It wasn’t long before they’d gotten hungry, so they’d ordered pizza from the Italian joint next door, which they paired with sodas from the hotel vending machine. Between the two of them, they downed forty-eight ounces of caffeinated sugar and a medium supreme hold the mushrooms.
Lacy took one more nibble of her slice before she threw the crust into the box and shut the lid. With an exaggerated sigh, she fell back against the leg of the loveseat, hands on her belly. “I’m so stuffed, I may need to be rolled out of here.”
Leaning against the bed across from her, Eli shrugged. “Or you could just stay.”
She froze. What did that mean? Was it a come-on? Or was she misreading? Did she want it to be a come-on? Was she too full to be sexy? Maybe she did want it to be a come-on. Her stomach flipped at the idea. And not exactly an uncomfortable flip. More like a somersault—an easy roll that quietly set all her nerves on alert.
Before she had to think about it too long, Eli added, “We can talk a bit while the food settles.”
“Okay. Sure. I’m good with that.” Then not a come-on. She was almost disappointed. “Go ahead. Talk.”
He laughed as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well. Tell me about yourself.”
She practically rolled her eyes. Trite, wasn’t that? But she played along. “Like what?”
“Like anything. Come on, this is good. But nothing musical. Nothing work related.”
Nothing musical. That took out pretty much her whole life. What did she have left after that? “Um, let’s see. I have a sister. Andy. She’s my best friend.”
Maybe this could be fun. It was exactly the opposite from talking to Folx. There, the only thing they could talk about was their art. It had been so long since she’d talked to anyone about the basics, after all. Maybe she was overdue.
“A sister.” Eli nodded. “Okay, we’re getting somewhere. Older or younger?”
“Older.” Lacy thought about her sibling and their roles for a moment. “But a lot of the time she acts younger.”
“In what way?” He was probably being polite, but he actually sounded like he was interested.
“She’s just … not very nurturing.” That probably wasn’t fair to Andy. Still, it was the truth.
Eli tilted his head. “Hmm. Do you expect that from her?”
“Not necessarily.” Lacy scooted back so she was sitting more upright. “But she wants to be nurturing. Our parents died when I was in high school, so I think she thinks she’s supposed to be a substitute parent. Only most of the time, it’s me doing the parenting.” They’d been that way as long as she could remember—Andy impulsive and indulgent, Lacy quiet and low-maintenance. It wasn’t fair that their parents’ deaths had forced Andy to try to fit a role she’d never been made for. A role Lacy had never expected her to take.
Hmm. Maybe she should tell that to her some time.
“Man, that sucks. Car accident?” Eli picked the meat off a slice of pizza, but kept his eyes on hers.
Lacy was used to the charity looks she got from mentioning her childhood heartache. She was also used to topic changes or avoidance tactics. Eli’s encouragement to say more along with his focused gaze—that was new. That threw her off guard.
She stumbled a bit over her next words. “Um. Cancer. Ovarian. Mom, anyway. Dad followed a year later with a heart attack.”
“God, that’s shitty. Really shitty.” He took a deep breath, as if taking in the magnitude of her pain. As if attempting to share it with her for the briefest of seconds. When he let it out, he shoved his hand through his hair and offered a kind expression blessedly empty of pity. “I’m sorry, Lacy. No wonder you write.”
“Gotta capture the pain, right?” She forced a laugh that did nothing to lessen the gravity of the conversation. Surprisingly, the depth of the topic didn’t bother her as much as she would have thought. But it did feel rather one-sided. “Your turn. Siblings?”
Eli shaped his hand to make a zero. “Nada.”
“You’re an only child?” This was unexpected. Most of the only children that Lacy had met were self-centered, obnoxious know-it-alls. Huge generalization, but it was quite often a shoe that fit.
“Lonely only. That’s me.” Eli elongated the vowel in lonely and only in a way that made him appear younger and probably worked to bleed the hearts of many a woman.
Lacy wouldn’t let him get away with that. She’d had real heartache—she wasn’t going to give him credit for a pretend one. She put on her best snark. “Ah, no wonder you write. No one else to talk to, huh?”
“Whatever. I had friends.” His smile faded. “And a dad. Who liked to hit.”
And she’d misjudged him again. “Not good. You win. Child abuse trumps dead parents.” Not that it was a contest. It was simply her way of saying she acknowledged his pain even though she couldn’t identify with it.
Eli shrugged. “It wasn’t abuse. It was ‘tough love.’ I honestly didn’t have it as rough as some kids. I simply found life was better if I stayed out of his way.”
Then he wasn’t seeking pity at all. He was just sharing. Lacy really needed to work on her communication skills. If she learned that she misread everyone as often as she had tonight, she might find she liked people better in general. How was it she was related to Miss-Intuition-Andy.
But beyond her minor epiphany, she wondered at Eli’s ability to talk about the worst parts of his life, to share them without any embarrassment or show. There was talent in that. Perhaps she could learn from him.
Unusually eager to hear more about him, she pushed him. “Pop wasn’t a musician?”
“Nope. It was a talent I got from Mom.” His eyes narrowed as he pointed a long finger at Lacy. “And we’re not supposed to be talking about music. What else about you?”
Eli put his hands over his head, fingers laced, and stretched.
God, he had nice biceps. And triceps. All his ’ceps were good.
“I don’t know. Um.” It was suddenly hard to think. It was also warmer than it had been only a minute ago. She took a sip of soda to focus her or cool her off or buy her time. A refreshing swallow later, she said, “Andy’s getting married in a couple months. She lives with me now, but, obviously, she’ll move out.”
“Then what?”
Lacy put her hands up in a shrug. “She’ll probably get pregnant and have three kids and a nanny. Blake’s rich.” Thank God for that too, because Lacy couldn’t imagine her sister being a parent without any guidance. Though, to her credit, Andy would make an awfully doting mother. Which might be nice. If you were a kid that liked doting.
Eli frowned. “Not ‘then what’ her, ‘then what’ you?”
“Oh.” Lacy frowned too. She hadn’t really thought about it. How would her life change when Andy moved out? Well, the house would be quiet. That thought saddened her a little. She’d have to handle the rent on her own, which was going to be hard on her current income. “I don’t really know, actually. I guess if I don’t get enough gigs, I may have to go back to waiting tables.”
“You don’t make a living on your music?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
She liked that. “I was starting to. I’ve been doing studio work to supplement what I get from playing live, but my hours got cut recently.”
“You need to do another album.”
“I have one booked. Already paid for too.” That was the great thing about working in the studio. Darrin took a part of each paycheck and held it toward her scheduled sessions. Of course, without any new songs, a new album wouldn’t be happening. But that wasn’t something she wanted to bring up with Eli. He looked at her like she was a real artist, and it made her feel good. She didn’t want him to see her for the fake she really was.
“Great! A new album of your stuff will book you gigs easy. No waiting tables for you. Hell. You’re way too good for that.” Eli seemed so confident. It almost made it easy for her to believe it as well.
It was her turn to ask him something personal, but she was t
oo wrapped up in her last thought, and he beat her to the punch. “What about a significant other for you?”
And what a punch it was.
“What—do you mean do I have a man?” She knew exactly what he meant though. She was stalling.
He shrugged. “Or a woman.”
She shook her head, briefly thinking of Folx and when she’d asked him the question in very nearly the same way. “I have neither.”
“No one?” Eli poked at her shin with his toe. “There has to be someone. Pretty girl like you.”
Ah, he was flirting. A little bit anyway.
“Nope. No one … at this moment.” She was enjoying the flirting. Really enjoying the flirting.
“Huh. That’s surprising.” He grinned.
She loved the way his smile lit every part of his face. “There was someone. A fiancé, actually. But…”
Her voice trailed off as she tried to picture Lance’s face. She could only conjure up his eyes. How quickly the dead disappeared. She’d lost her parents … she should know this, shouldn’t she? Somehow, she’d thought that Lance would be different. That she’d always carry him with her, even if she didn’t try. But his fading scent on his pillow was the realest he’d been to her in months.
“But…?” Eli prodded.
Lacy looked up, having forgotten for a second that she’d been speaking out loud, and forgetting for another two seconds what it was she’d even said.
Then she remembered. Ah, but …
She wasn’t sure she should talk about Lance. Wasn’t sure she could talk about him. Mostly because she hadn’t talked about him at all since his death. Not to anyone. Even Andy. Part of her said that she was saving it all for the songs that were buried within her. Another part of her knew the truth—she was chickenshit.
But she didn’t feel so chickenshit at the moment. Not with Eli’s kind eyes and seemingly genuine interest. His room felt like a safe place. She decided to test the waters, try out the words she’d been holding onto. What did she have to lose?
Letting out a deep breath, she said, “But he died. A year ago. Overdose.”
“Jesus,” Eli muttered, surprised. “Accidental?”
Lacy flicked her gaze from the carpet pattern she was studying up to Eli’s face, gauging his reaction. His expression was sympathetic, for sure, but not full of pity like she’d expected. Like the looks she’d received from so many other people. It gave her strength to go on. “No. It was on purpose.”
“My God. I don’t know what to say. What happened?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I mean, I do know some things. He’d had an injury on his knee—Lance was a runner—and he was prescribed some pain pills for that. And one day, he just took the whole bottle.”
“Was he in that much pain?”
“Not physically. But I guess he was emotionally. Lance was probably the happiest person I’d ever met. He was funny and lighthearted and optimistic. About everything. He could make cockroaches seem necessary. There was always a silver lining and he never failed to see it.
“Except, then he was dead on our bathroom floor. And I realized all that other stuff was just … talk.” She considered for a moment.
“No, I don’t mean that. It wasn’t talk. It was sincere. He really made life better with his attitude. For me, anyway. And other people around him. My guess is he gave away so much … that he didn’t have any left for himself.” It was the most heartbreaking thing about the whole situation, knowing how often she’d lain in his arms and soaked up all his optimism about their future, never giving anything back to him to hold onto in his own moments of uncertainty.
When Eli moved closer and put his arm around her, she knew for sure it wasn’t a come-on. It was a comfort. “Wow. I’m … I have no words.”
Funny, neither did she. “I don’t expect you to have any. It’s what it is.”
“Did he leave a note?”
She leaned back into him a little. Was she that lonely for touch? Or was it just the quiet strength she was drawing from him that let her open up like this? “Yeah. It was short. Said he’d been sad and fighting depression for a decade. Said he couldn’t do it any longer.” She smiled at the irony of the next bit. “Said he knew I’d be just fine without him.”
“Are you?” Eli pulled back a little so he could look her directly in the eyes.
“Yeah. I really am. More fine than I should be, probably. I promised myself that I wasn’t going to let his brightness die with him, so I’ve focused on the things that he did and believed in that made life nice. You know?” She smiled.
He nodded, and she wasn’t sure if he was honestly agreeing with her or if he was quietly disagreeing.
Maybe her answer had seemed a bit far-fetched. She clarified. “Of course, I have regrets. Who doesn’t? I regret that I didn’t know. How did I not know? I mean, we lived with each other. I was planning on marrying this guy. How did I not see that he was in such horrid pain? Doesn’t that make me the shittiest of all girlfriends?”
“Uh, no. Not in the least.” He shifted, letting his arm fall, and she immediately missed it. But she was too enrapt in his words and the way his gaze was piercing into hers, warming her in ways his touch hadn’t. “Actually, it kind of makes him the shittiest of all boyfriends, if you ask me.”
Well, maybe she didn’t like his words quite as much as she thought she did.
Eli shook his head. “I’m sorry, and not to speak ill of the dead, but isn’t a relationship about letting each other in? Letting one another know all the good and the bad and the ugly and the bullshit? That’s what love is in my book. And that’s fabulous that he wanted your life to be all roses and rainbows and unicorns, but that’s not real. It’s not fair. And it’s particularly not fair that he instructed you to have those things even knowing that you were going to be the one to find—sorry. I’m totally out of line.”
“You’re not.” These were things she’d thought herself, often enough. And she’d opened the door for him to speak, so what did she expect? It didn’t mean she was totally comfortable hearing it. That was why she usually closed that door in her own mind.
But Eli wasn’t being mean. And he had no loyalty to Lance’s memory like she did. And maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let someone tell her that he had been a selfish prick to do what he did.
She softened her expression, and Eli took that opportunity to say more. “It just seems like, yeah, you’re doing fine. But maybe you could be doing more than fine. If you forgave yourself for something that wasn’t even your fault in the first place.”
Her breath tripped. He’d nailed something there. Hit it square on the head.
Eli gave a no-more gesture with his hand. “That’s it. I’m done. Like I said, I’m out of line and I’m done now.”
“It’s fine. And maybe it’s spot-on. I have to mull it over a bit.” Or a lot. Or not at all, maybe. Some piece of her broken heart had fallen back into place at Eli’s words, recognizing their truth.
He squeezed her thigh, another compassionate gesture. But with it came the itch of awareness that crawled up her skin, sending her hair to stand and goose bumps to form.
God, where on earth had she taken this conversation? Hadn’t they been flirting earlier? How did she get back to that? “Hey, thank you by the way.”
“For completely telling you your life even though I just met you?” His hand dropped from her thigh and all she could think was put it back, put it back.
But she tried to remain cool as a cucumber. “Well, for listening and feeling comfortable enough to speak your mind. And for not being all ‘poor Lacy’ about it. I am sick to death of that shtick.”
“Oh, no. I don’t do ‘poor me.’ You want pity, call … I don’t know. “He chuckled. “Call someone else.”
“Call my sister.” Lacy giggled. Andy would be beside herself right now, knowing that one of the potential bad boys she was on tour with had become her new confidante.
“Yeah, call her. But don’t call her r
ight now. I’m enjoying your company too much at the moment.” He pulled her a little closer, and she wasn’t so sure anymore if it was comfort or come-on.
She sort of wanted it to be the latter. “And I’m enjoying yours.” Tentatively she laid her head on his shoulder. He didn’t pull away. “Or I was before it got all heavy.”
“Then let’s lighten it.” And the moment turned into something else.
Eli moved away to pick up his banjo. “Shall we?”
Lacy hesitated for only a second before reaching for Lucky. Though the mood had gotten weighty, as she’d said, she felt surprisingly lighter. Looser. Unbound. It was … nice, actually. More than fine.
She crossed her legs, her skirt settling around her as she set her guitar in her lap and tuned. “What are we playing, boss?”
“Anything we want.”
They spent the next hour or more—Lacy wasn’t exactly sure about the time at this point—playing through songs they liked and admired, jamming between swigs of 7Up.
“Minor, minor!” Eli shouted as they played through a rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way. “Play it slow and in minor.”
Lacy laughed as she slowed her tempo and changed her G chord to an E minor. The song was suddenly sad and mournful. “Oh, God. That’s so depressing.”
“Then, then!” Eli sat up excitedly and leaned across the pizza box to press a string on the neck of her guitar. “Add the nine. See? See?!”
“It’s not even the same song anymore,” she said laughing so hard she could barely get her words out. He was about the cutest thing she’d ever seen. How come more musicians didn’t express their joy in the process? It was like there was an unwritten law that said everyone had to pretend art was hard and miserable.
“Isn’t it? You only changed the atmosphere of it. The basics are still there. It’s called a fresh arrangement, Songbird.” His tone was teasing, not condescending.
“Songbird?” she asked as she continued to move through the refrain, playing the changes he’d suggested.
Love Struck Page 9
