the skin of his neck, and I can’t help but breathe him in. I’ve missed this so much. I’ve missed the clean smell of his skin and the strength of his arms. We aren’t really dancing, more like gently rocking to the music, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but the fact that he’s here with me right now. It’s easy to forget about all of the bad memories when the one shining light in your life is back and brighter than ever. It’s easy to forgive the hurts and disappointments when the only thing you’ve ached for is standing right there in front of you.
Brady pulls his head back and looks down at me, giving me that half smile that I love so much, and I stare at the dimple on his cheek as we continue to rock back and forth together. I force myself out of the daze I’ve been in since I heard the first notes of this song echo through the room and finally find my voice.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper softly.
“I can’t believe you sang your own songs tonight,” he replies back, the smooth timbre of his voice forcing shivers down my spine. “They were amazing. You’re amazing.”
I look away from him for a second in embarrassment, not because he heard all of those songs, but because he heard the song. The last song. As much as I dreamed about him hearing it, it’s an overwhelming feeling to know that it actually happened.
“It was about you,” I admit softly to him when I look back into his eyes, not specifying which song I’m referring to but seeing from the look on his face that he knows.
“Oh thank God,” he says with a sigh. “I really didn’t want to have to kick someone’s ass tonight. Especially Dylan. That asshole promised me he would never dream about touching you. I was only going to give him one more second before I came out here and fucked up his pretty face.”
I laugh and shake my head at him, not even caring that he just admitted he was behind Dylan being hired. My elation at his words quickly sobers.
Once again, I find myself putting my heart out there on the line for him. But right now, staring up at his handsome face, I don’t care if it’s been trampled on or if he threw it away once before. I will give it to him time and time again because it’s his. It’s been his since the first moment I saw him, but I still need more from him.
“Why are you here?” I ask him softly as our rocking stops and we just stand together, his arms tight around my waist and my hands resting on his chest.
“Well, Gwen said I needed to do something huge to get you to listen to me once I got my head out of my ass. She actually suggested I get up on stage and sing a song for you. I thought something a little more low key was more my style. Did it work?” he asks uncertainly.
“I’m listening, aren’t I?” I tell him with an encouraging smile.
He tentatively reaches his hand up and brushes my bangs that are now almost the same length as the rest of my hair off of my forehead. I close my eyes and lean into his
touch, starving for it after all this time.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me quietly as I move my cheek back and forth against the palm of his hand.
I can see the sadness in his eyes as he searches my face for a sign of forgiveness, but I can’t give it to him. Not just yet. I stay quiet and let him go on as the song ends and begins softly playing again from the beginning like a soundtrack to a movie.
“What we had wasn’t just a thing. What we had was everything. I lied to you, Layla. If I could take back everything I said to you that day, I would. I would take it all back and tell you that I love you more than my own life. I would tell you that I was stupid and scared and trying to keep the people in my life safe by pushing away the one person who meant the world to me,” he admits, leaning his body closer to mine so I can feel every inch of him. “Running down into the basement that day and seeing you on the floor, tied to that pole, bleeding and struggling to breathe, almost broke me in two. I could barely do what I’d been trained for because all I could think about was how much you were hurting and how I could have prevented it if I’d just been honest. But walking out of that hospital and leaving you behind, thinking that I couldn’t have you and keep my family safe, almost killed me. I can’t live without you. I don’t want to live without you.”
With his hand softly framing my face, he leans forward until his forehead is resting against mine.
“I don’t care if we come from two different worlds or two different planets. I love you, Layla. If you let me, I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how much, every single day. Please tell me it’s not too late. Tell me I didn’t fuck everything up with you,” he begs.