I shrug. “Where do you want to go?”
She grabs her phone while I’m putting on my shirt and she texts me.
Sydney: Would it be weird if we went back to that diner?
I try to recall a diner that we’ve been to, but the only one I can think of that she might be referring to is the one I took her to the first night we met in person. It was her birthday, and I felt bad that her day was so shitty, so I took her for cake.
Ridge: The one close to my apartment?
She nods.
Ridge: Why would that be weird?
Sydney: Because. It was the first night we met. And maybe going there on our first date would be sort of celebrating that moment.
Ridge: Sydney Blake. You have got to forgive yourself for falling in love with me. We’ve shared a lot of chapters that don’t need to be torn out of our book, simply because there are things in them you don’t like. It’s part of our story. Every single sentence counts toward our happy ending, good or bad.
Sydney reads my text and then slides her phone in her pocket like dinner is solidified thanks to that last text. She signs the next thing she says. “Thank you. That was beautiful. Bridge. Cloud. Pimple.”
I laugh. “Was that supposed to be a real sentence?”
Sydney shakes her head. “I don’t know how to sign a lot of words yet. I decided I’m just going to make random words up when I don’t know how to sign what I really want to say.”
I motion for her to get her phone out of her pocket.
Ridge: You said bridge, cloud, and pimple. LOL. What were you trying to sign?
Sydney: I didn’t know how to sign that you are getting so lucky after this date tonight.
I laugh and wrap my arm around her, pulling her until her forehead meets my lips. Damn, I cannot get enough of my girl. I also can’t get enough of the bridge, cloud, pimple.
•••
We drove Sydney’s car to my apartment because I didn’t have my car, and we can’t walk to the diner from her apartment like we could from mine. She insisted we walk like we did the last time we came here. Sydney ordered breakfast for dinner, but she also ate half my onion rings and three bites of my burger.
We decided to play twenty questions during dinner, so we used our phones instead of signing because it was hard to do that and eat at the same time. In the forty-five minutes we’ve been here, I haven’t thought about my fight with Maggie. I haven’t thought about how behind on work I am. I haven’t even thought about that damn Game of Thrones spoiler. When I’m with Sydney like this, her presence absorbs all the bad parts of my day, and I find it so easy to concentrate on her and only her.
Until Brennan appears.
Now, I’m concentrating on Brennan as he slides into the booth next to Sydney and reaches across the table for my last onion ring.
“Hi.” He pops the onion ring into his mouth, and I lean back in my seat, wondering what the hell he’s doing here. Not that I mind. But it is our first official date, and I’m confused why he’s crashing it.
“What are you doing here?” I sign.
Brennan shrugs. “I don’t have anything scheduled tonight. I was bored and went to your apartment, but you weren’t home.”
“But how did you know we were here?”
“The app,” he says, pulling my soda to him and taking a drink. I give him a look that lets him know I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“You know,” he says. “Those apps you can use to track people’s phones. I track yours all the time.”
What the hell? “But you have to set that app up with my phone.”
Brennan nods. “I did like a year ago. I know where you are all the time.”
That actually explains a lot. “That’s weird, Brennan.”
He leans back in his seat. “No, it isn’t. You’re my brother.” He looks at Sydney. “Hi. Nice to see you fully clothed.”
I kick him under the table and he just laughs, then folds his arms over the table and speaks his next sentence. “You feel like writing something tonight?”
I shake my head. “I’m on a date with my girlfriend.”
Brennan’s shoulder’s slump, and he falls back against the booth. Sydney looks back and forth between me and Brennan.
“A song?” she says. “You want to write a song tonight?”
Brennan shrugs. “Why not? I need more material and I’m in the mood. My guitar is in my car.”
Sydney perks up and starts nodding. “Please, Ridge? I want to watch you two write a song.”
Brennan nods. “Please, Ridge?”
Brennan’s begging does nothing to change my mind, but that’s only because Sydney’s begging already changed it. Besides, the whole time I’ve been on this date with Sydney, song lyrics have been swirling around in my head. Better to get them out now while I’m feeling it.
I pay the check, and we go outside to head back to the apartment, but Brennan points across the street at a park. He runs to his car and retrieves his guitar and stuff to write with. The three of us walk over to the park and find two benches across from each other. Brennan sits on one, and Sydney and I sit on the other.
Brennan turns his guitar over and presses the notepad to it. He writes on it for a few minutes and then hands it over to me. He’s written out the music to a chorus he’s working on, but there are no lyrics. I spend several minutes studying it. I can see Brennan and Sydney having a conversation while I look over the music and try to figure out how to add the first line of the chorus. He signs the first part of the conversation, but when he sees I’m not paying attention to either of them, he stops signing and they continue the conversation. I like that they’re holding a conversation without me. It’s not like the conversations people have where they forget to sign for me. It’s just a conversation they’re having because they know I need a while to focus on this song.
I think back to mine and Sydney’s conversation from earlier, and how she expressed a fear that I would someday take Maggie back because I want to fix everything going wrong in Maggie’s life. I try to work that into a couple of sentences, but nothing sticks. I close my eyes and try to recall the exact words I said to her.
“I would be broken without you. Then who would fix me?”
I read that sentence over and over again. “Who would fix me?”
This is how I sometimes build a foundation for my lyrics. I think of a person. I think of a conversation with that person, or a thought I have about that person. And then I ask myself a question about that thought, then build a line of lyrics around the answer.
So…who would fix me? The only person who could mend my shattered heart would be Sydney.
I find my sweet spot in that answer and write down the lyric, “You’re the only one who fixes me.”
I tap my pencil on the page in the tempo of the music that Brennan wrote out for me. Brennan picks up his guitar and watches my pencil, then starts to play. I can see Sydney out of the corner of my eye as she pulls her knees up on the bench and wraps her arms around them, watching us. I look at her for a moment, waiting for thoughts of her to inspire another line. What do I want her to know when she hears this song?
I write down several sentences in no particular order, and none of them rhyme, but they all remind me of Sydney. I’ll build around them in a moment and make each of them into verses. I just need to get out the basic things I’m thinking.
“There was a truth in you from the start.”
“I think you’re pretty when you speak.”
“I bring the mess and you bring the clean.”
“Time will come and you will see. You’re the only one who fixes me.”
I look up from the page, and Brennan is still playing, working through the tempo of the song that I just laid his chorus out to. Sydney is watching me, smiling. It’s all I need to finish the lyrics. I move to the bench with Brennan and show him the lyrics, matched up with his chorus. He starts tweaking it while I finish the lyrics.
Almost an hour later, we have a comple
te song. It’s the fastest the two of us have ever written together. Brennan hasn’t sung any of the lyrics out loud yet for her, so I move to the bench with her and pull her against me before he plays her the full song. He begins strumming his guitar, and she wraps an arm around me, leaning her head against my shoulder.
Wake up early, go to bed late
That’s what I do, that’s my mistake
Tell me something and I forget
I’m not perfect, I’m far from it
I’m out the door 15 too late
Thinking I’m early, but I make you wait
Don’t wash my dishes for a week
But I think you’re pretty when you speak
Ask around, you’ll figure out
You’re the one I’m thinking ‘bout
Time will come and you will see
You’re the only one who fixes me
You’re the only one who fixes me
I bring the mess and you bring the clean
I think you’re funny when you’re mean
There was a truth in you from the start
And nothing can break this hold on my heart
Ask around, you’ll figure out
You’re the one I’m thinking ‘bout
Time will come and you will see
You’re the only one who fixes me
You’re the only one who fixes me, yeah
Out of order, out of my mind
Had you waiting on a white lie
Took a minute but I finally found my way
Ask around, you’ll figure out
You’re the one I’m thinking ‘bout
Time will come and you will see
You’re the only one who fixes me
Ask around, you’ll figure out
You’re the one I’m thinking ‘bout
Time will come and you will see
You’re the only one who fixes me
You’re the only one who fixes me, yeah
When Brennan finishes playing the song, Sydney doesn’t move right away. She’s curled up to me, her hand fisted in my shirt. I think she must need a moment to absorb that.
When she finally pulls away from my chest, there are tears in her eyes, and she wipes them away with her fingers. Brennan and I wait for her to say something, but she just shakes her head. “Don’t make me talk right now. I can’t.”
Brennan smiles at me. “Speechless. Your girl approves.” He stands up and says, “I’m gonna head to your apartment and get this one recorded on my phone while it’s fresh in my head. Want a ride?”
Sydney nods and grabs my hand. “Yes. But we aren’t staying at Ridge’s. We have to go back to my apartment. It’s important.”
I give her a confused look.
She shoots me an adamant look in return. “Bridge, cloud, pimple. Now.”
I smile as she pulls me toward Brennan’s car.
I think she loved that song.
Ridge and Brennan have both exited Brennan’s car, but I’m still sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at the car parked next to ours. It’s Hunter’s car. But it’s not Hunter shutting the back door. It’s Tori. Which is why I’m frozen to my seat, because I wasn’t expecting to see her, and I really don’t want her to see me. I’m certain it won’t end up with me punching her again, but I still have no desire to talk to her.
It’s too late, though, because Ridge doesn’t recognize her, and he opens my door right as she’s rounding the front of our car. She pauses in her tracks when our eyes meet.
Dammit.
I take Ridge’s hand and slowly get out of the car. Tori looks like she’s seen a ghost. But she doesn’t run away like I wish she would. Instead, she walks the sacks of groceries to the hood of her car and sets them down. Then she turns to me, hugging herself.
“Hi,” she says. I can tell she wants to talk. And I just don’t have it in me to be a complete dick to her.
I look at Ridge. “You go,” I sign. “Two minutes.”
Ridge glances at Tori and then at me. He nods and backs away, falling into step with Brennan as they head up to Ridge’s apartment.
Tori looks good. She’s always looked good. I find myself pulling at my ponytail and wiping a wisp of hair out of my face.
“Is that your boyfriend?” she asks.
I glance up at the top of the stairs. Ridge is walking into his apartment backward, looking down at us with concern. I give him a reassuring smile before he closes the door. I turn my attention back to Tori, folding my arms over my chest. “Yeah.”
There’s a knowing look in Tori’s eye. “He’s the guy from the balcony, right? The one you were writing lyrics for?”
I suddenly become protective of everything going on in my life, and I don’t want to reveal anything to Tori. I don’t even know why I’m out here right now. She just seemed like she really wanted me to stop and talk to her. Maybe so she can move past everything that happened between us.
I look behind her, at Hunter’s car. There’s a “For Sale” sign posted in the side and back windows.
“Hunter is selling his car?”
Tori looks over her shoulder at it. “Yeah. We think it got water damage or something. It’s been smelling weird for a while now.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, ensuring she doesn’t see my smile breaking through. When I’m certain I can hold it in, I move my hand and grip the strap of my purse. “That’s too bad. I know he loves that car.”
Tori’s phone rings, and she glances down at it, then answers it, turning away from me a little. Almost as if she doesn’t want me to be privy to her conversation.
“What?” she whispers. The way she answers the phone makes it seem like she’s irritated with whoever is on the other line. She glances up at her apartment and says, “I still have another load of groceries to bring up. Give me a sec.”
She ends the call and slides her phone into her pocket. She walks over to the hood of her car and starts grabbing the sacks of groceries. She stands in front of me, two sacks in each hand, arms down at her sides. “So, um…” She pauses and inhales a sharp breath, exhaling it just as quickly. “You wanna grab coffee sometime? I’d really like to catch up. Hear all about the new boyfriend.”
I stare at her a moment, wondering why she would think I’m okay with that. I realize I was also a Tori at a very short point during mine and Ridge’s friendship, but as mad as I am at Hunter and as mad as Maggie must have been at Ridge, there are few betrayals on earth that hurt worse than the betrayal of your very best friend. She’s the person I shared my life with. A home with. All my secrets with. And the entire time we lived together, she was betraying me on a daily basis.
I don’t want coffee with her. I don’t even want to be outside chatting with her, acting like she didn’t break my heart with ten times the strength that Hunter ever could.
I shake my head. “I don’t think coffee is a good idea.” I choose to walk around the back of her car so that I don’t have to get even closer to her. Before I head for the stairs, I look up at her. “You really hurt me, Tori. More than Hunter ever could have. But I still think you deserve better than a man who doesn’t even bother to come down and help you carry up groceries.”
I walk away and run up the stairs, away from her, away from that smelly car, and away from the sad reality that she still hasn’t found happiness yet. I wonder if she ever will.
I walk inside the apartment, and Brennan is on the couch with his guitar. He nods his head toward Ridge’s room. When I open the door to Ridge’s bedroom, he’s lying across the bed on his stomach, hugging a pillow. I walk over to him, but he’s asleep. I know he’s had a long twenty-four hours, so I don’t bother waking him. I let him rest.
Brennan is at the table now, playing the song he and Ridge just wrote. I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. There’s only enough left for one glass. Bridgette and I really tore through their stash. Ridge is probably going to start keeping the wine in a Windex bottle.
“Sydney?�
��
I turn toward Brennan, and he’s hugging his guitar, his chin resting on it. “I’m really hungry. Do you think you can make me a grilled cheese?”
I laugh as soon as the question comes out of his mouth. But then I realize he’s serious. “You’re asking me to make you a sandwich?”
“It’s been a long day, and I don’t know how to cook. Ridge always cooks for me when I’m over here.”
“Oh, my God. How old are you? Twelve?”
“Transpose those numbers and you’ve got your answer.”
I roll my eyes and open the refrigerator to take out the cheese. “I can’t believe I’m making you a sandwich. I feel like I’m disappointing every female that has ever fought for our equality.”
“It only counts against feminism when you make your man a sandwich. It doesn’t count if it’s just a friend.”
“Well, we won’t even be friends if you think you can ask me to cook for you every time you visit your brother.”
Brennan smiles and turns back toward his guitar. He starts strumming it to a tune I haven’t heard from him before. Then he starts to sing.
Cheddar, swiss, provolone. That is where I feel at home.
Slap that cheese on some bread. I like it more than getting head.
Grilled cheese,
Grilled cheese,
Grilled cheese from Sydney.
Blake. Not Australia.
I’m laughing at his impressive improv abilities, even though it was a terrible song. He’s obviously just as talented as Ridge is. He just suppresses it for some reason.
He sets his guitar on the table and walks over to the bar. He grabs a paper towel and places it in front of him. I guess that’s the extent of his sandwich prep.
“Do you even have trouble writing lyrics? Or do you pretend you can’t write because of your guilt?”
“What would I have to feel guilty for?” Brennan asks, taking his seat at the bar.
“Just a hunch, but I think you hate that you were born with the ability to hear, but Ridge wasn’t. So you pretend you need him more than you actually do. Because you love him.” I flip the grilled cheese over. Brennan doesn’t respond right away, so I know I have him pegged.
Maybe Now (Maybe #2) Page 15
