Eyes Unveiled

by Crystal Walton

  Jaycee caught my gaze and held on. “It’s obvious you guys have a connection. I just want you to be careful. There’s been some talk.”

  I circled my spoon in the air when she stalled. “About?”

  She scooted her chair closer to the table and shifted her hands to her neck, to her lap, and finally onto the placemat. If she got any antsier, she’d knock over her coffee cup. “About Riley having a bit of a past.”

  My arched shoulders leveled out with an exhale. “I’m pretty sure we all have one of those. Kinda goes with the whole life-cycle thing.”

  “You know what I mean.” She twisted her necklace into a spiral. “I heard he lived in Nashville for a while. Got into some trouble that almost got him arrested.”

  Arrested? I dragged my spoon around the bottom of the bowl and tried to imagine Riley in trouble with the law. Maybe he did have a little darkness in his past. It might explain some of his melancholy music. But that could be what added depth to his artistry. What made him real, authentic. Part of what set him apart from any guy I knew. Part of why I was falling for him.

  She let go, and her necklace uncoiled. “Maybe you should ask him—”

  “And maybe you should leave it alone.” I pushed away from the table. My chair screeched with a resounding exclamation point. I snatched a handful of napkins from the center and dabbed them over the spilled milk and the words I wanted to take back.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.” I ran my hands over my hair, pushing it out of my face, off my neck. “I have a lot on my mind. I’m going to check my mail.” I could use some air. Or at least distraction.

  This time of day, the Campus Center turned into a revolving chain of frenzied students rushing between their classes. I scurried through the maze, squeezing through one free space to the next until I saw Miriam a few feet away.

  With a backpack twice her size hunching her forward, she glanced up from her loafers and looked right at me. My heel caught a snag in the floor and launched me straight into A. J.’s uncanny timing.

  “Better slow down, there, killer,” he said, clearly enjoying the opportune collision.

  Miriam continued advancing. I grabbed A. J.’s forearms. “Quick. Hide me.” My back hit the wall behind us. A. J. hovered above me with his palms flexed against the bricks on either side of my shoulders. I peered under his sleeve and caught Miriam’s gaze. Lowering her head again, she kept walking.

  A. J. leaned in. The bangs peeking out from under his turned-around basketball cap touched my forehead. “Who are we hiding from?” he whispered.

  Someone I couldn’t afford to get close to. Speaking of which . . . I ducked under his arm before he got the wrong impression again. “Don’t ask.”

  “Ok-ay.” The dragged-out word joined the noisy squeak his basketball shoes made over the tile.

  “Headed to the gym?” Like I had to ask.

  “I’m supposed to meet Trevor at one. Thought I better come a little early to warm up. You know how competitive he is.”

  That I did. We walked side by side toward the endless rows of student mailboxes mounted on the wall in the atrium.

  “You should come play a couple of games with us.” He flipped his Trailblazers ball cap off and tucked it onto my head. “You can be on my team.”

  In the two-inch heels I borrowed from Jaycee against my better judgment? Yeah, maybe not. “I’m not exactly dressed for basketball.”

  His gaze flashed over me like a strobe light. I snatched off his hat and shoved it over his face. He slipped the cap backward onto his head again. A mischievous grin regained its regular hold over his lips. I maneuvered around him, but he hopped in front of me. “Oh, c’mon, Em. Or are you worried you can’t hang on the basketball court?”

  My fists gravitated to my hips before he finished. “I’ll have you know, I nail my layups every time, thank you very much. But I wouldn’t want to rob Trevor of his enjoyment in beating you all by himself.”

  “Ohhh . . .” A. J. flung his hand over his chest to cover the blow my little faith in his basketball skills had landed to his pride. “So, that’s how it is? I’m hurt, Emma, really.”

  My eyes rolled with the same dramatization as the ones pouting at me. I unlocked my mailbox and withdrew a cluster of envelopes.

  “Fine,” he said, “we’ll ball another time. Come grab a quick bite with me instead. I’m going to need some energy if I’m going to prove you wrong about Trevor winning.”

  “That’s probably not such a good idea. Listen, A. J., about the other night after the campfire. I appreciate you staying to check on me. You’re sweet. But I hope—”

  “Easy, girl. A guy can only take so many blows in one day.”

  His smile eased the sting, but I hated seeing the strain it took to keep the playfulness in his voice.

  I twisted the stack of envelopes. “Maybe we could . . .”

  Riley strolled toward us, stealing my words, thoughts, movement.

  “Could what?” A. J. angled in front of me until he blinked into focus.

  I rubbed my arm. My coarse wool sweater burrowed into me right along with A. J.’s perplexed expression.

  Riley stopped beside us. The creases over A. J.’s forehead shifted again, pulling taut with the muscles in his neck. How could a bustling hallway be this quiet? I backed against the mailboxes. I should run now. Away from hurting A. J. and away from falling in love with Riley. It wasn’t fair to any of us.

  Riley budged his stare from A. J. to me. “What are you guys up to?”

  “Trevor and A. J. are gonna ball at one,” I said quickly.

  A. J. squeezed the bill of his hat, biceps twitching. “Wanna join the competition?”

  In Jaycee’s high heel boots, I shouldn’t have felt this small standing between them.

  Riley smiled curtly but didn’t rise to A. J.’s insinuation. “Actually, I’m heading back to my apartment to work on some music. I swung by campus to see if Emma wanted to help me.”

  The envelopes in my hand hit the tile and fanned across the floor. I scrambled to gather them into a stack and whirled up from the ground in time to see A. J.’s expression transition into a wall of indifference.

  “Well, you two have fun this afternoon.” He darted a chin flick at Riley, backed up with his hands in the air, and strutted to the exit, an athlete shaking off a lost match.

  Something prodded me to run after him, but Riley touched my arm, his unanswered request still hanging between us. “What do you say?”

  Help him with his music? I shoved the crumpled envelopes into my mail slat. “I think you’re overestimating my skill level. You’ve never heard me play. I might ruin it.”

  “Doubt that.” He lowered his head in front of mine. “Trust me, music’s a part of you. I can see it.”

  He made it so easy to believe. Too easy. I should probably listen to Jae and stay away from him, guard my heart. If I hadn’t already lost it. Riley’s lyrics answered that question.

  “Over doesn’t mean over when your heart’s afraid. But how long can I chase this song, this song of a runaway?”

  “Thought you weren’t crazy about playing in front of people.”

  His lips scrunched to one side. “Let’s just say, sometimes it’s nice to change up your audience.” He held out his hand. “C’mon.” Without expounding, he led me toward the exit. With my hand in his, no explanation mattered. You can only run for so long before you run out of excuses.

  chapter eleven

  Defenseless

  A five-minute drive shouldn’t leave my muscles tighter than an hour-long aerobics class. Then again, the gym didn’t smell like Riley’s shower-damp hair.

  As soon as the tires skimmed the curb in front of a short row of two-story brick apartments, I pried my fingers from my innocent seatbelt and jetted from the car into Oregon’s misty fresh air.

  At the door, Riley turned the key halfway in the deadbolt. “Brace yourself.”

  Hints of the shower he must’ve taken before coming to get me
billowed from inside¸ right before an adorable chocolate Lab pounced on me with the full force of the day’s pent-up energy.

  “Emma, meet Jake.” He squatted down and rubbed the dog behind both ears. “He gets a little excited when we have visitors.”

  The dog lapped his slippery tongue against the backs of my fingers. “I can see that.”

  “He’ll calm down in a minute.” Riley motioned toward a sliding glass door along the opposite side of the living room. “Would you mind letting him outside for me?” He tossed his keys onto a narrow table in the entryway. “I’ll grab us some waters.”

  Jake sprinted between both doors two times before I made it across a bare-walled room that would’ve put Jaycee in home-makeover heaven. But there was something to say for practicality over style. Something I could relate to. I tugged on the door handle. Snout first, Jake pushed the sliding door open wide enough to squirm through and darted outside.

  “I’m surprised you’re allowed to have a pet in an apartment.”

  “Yeah, I lucked out getting a landlord who’s a dog lover. Double bonus getting an apartment with a fenced-in backyard.” Riley peered around the edge of the hollow doorframe separating the kitchen and living room. “I’m gonna cut up a lime for my water. You want some?”

  “Sure.” Fresh limes? What college student kept fresh limes on hand? I thought a single guy’s kitchen was supposed to look like the rest of the bachelor pad. Sparse. Though, Riley’s pad didn’t exactly fit in the normal category. Instead of where someone would’ve typically placed a TV, he had an upright piano. Right beside it, a laminate bookcase with a bowed middle shelf leaned to one side. Obligation beside passion. Responsibility beside dreams. The same inner conflict I knew too well.

  It didn’t seem fair to feel this connected to him.

  I traced my fingers over the stretch of black and white keys. “I didn’t know you played the piano.” Was there anything he didn’t do?

  “I took lessons as a kid.”

  “Me, too, but I quit before I really got the hang of it.” One of many regrets added to a list of more than I cared to count.

  A half-emptied coffee mug dressed the piano top next to handwritten sheet music and two chewed-up pencils. “How long have you been writing your own music?”

  “Pretty much since I was old enough to talk. My dad got me into it.”

  “Your dad’s a musician too?” Something else we had in common.

  “Was. Got a little obsessed, though. He dragged my mom, my two little sisters, and me to Nashville when I was fifteen, hunting down the dream of getting signed.” The cutting board vibrated against the kitchen counter as he sliced. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about pursuing dreams, but sometimes you gotta learn when to let it go. There’s a difference between hopeful and delusional.”

  He had no idea.

  “Not that he wasn’t talented. He was. Determined too. But he couldn’t accept he didn’t have what the record labels were looking for. And his family took the brunt of it.” The edge in his voice could’ve replaced the knife. “I used to think the pain of rejection was worse than the pain of regret. I’m not so sure anymore.”

  The room fell silent.

  “He drove me hard with my music lessons, but I was never good enough for him. Always said I was too passionate when I played. ‘People can’t respect you if you can’t control your own emotions,’” he recited in what must’ve been his dad’s tone.

  Not good enough? I spotted his guitar stand beside a faux leather recliner that looked like it might’ve been dark brown once. How could anyone think Riley’s music didn’t measure up? I jumped at the sound of the blade colliding with the cutting board again.

  “I finally snapped when I was seventeen. Busted the guitar he bought me in half and didn’t pick up another one until after I came here and tried to remember what it was like to play without anyone to approve or disapprove, no ulterior motive. Just the free feeling of music. It’s been, well, let’s just say it’s been more than a little challenging. I’d almost given up on falling in love with it again. Until recently,” he added softly.

  I lifted up a picture frame from the piano top. His two sisters, I assumed. “I bet it was hard to live under your dad’s disappointment, but I hope his experience hasn’t discouraged you from pursuing your own dreams. You’re two different people.” His path would lead to a different outcome than his father’s had. I was sure of it. “Believe me, I know how much it costs to hope, but have you ever thought about just going for it?”

  “Once,” he said, “a long time ago.” A cynical laugh echoed off the kitchen walls into the living room. “Your arms get weary when you keep them stretched toward something that’ll always be out of reach.”

  I hugged my own weary arms to my sides, the pain in his words all too familiar.

  “At this point, it’s time to sober up. I’ll graduate in the spring and get a normal job like everyone else.”

  Like me? Something flared in my chest. “You’re just going to settle? You can’t. You’re too talented. You can’t give up and do something you’re not even passionate about. Think what a loss it would be for everyone you could touch with your music.”

  Even if he had never been able to please his father, had his perception of himself become so skewed that he couldn’t see how amazing he was? I set the picture down and turned, almost running right into him. The intensity in his eyes cranked my heart higher up my throat.

  He handed me my water without lowering his gaze. “You’re flattering, but I don’t have what it takes to get a record deal. Even if I did, I can’t go down that road.”

  “That’s your dad talking.” I clamped my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I hate to see the pressure your father put on you affect the way you see yourself. You have a real gift. I felt it the first time I heard you play. I don’t have a single doubt in my mind that a record label would jump at the opportunity to sign you. But I shouldn’t have assumed . . .”

  His eyes smoldered above his royal blue pullover. “No, it’s fine. It just catches me off guard sometimes. The way you can read me so easily. It’s like every shield I normally have up is defenseless against you.”

  He didn’t move an inch, but his expression did, consuming me with feelings that rushed down my whole body and launched me toward the corduroy couch.

  The cushion dipped beside me a second later.

  I gulped down half my water, rubbed my moist palms over my jeans, and faced him before I lost my courage. “I promise I’m not trying to overstep my bounds. And I won’t pretend to understand the scars your dad left on you. But I do know how it feels to wake up every day to doubts. I think, sometimes, believing in someone else is easier than believing in yourself.”

  Without thinking twice, I rested my hand on his knee. “I believe in you. I know you don’t see it—I knew when I heard you play at Nuts and Jolts that you didn’t see it—but you’re an amazing artist. You were made for this. I hope one day you’ll be able to see all you have to offer.”

  Riley leaned closer. Something unspoken burned in the way his focus fell on my lips. I withdrew my hand, the affectionate touch all of a sudden registering. He scooted back and downed his entire glass of water. The empty cup’s clink onto the coffee table absorbed the groan I hadn’t meant to release. Why was being this close to him so hard?

  He ran his hands along the cushion’s grooves, exhaled. A minute later, he led me up from the couch and guided me toward the recliner. “Come here.” He cleared off a pile of papers from the ottoman, motioned for me to take a seat, and retrieved his guitar from its stand.

  From what he’d told me about his dad, no wonder he didn’t like to perform. “You don’t have to play for me.”

  He straddled the chair arm. “It’s different with you. I’m not performing—I’m living.”

  His fingers kissed the strings, his gaze fixed on me as he sang. “Can we stay right here, in this sweet refrain, where memories last and tears don’t
stain?

  “Can we stay right here, in this timeless space, where hope is a song and love is a place?

  “How do you hold on to a world where you don’t belong?

  “How do you stay away from a dream that calls your name?

  “Can we stay right here, for just a little longer?”

  The emotion fueling his voice wrapped itself around me. This was home. Where I belonged. No matter how hard I tried to heed Jaycee’s warning, I’d already lost. Whatever Riley’s past held didn’t frighten me. The grasp I was losing on my heart did.

  Jake clawed at the glass door and cut Riley off. The sharp noise sent a quiver all the way down my body to the legs on the ottoman.

  “Sorry about that,” Riley said on his way to the door. “He’s usually my only audience.”

  Something clicked. “So, that’s what you meant about needing a change of audience. I’m honored to have sat in his place today.” I wiped the dog hair from the seat of my pants. “That song was amazing, by the way. You definitely don’t need any help from me.”

  A quiet laugh blended into an enigmatic expression. “Except you’ve already helped write it,” he half-whispered.

  What did he mean? Jake barreled inside the second Riley inched the door open. My unfamiliar scent must have been some sort of magnet. He bolted across the room on a mission to sniff me inch by inch. I could’ve kissed him for interrupting, wet nose or not.

  “Get over here, Jake.” In trained obedience, the dog flanked Riley’s side, panting with the energy of a puppy. “Don’t worry. He’ll get used to you. You’ll just have to come around more often.”

  And withstand that smile? Apparently, my guitar skills weren’t the only thing he overestimated. I fled to my abandoned glass of water on the coffee table with the hope of dousing the fire he stirred inside me. I dabbed the cool condensation from the glass onto my cheeks and neck, then yanked my sweater sleeves up my forearms.

  Riley materialized next to me and stretched his guitar in my direction. “Your turn.”

  I choked on my water halfway through a swallow. Like I could follow his flawless performance. “Think I’ll pass.”