by BT Urruela
He looks stunned, his mouth wide, as if my words were in a foreign language. Either that, or they were the worst thing he’s ever been told.
“Got it?” I repeat. He nods his head very, very slowly.
The rest of the drive back to the Watson house is pleasantly quiet.
It’s been four days since Xander and I spent time on the dock. Four days since our first kiss. Four days since I felt my heart grab hold of him.
We haven’t seen each other much, other than at family dinner where conversations are mostly generic and light, and flirty eyes pass between us at all available moments. Caleb has seemed to lighten up lately, which doesn’t necessarily mean he’s been pleasant, but he eats now at least.
I’ve wanted to spend more time with Xander alone, but he’s been working late with Dad every evening and passing out soon after dinner. I can only assume he is scared shitless about my little open mic request, but it hasn’t stopped me from putting Post-it note reminders on the guesthouse door. And in the guesthouse. And on his truck door.
That man is playing. I don’t care what I have to do.
As I position another post it against the guesthouse door—my last day to do so before Whittaker’s open mic night—I hear the rustle of Xander’s work boots against the gravel driveway behind me. I turn and his beautiful smile greets me, looking more effervescent than usual from the contrast of his deepening tan. The dirty wife beater clings tightly to his abs, the sweat making it almost see-through. It takes everything I have not to stare; or not to stare that much at least.
“Did I catch you off guard there, stealthy?” He smiles again, seeming to not notice my sudden hot flash—or at least giving me the courtesy of not pointing it out.
“You’ve been avoiding me, mister.” I shake a finger at him, stepping down from the guesthouse porch, trailing the porch rail with my finger.
“No, ma’am. I’ve just been busy. I have a job to do, you know.” He stands just before me, eyes glancing at the back door of the main house.
“They aren’t here. You know that.” Am I being too flirtatious? What if he’s avoiding me for reasons other than the open mic night? What if he regrets the kiss?
Before my thoughts get the better of me, Xander takes me into his arms and looks into my eyes. He stares for a moment and what should be awkward feels far too comfortable.
He doesn’t just look at me. It’s like he sees right through me.
Xander kisses me, softly at first. Just lips. A little tongue now, and it’s like electricity travels back and forth from my mouth to his. His hands slide down to my ass, settling there, then he pulls me into him. A gasp escapes my mouth, but he kisses me even harder and longer. An ache takes hold.
He breaks the kiss and pulls me inside the guesthouse, closing the door behind him. His hands brace my hips firmly, but he pushes me carefully against the door. He grabs my wrists and pulls them above my head, holding both of my hands with one of his own. His other hand cradles my face. He kisses me again making everything below my knees feel useless.
For what is probably only five minutes—but feels like much longer—he kisses me, his hands touching the skin beneath my shirt. He fights to keep them from where his hands shouldn’t go. But where I want them so damn bad.
I don’t want him to fight it, but I’m glad that he has the willpower to. This man’s restraint is impressive.
He pulls his lips away from me slowly, and all I can do is stay right where I am, eyes closed, resting in his arms and my lips ready for his.
“I’ll sing tomorrow.”
My eyes open instantly. “Are you serious?”
He leans in so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips. “For you…” he breathes the words against my mouth, “and only for you. But you have to sit right in the center of the bar, so any time I get nervous, I can look at you.”
Just take my fucking heart, damn it.
I grab his cheeks and pull him in for another kiss.
“You don’t even have to ask. I’m there. I’ll always be there,” I say, kissing him again, pouring every ounce of promise into it. Then I reluctantly leave the guesthouse, since my parents will be back shortly.
His hand fidgets against my leg nervously, his guitar case held tightly between his legs. As we make our way to Whittaker’s, I can see another pep talk is in order. I find him irresistibly cute when he’s nervous. To see this man who’s obviously strong become so vulnerable is quite endearing.
I place my hand on his and squeeze it lightly, drawing his attention. He looks at me, catches my wide smile and shoots me a nervous smirk in return.
“You’re going to do great, Xander. I have no doubt.”
He laughs genuinely and says, “That makes one of us!” The laugh fades and he picks at the edges of his aged case.
“Stop! You’re going to kill it. I’ve heard you before, remember? Just play as if only for me.”
He looks at me, his eyes sincere. Grabbing my hand, he pulls it slowly toward his lips as I park the car in Whittaker’s lot. I’m trying my best to keep my attention on the lot and not his perfect lips meeting my skin.
Goosebumps race across my skin. Little hairs stand on end. He stirs a heart that’s been idle for quite some time and it’s hard to make sense of it all.
He pulls my hand from his mouth and then places it on his knee. Smiling, he says, “Right in the middle, remember?”
“I won’t move a muscle.” I wink and hop out of the car, my heart still pounding in my chest. Xander follows soon after.
The crowd is light for an open mic Friday night, but I’ve been coming here long enough to know it won’t stay this way. I won’t let Xander in on that though.
He makes a beeline for the bar where Brandi waits impatiently, a goofy smile spread across her face. Xander orders two Jamesons and a Coors as his nervous eyes flit around the stage at the other end of the bar where amps, cords and mics are being set up. He downs both Jamesons in the time it takes him to pass me my Coors.
I see Bryson Whittaker, the owner of this establishment, emerge from a back office and I meet him near the bar. He lets me know Xander will be fourth up, which causes my stomach to churn a little. Whittaker’s will be busier by then.
I meet Xander back over by the bar as he downs another shot of Jameson. His guitar is tucked against the bar behind a stool as if he hoped no one would see it. My hand touches his back and glides up to his shoulder. I give it a good squeeze or two.
“Don’t be nervous. And don’t be so drunk you can’t play.”
He glares at me with a playful smirk fighting to break through. “Woman, you know three shots of Jameson for me is just a warmup.” Just as he says this, Brandi brings another shot. He looks at me guilty.
“You’re going up in like forty minutes, I remind him. “Just relax.” His eyes go wide and he quickly throws back the shot that was just placed before him.
“Xander!” I say as sternly as I can.
“Alright. Alright. I’m good now.” He motions to Brandi for one more as if I’m not right in front of him, then acts surprised when he turns to see my best ‘what do you think you’re doing’ look.
“Just one more.” He puts both hands together and pretends to plead with me.
“Xander, you have as many as you want. I’m not your mom. But I don’t want to hear it when you’re too drunk to sing and you’re booed off stage.”
“Nah, I’m good. Promise.” He takes the shot, slamming it quickly back down to the bar top, and he exhales loudly. It’s not long before he catches my scowl. His cockeyed smile and glazed over eyes make it apparent my look isn’t going to be very effective.
That look. That look right there is exactly why Paige hasn’t left my mind for weeks. The little pout, the darting eyebrows, the judging eyes. They’re certainly intended to be serious, but it just makes my damn heart explode.
The corner of her mouth quivers, a sure sign that a smile is dying to break loose.
“Just one more, I sw
ear,” I say in my best little kid voice. The liquor is kicking in, drowning out all apprehension of singing in front of others—for now, at least. The only thing I can even see in this moment is Paige. Everything else around me is just a blur.
“One more, mister. That’s it!” She turns and heads toward one of several small tables in front of the stage. Right in the middle, like I asked. An employee taps the mic and calls out a slow 1-2-3. A confident, long-haired country singer type stands backstage looking out among the crowd as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Lucky fuck.
Paige glances back at me. Lifting an eyebrow, she shoves the other chair out with her foot, inviting me to join her. Reluctantly, I do.
The first three acts are good. Really good. And as I wait for them to call me to the stage for my go at it, I feel as if the blood just might burst from the top of my head. A lump sits heavy in my throat, so much that it makes it hard to swallow. Paige’s hand sits on my knee, squeezing, as it has been for the first three sets. It does little to quell the nerves that make me feel as if I may spontaneously combust at any moment.
I hear my name called. I know it’s my name, but it sounds distorted, like it’s coming from a mile away. I don’t move. My eyes are fixated on the center of the small oak table. Maybe if I stare long enough I’ll disappear.
Paige squeezes my knee and then nudges me with her elbow.
“Xander,” she says, “you’re up.”
I still don’t move. Panic sets in. I can feel a tight constriction in my chest. My breathing feels thick and arduous.
“Xander, baby, you’re up.” I snap out of my daze and look over at Paige. She appears genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” I wipe a sleeve across my forehead and rise to my feet, grabbing my guitar case from the ground.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to do this. We can leave.” I look into her eyes. Nothing but sincerity and concern. I’m drunk enough to block out everything else now. All I have to do is focus on her.
“I got this. I’m only singing for you, right? And you’ll stay right here? Right where you are until I’m done?”
“I won’t move a muscle, babe.” She winks then brings both hands together to welcome me to the stage. After a brief hesitation, I make my ascent. A few of the other patrons join her in clapping, making the bar not seem completely depressing, but most sit back with blank stares on their faces and an air of arrogance surrounding them. I fight to block them out. I try to see only her.
Once on the stage, the lights are bright and hot as hell, though I can’t say whether it’s the nerves or the lights making me sweat so profusely. Peering through the beams of light out at the crowd, I can’t see anything in particular, just distorted figures. Has it been an hour I’ve been up here? It sure fucking feels like it right now.
I strum a chord awkwardly. Feedback from the amps causes the crowd, which seems to have doubled in size since we got here, to release a collective groan. There’s a random ‘you got this’ from the crowd. Then I hear heckling from the back of the room. I squint through the stage lights to see Cody and Benji leaning against the bar, beers in one hand, the other cupped to their mouths. My heart sinks. As if this could get any worse.
I strum again and it sounds just as awkward. Apparently, my nerves have overtaken my fingers. It feels as if they aren’t even a part of me anymore. Benji boos loudly. Just as I’m about to retreat back down the stage, I finally spot Paige just where I left her, looking sweetly up at me.
Feeling in my fingers returns. My heart slows. The crowd around her completely disappears this time. It’s only the two of us in the guesthouse. I’m singing for her—and only her. I repeat the words as if they are my mantra. I strum again, perfectly this time. The beautiful sound fills the bar, bouncing from wall to wall, silencing the crowd.
Another chord. Flawless. I’m regaining control. I complete the intro and transition right into the first verse. As I prepare to sing, it feels like the words may never escape my lips. But they do. And they do for her.
I’ve found my way through.
Caught the waves, the ocean blue
I lose myself sometimes too,
But I am me.
Here I am.
Benji and Cody heckle louder now. After a quick snap of her head in their direction, Paige looks to me again and smiles. It’s all I need to continue.
I’ve found my way to you.
Somehow, still so lost, still so confused.
But if I could be that man for you.
That’s what I’ll be
Here I am.
It’s in the way she looks at me.
Her eyes, they see things I can’t see.
Her faith brings out the best in me.
So here I am.
It’s in my past, this path, unkept.
And after all the tears and questions left
You were there
So here I am.
I finish the song and wait for an onslaught of boos. I can see it so clearly in my head. They’ll boo me until I’m laughed off the stage. I’ll hang my head, pick up the pieces of my shattered dignity and drag my ass back to the house. But there are no boos beyond the two idiots in the back. In fact, the applause is more than I could have ever imagined. My focus is only on one person in this room though, and her smile, wide as can be, is like a lighthouse through a storm. It’s clarity.
It’s everything.
My time is up, but the crowd wants an encore. I spot the bar owner watching from the side of the stage and he gives me the okay. Benji and Cody’s boos have gotten progressively louder in an effort to drown out the applause and calls for more. My eyes dart in their direction and I glare, then smile because I know exactly what to play.
“This one’s for the two dumbasses in the back. To everyone else, thanks for your kindness. I’ve never done anything like this before.” I wink at my two ‘friends’ by the bar and begin strumming again. They’ve stopped booing and now look as if they may rush the stage at any moment. I know they won’t, though. Damn, how I wish they would.
Have I been here far too long now?
There’s no respect here anymore.
And if I tell you that I’m leaving,
Would it be like it was before?
We can’t all be perfect too.
You’ve kept that crown for a while.
If you knew what I’ve lived through.
Would you still be in denial?
I’ve felt these four walls close around me.
Hands clenched tightly ‘round my neck.
I’ve felt the weight of all your bullshit.
And taken it from off my back.
We can’t all be just like you,
But we can wear your plastic smile.
I could bullshit my way through too,
But I could never touch your style…
I finish the song with a round of applause. The nerves I felt before have now given way to a near euphoria. A box is checked on the bucket list and, more importantly, I have the desire to do it again. And I owe it all to one girl.
I find Paige in the crowd. She stands and claps wildly. I make my way toward her as the next musician takes the stage. In one fluid motion, I drop my guitar case, sweep her into my arms and carelessly kiss her. I don’t know for how long. I don’t know who’s watching. I just know that never have I had a moment so perfect in my life, a natural high that seems to surge throughout my body.
“You wanna get out of here?” I whisper into her ear. She nods, the smile still stamped on her face.
Just as we exit the bar, I’m pushed from behind, nearly falling face first to the pavement. I stumble but catch myself and turn to see Cody with balled up fists and gritted teeth.
“Motherfucker, you think you can come into my town and pull some bullshit MMA games on me, insult me and take my girl? Do you know who the fuck you are dealing with?” Cody’s face has turned a shade of red I haven’t seen since my father’s when he’d
beat on my mom in a heroin-induced rage. I need to get Paige out of here.
“Listen, you hit me first. I came to your trailer to talk, not fight. That shit’s on you. You came in tonight and started heckling me. I’m not playing these games with you, man.” The multiple shots begin to make peaceful resolve an improbability. The more I look at him, the more I want to fuck his world up.
“Two things you gotta remember. This town…”—I point to the main street behind us—“is not yours. And she”—I gesture at Paige—“is not your girl.”
Cody’s lackey blocks the door with his back keeping anyone from coming out. I hand my guitar case to Paige and motion toward the Chevelle.
“Are you sure?” she asks, hesitating.
“Yeah, babe.” She heads toward the car, but Cody takes a few steps along with her. I do the same, acting as a blockade between them. I follow her all the way to the car until she’s able to get in.
Suddenly, Cody’s bloodshot eyes shift from me to the road behind us. His tense shoulders drop a bit. His balled hands unfurl. I glance back, keeping him in my peripheral, and see what caught his attention. A police cruiser drives by slowly, and the cop’s eyes are locked on us. I see my exit. Though I’d like to wreck this guy—both of them for that matter—I have to be smart.
I climb into the passenger side and Paige immediately backs out of the parking spot. Cody still eyeballs the cruiser as it creeps along, and then he looks back at us, cursing under his breath. I smile and flash a middle finger as they fade in the rearview.
We’re only minutes from the house when the liquor that gave me the confidence to perform takes a turn for the worse. It takes a hard fucking right turn. My head seems to melt into the seat cushion. My limbs are cooked noodles.
