by Marie Meyer
I nodded.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and then focused them back on me. “These last four months have been a blast. But this isn’t working, Griffin. I can’t compete with everything you have going on right now.”
With a subtle nod, I agreed. “I know, I’m sorry.” Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my knees, dropping my head against my folded hands.
“And come on, let’s face it, I’m not who you really want to be with.” She nudged me with her shoulder and laughed dryly.
I glanced up at her. “What do you mean?” I’d never said anything to her about how I felt about Jillian. I hadn’t told anyone.
Erin cocked her head, pressing her lips tight. “Oh, come on. She’s a thousand miles away and yet I feel like she’s standing right between us.”
I dropped my head again. I didn’t know what else to say.
“Griffin.” Erin put her hand on my shoulder to get my attention, but I continued looking at the floor. “Griffin,” she said again, a little louder.
Reluctantly I looked up.
“It’s OK.” She smiled. “We had fun for a while. I can tell everyone I dated Griffin Daniels.” She said my name with dramatic flair. “But we both know that this”—she gestured between us—“isn’t meant to be. You’re meant to be with her.”
I wanted to be with her, but Erin didn’t know that wasn’t meant to be either.
“Friends?” she offered.
I smiled, sitting up. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, drawing her into my side. “Damn straight.”
With a big grin on her face, she lifted an eyebrow, “And friends still get backstage VIP access at Mine Shaft shows?”
“My friends? Always. Not Adam’s, though. You’re not a friend of Adam’s, are you?” I teased.
“Nope. I am a card-carrying fan of Griffin Daniels, only.”
“Thank you, Erin.” I squeezed her in a friendly hug. “You are by far the coolest girl I’ve ever dated.”
She laughed. “I can say the same. I haven’t dated many rock stars.”
I scoffed. “Rock star.”
“What? You make it sound like a dirty word.” She tossed my arm off her shoulder and stood up, making her way toward the kitchen. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink,” she called over her shoulder.
“God, yes,” I answered.
She rounded the corner and disappeared. From the other room, I could hear her rooting around in the fridge, and then a couple of drawers opened and shut. A minute later Erin came back into the room with two bottles and an opener. She set the Bud Lights down on the small table beside the couch and handed me the opener. “I suck at these. Help a girl out?”
I took the bottle opener from her hand and set it on the table. “Watch this.” I reached for one of the beers, setting the lip of the cap at the edge of the table. I slammed my left hand down and the top popped right off.
“Oh!” Erin shouted. “Where on earth did you learn to do that?”
I handed her the first one and went to work on the second. “In high school. Thor and I needed a cool trick to impress the ladies. Are you impressed?” I slammed my hand down hard a second time, sending the cap skidding across the table. I didn’t waste any time sucking down the cold courage-in-a-bottle. “Damn, that’s good.” I swallowed the large gulp.
“Well, color me impressed.” Erin plopped on the couch beside me, falling back into the cushions. “Oh, dear Lord,” she sighed, savoring her drink. “It is, damn good.”
We enjoyed our drinks in companionable silence. When I threw back the last dregs of my bottle, I kicked my feet out in front of me, throwing my body forward to stand up. I bent down and placed my empty bottle beside the opener on the table. “Again, thank you, Erin,” I said with a nod in her direction.
She took a dainty sip of her beer and set it down beside my empty, standing up. “You don’t need to thank me, Griffin. I didn’t do anything that deserves thanks.”
Without any reservation or forethought, I pulled her into a hug. “You’re a peach,” I said.
She hugged me back, holding on longer than I’d expected. “You know, I’ve always hated that nickname.”
I pulled away, my hands on her shoulders. “That’s all right, the women in my life rarely like the names I give them, but they always seem to stick.” I cocked my head and shrugged.
“You’re such a smug asshole, you know that, right?” A huge smile spread across her face.
“Damn straight.” I winked.
“Well, Griffin Daniels, I’m glad we had this talk.” She took a step back and held out her hand for me to shake.
Placing my palm against hers, I shook her hand. “Me too.”
“Glad to hear it. Now if you’ll excuse me, friend, I’m kicking you out. My roomies are waitin’ for me at that country line dance place.”
“Line dancing?” I wrinkled my nose. “No offense, Peach, but we broke up just in time.”
She punched my arm. “Oh, shut up. But sadly,” she pouted, “I do regret not getting you out on the dance floor sooner. I would have loved to show you a move or two.”
“Oh really?” I laughed. “I don’t know, I think you might have missed out on something. Back in the day, I used to be quite the line dancer.” I shrugged.
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “You’re so full of it.”
“No, seriously, in high school, Jillian would drag me line dancing every Thursday night. They have TV cameras recording everyone stomping and kicking, and then they air the ‘performance’ on Saturday night. I think they still do, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You? Line dancing?” She looked me up and down. “That I’d pay to see. You busy tonight, Rock Star? One last hurrah together?”
“As tempting as that sounds, I’m going to pass.”
“You sure?” She batted her eyelashes and shimmied a little.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I laughed, heading for the door. “I’ve had enough line dancing to last me a lifetime.”
Erin followed me to the door. “Your loss.”
Turning the knob, I pulled open the door and stepped out onto the little porch. “I’ll live,” I said, facing her.
Hopping back and forth, she wrapped her arms across her torso. “Hot damn, is it cold out there.”
Chin raised, I cocked my eyebrow. “I told you that when I got here.”
“I’m gonna go change,” she said through chattering teeth. “See you, Rock Star.”
“Bye, Peach.” I smiled with a salute as I turned down the sidewalk.
“Griffin?”
I halted when I heard my name. I spun around on my heel. “Yeah?”
“Get your head out of your ass. Don’t wait until it’s too late. You deserve happiness, too.”
She smiled and shut the door.
I walked the rest of the way to my bike. Happy? I knew what I needed to be happy, but I still wasn’t sure I could have her and risk compromising her happiness and future.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Since the breakup I’d kept to myself. I didn’t want to field a bunch of questions from the guys and Nee. I made sure I was in the studio when I knew they wouldn’t be. Lately even working with them felt strained. Like I’d told Jillian at Thanksgiving, nothing felt right; nothing was working out the way it was supposed to. And it all stemmed back to Jillian…what I wanted and what I couldn’t have.
It was Friday night, and I was sitting on my bed, cradling my guitar like some sappy country singer. Next thing I knew, I’d be writing fucking song lyrics about crying into my beer.
Someone pounded on my door. “Yo, Griff. You in there, dude?” Thor called from the other side.
“Yeah.” I had a pencil shoved between my teeth and my fingers on the guitar.
My door opened and Thor stuck his head in. “We’re partying tonight. You coming?”
I shook my head. “Nah.” I wasn’t in the mood to party.
“What is with you, man? You used to
be a fun motherfucker. Now you’re just a moody, punk-ass bitch.”
I lifted my left hand off the strings and extended my middle finger.
“Thanks for proving my point.” Thor saluted my silent gesture. “When’s Jill come home? Hopefully she can do something to set you right.”
“This weekend.” I put my hand back on the strings, adjusting my right-hand fingering. “I’m working on something. I need to get it down before I lose it.” Once my hands were positioned, I glanced back up at Thor. “Close the door when you leave.”
Thor sighed. “Whatever, dude. I’m hanging with Harper tonight, so don’t wait up.”
Not looking up, I said, “I never do, man.”
He shut the door harder than necessary, causing the change on my dresser to rattle. “Dick,” I shouted. Hopefully, he heard me.
Shaking off the interruption, I tapped out a rhythm on the wood before bringing my fingers over to the strings. This wasn’t a song for Mine Shaft, but a song for me, to Jillian.
I was just getting into the groove of the song when my phone buzzed on my nightstand. “God damn it,” I growled. “Why won’t people leave me the fuck alone?”
Tossing my guitar to the end of the bed, I reached over to the small table and looked at the screen. It was Jillian. Instantly my mind was racing. I hit “Accept.” “Jillibean?”
“Holy shit, you answered. Don’t you have a show tonight?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. She sounded fine. “Nope.” I relaxed at the sound of her voice and leaned over and grabbed my guitar, settling it back in my lap. “We have the night off.”
“Uh…can you talk?” she asked hesitantly.
“To you? Fuck yeah. What kind of question is that?” I shook my head. She was acting weird again.
“Oh, well, you just sounded busy. I didn’t want to interrupt anything,” she laughed dryly. “You’re not hanging with Erin tonight? I thought she’d be all over your downtime.”
I balanced the phone between my shoulder and ear, putting my fingers back into place on the strings. “We broke up. And Thor has a date, so he most likely won’t be home before sunrise.”
“You broke up?” Her voice rose at the end.
I had to smile. Did I sense a little excitement in her tone? I shook my head and silently worked my fingers over the keys. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
I paused my fingers, resting them on the strings. “Nothing really. We just weren’t that into each other.”
“Is everything all right?” she asked. She sounded worried.
“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled, picking up my pencil to jot down a chord progression. “Just working on…a new song. We have a gig on New Year’s Eve, and I want it ready for that night.” Not really, though. This song wasn’t on the New Year’s Eve set list, but I held out hope that I’d get to perform it for her, one day.
Even though the song wasn’t finished, I still had the scene worked out in my head…how I would play this song for her.
Up on stage, just me, a stool, and my acoustic guitar. I’d perch myself atop the stool, cradle the guitar in my arms—just the way I’d hold her, if I were allowed that privilege. A single spot would be trained on me. I’d start to play slowly, caressing the music from my instrument as I kissed the mic. I’d seek out her face in the crowd, knowing I wouldn’t be able to see her, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying. Once I could feel her presence, I’d sing…only for her.
“That’s awesome, Griff.” Her exuberance brought me out of the fantasy. “Where’s the show?”
I shook off the dream and leaned back against the headboard. “At the Pageant.”
“What? That’s huge! Why aren’t you more excited?”
“I guess I’m just a little nervous. I don’t want any fuckups.” I was nervous about the show. It was Adam’s first gig since his injury and he hadn’t had much rehearsal time. Not to mention this was the biggest fucking show of our lives. The Pageant was huge. And our spring tour hinged on the turnout.
“Griffin!” she cheered. “I’m so proud of you! You guys are great, you have nothing to worry about.”
“You’ll be there, right?” I asked, hoping she hadn’t made New Year’s Eve plans. I needed her there like I needed air in my lungs.
“Uh…yeah,” she scoffed. “What? You think I’d miss your biggest gig yet? Someone would have to chain me to a cinder-block wall to keep me away.”
I sighed, relieved. “Good.”
“Will you sing me the song you’re working on?”
Her voice was home, wrapping my body in warmth. I just listened, luxuriating in the rise and fall of her natural cadence.
“Please, Griff?” she asked again, adding a musical lilt to her voice. I couldn’t deny her now.
I was no longer the musician, but the instrument she played. I’d do anything she asked of me. “All right, but if I’m going to do this, I need to play it, too,” I said. “Hang up, and we can FaceTime. I’ll test what I’ve got out on you. Sound good?”
“Hell yeah.”
I laughed at her excitement. “I’ll get my shit together here, and I’ll call you back. Give me a minute.”
“OK,” she said, and then wasted no time disconnecting the line.
I stood up, stretched, and went to find a couple of books to prop my iPad on while I played. God, I wasn’t ready to sing this song to her. How was I going to hide all my feelings I didn’t want her to know?
Stacking the books in a pile on my bed, I rested the iPad against them. Testing out the angle, I sat back on my bed, my guitar in hand. My face filled the screen, but if I kept my head down, concentrating on the strings, I could avoid making eye contact. Getting through the song would be hard enough. I didn’t need the allure of her dark eyes making things more difficult.
I reached over my guitar and tapped her name on the screen.
She answered. A giddy smile pulled at her lips, and my heart dropped into my stomach. God, she is beautiful. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. I wanted her to hear it in my song. But then I remembered her, and her dreams. And I hoped she didn’t hear my heart.
I steadied my voice, trying to pretend she had no effect on me, when clearly that wasn’t the case. I cleared my throat. “OK, I’m set up here. Can you hear me all right?”
She nodded, a brilliant smile lighting her face. “Perfectly.”
I smiled, too. I couldn’t help it. My body ached, I missed her so much. “It’s good to see you, Bean.”
“Ditto.” She exhaled.
I held her smiling eyes with mine for one more second, then looked down at my fingers. Strumming a couple of slow, steady chords, I returned my eyes to her, something I’d told myself I wouldn’t do. But her stare was magnetic, a pull I couldn’t withstand. She was my north, my way home.
I took a deep breath, ready to sing for her.
The words poured out of me. I prayed for her to understand what I felt for her. With our eyes locked on each other’s, my song bridged the thousand miles separating us. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand, a quiet, contented smile playing at her lips as she watched and listened. My body swayed with each strum, my fingers knew exactly where to be. And my mouth sang the words I’d never dared to speak. It was always easier to put my feelings into a song and bury my true emotions in metaphors.
On the screen Jillian swayed to the beat of the music, soaking in every note…every word. When my fingers rounded out the last chord, I didn’t dampen the strings right away. Instead I let them wrap around us, sealing us away from the rest of the world.
* * *
Are you busy tonight? I REALLY want to see you.
I read the words on the screen and my heart sank. Her winter break was in full swing; she’d been home for four days already. We hadn’t gotten to see each other at all. I wanted to see her more than anything, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold back how I felt. I would be selfish and take what I wanted…her. But if I could keep her at a d
istance, I wouldn’t ruin everything she’d accomplished. I couldn’t have that on my shoulders. So I made us both miserable and hid behind my work. I typed back, Jillibean, I’m so sorry. I can’t come over tonight. I’m at the studio until late.
I hit “Send,” hating myself.
In the recording room, Adam worked out the stiffness in his wrist. I hit the switch and the mics on the kit went live. Adam always liked to hear the playback. My phone buzzed with an incoming text. Jillian: No problem. I miss you.
I kept my response short. I didn’t want to run the risk of saying something that would cross the line. Because damn, I was so close to crossing that fucking line. I know. I miss you, too. I’m sorry.
Don’t be sorry. I’m proud of you!
Thanks, Bean. I’ll talk to you later.
Just as I hit “Send,” Adam finished playing, quieting the crash. He insisted on practicing in the recording booth, hoping Dane would change his mind and let him rerecord some of the tracks Nee had already finished. But Dane shot him down—not with the album coming out in two and a half weeks, a week after our NYE gig.
The album was finished and well into the postproduction stages. Dane hoped to create enough local buzz to boost album sales in the coming weeks. With Mine Shaft having released its first single a month ago—which was already sitting in the top twenty on iTunes—and a second scheduled for right before the concert, things were happening faster than Adam healed. When I played the acoustic song I’d written for Jillian, Dane had gone ape-shit, already lining up an acoustic EP to put out a month after our debut.
I was glad Dane knocked down Adam’s pleas to redo his tracks. My head was already spinning with the concert, the albums, and songwriting. Nee was by far the superior drummer and she’d done a hell of a job. But now that Adam’s wrist was healed, and Nee was packing to move out west, it was time for Adam to return to the throne.
He came into the booth, sweating like a pig. Nee made sweat look hot, Adam looked fucking disgusting. “Dude, I think there’s a puddle under the kit. Is it hot in there or something?”
Adam flipped me off. “I’m giving it all I got, man. Lay off,” he said, wiping a towel across his forehead and breathing heavily. “I think I’m ready, though.”
