Love Exactly

by Cassandra Giovanni

  When the song ended the crowd roared to life screaming for more. Evan had to lift his arms up to quiet them.

  “One last song?” Evan asked, and the crowd answered in unison. I even found myself screaming for more. I looked over at the bouncer, his arms crossed as he smirked at me.

  “What?” I asked and he shrugged his answer, still smiling.

  I turned back as Evan began to tap his foot. The rest of the band wasn’t playing behind him; it was just him and his guitar. As he strummed Fields of Gold the rest of the room seemed to disappear; for a moment it was just him and I. When he finished the song the crowd broke out in a slow, steadily building clap. He bowed over his guitar with his eyes still on me before he headed off the stage.

  When I met him backstage he swept me up into his sweaty arms. “How was it?”

  “Amazing,” I answered as I tangled my hands into his soaked hair. “Absolutely amazing.”

  As he lowered me to the ground his lips met mine, and the immensity of having him announce to the world he had a girlfriend came over mine.

  “You just…admitted you have a girlfriend to thousands of people,” I whispered as he finally pulled his lips away from me.

  He nodded and I leaned up to kiss his neck. He tasted like salt, but somehow instead of being bitter it was sweet, and it filled me with a longing I was getting familiar with when I was around him.

  “The media is going to have a field day trying to find out who you are,” he replied. His strong arms pulled my body tighter to his as my kiss trailed up to his earlobe.

  “Let them try,” I whispered.

  A shiver ran through his body and he brushed his thumb across my lower lip before lowering his to mine again.

  “Let them try,” he repeated before he kissed me.

  Chapter 13

  Despite his fatigue Evan managed to convince the band to stay in Boston one more day. We traveled back to Connecticut in the early morning and now we lay on a blanket on the beach of the lake. I was wrapped in his arms and the feeling of his chest rising and failing with a song against me was bittersweet. I leaned up and kissed him on the chin.

  “Do you have to leave today?” I asked as I closed my eyes against the wave of emotions that rose up. I realized it would almost always be like this—two days and then weeks without feeling his touch.

  He leaned down and kissed each of my closed eyes. “Yes.”

  “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Look at me?” he asked, and when I did he kissed me.

  I pulled him over me and tried to memorize the weight of his body; the way his legs tangled in mine and his fingers as they pressed mine into the softness of the sand. When he pulled away his breath came in deep breaths.

  “You don’t make it easy to leave,” he commented, his voice muffled by my shoulder as he kissed it.

  “Mhmm,” I murmured, leaning my head back so his kisses trailed up my collarbone, to my chin, and finally my lips.

  He looked down at me and twisted a piece of my chestnut hair around his finger. “At least the rest of the tour is in the US, then I can come back to see you in a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks?” I asked, his body still hovering over me.

  I ran my fingers over the bare skin of his back and watched as the tiny hairs stood up. “Well…about four or five.”

  I put my chin on his shoulder. “Four or five too long.”

  His hand ran through the length of my hair. “You’re telling me. So what do you want to do today?”

  “Stay here forever,” I answered with an overzealous sigh.

  Evan rolled his eyes. “No…how about we go and take pictures somewhere?”

  “Really? I thought you said you hated photo shoots.”

  Evan sat up, pulling me up with him before standing and holding a hand out for me.

  “No, I said I hate other people taking pictures of me—you’re the exception.”

  “If you say so…there’s this really cool graveyard by the waterfront on the coast?”

  “Show me the way,” he said with a smirk.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I answered as I followed him back to my apartment.

  “Like what?” he asked, turning on his heel so he was walking backwards towards the apartment. The keys from his pocket circled his fingers as he continued, “Like you’re crazy?”

  I nodded as he grabbed his shirt from the entryway table.

  “Of all the places…” he commented, locking the door to the apartment and heading to the car.

  “I know it’s creepy…” I began to say as I watched him forgo the usage of the door and jump into the driver’s seat. He shoved the keys into the engine and revved the car before looking up at me over his aviators for the rest of my explanation. “I just find it peaceful.”

  “I get it.”

  “You do?”

  “I’m an artist in my own right. I paint pictures with my voice,” he leaned over and took my camera out of the glove compartment. “You paint them with a lens…You don’t see things the way other people do.”

  I opened the door and sat down, taking my camera from him and selecting a filter that would deal with the brightness of the day.

  “What?” Evan asked at my silent response.

  “History, sadness and beauty all clash there…especially by the water. I know we’ll all spend an eternity there—”

  Evan’s fingers tapped on the shifter as he looked at me through his shades.

  “Each fighting for its share of silent relevance often times ignored,” he completed my sentence, and I was left speechless as I stared at him.

  “Right,” I finally responded as he leaned forward, moving a wave of hair that had fallen in my face behind my ear.

  He kissed my earlobe before replying, “I get it.”

  I couldn’t help the warmth spreading through my body and the smile that lighted my face as Evan shifted the car into gear, his thumbs humming against the steering wheel as usual. I rested my head back and closed my eyes, letting the sun wash over my face as I listened to my own personal concert by Evan.

  I surprised Evan and myself when I started singing with him.

  Evan burst out laughing. “What the hell was that?”

  I opened my eyes and looked over at him with my palms pointed to the sky, shoulders raised.

  “I’ve heard you sing before—and that is not what you sounded like…you sound like…well, something dying.”

  “What are you saying?” I huffed with a smirk.

  “You were holding back!”

  I shrugged at him. “There are certain things I don’t sound too horrid when I sing.”

  “Why would you hold back on me?” he asked and from the frown on his face I could tell he was serious.

  “I don’t know—I didn’t do it on purpose. Remember you walked in on me joking around when I thought no one was watching. It wasn’t like I was being serious!” I replied.

  He nodded, one hand now snaking through the wind racing by the window.

  “I’m not very good in general.”

  “That wasn’t half-bad, though.”

  “Eh, that’s only because it’s a song I sing in my sleep,” I explained, watching the tension in his arms ease.

  He smiled at the comment, taking his hand out of the wind and placing it on the steering wheel so he could put his hand over mine.

  “I like that you sing my songs in your sleep.”

  “Always,” I replied letting my thumb run over the ascending stars on his hand and wrist.

  He began to sing the song again, and I watched as the trees gave way to the ocean. I eased into the song myself and could hear the happiness strengthen in his voice as I did. When we got to the graveyard Evan drove towards the back and parked in front of the water.

  I could feel his eyes on me as I slipped the camera strap over my head and ventured out to stand by a tree. He followed, wrapping his arms around me as I paused to watch the waves.

  “I get it,” h
e whispered into my ear as the breeze blew my hair around my face.

  I turned in his arms, pressing my forehead to his with a sigh. “You’re the only one who could.”

  His own sigh washed over my lips before he kissed me with his hands trailing up my bare arms up to my face. When we parted I knew one thing for sure, my resolve for not being with him completely was weakening. As he walked away, his hands running over the headstones, I couldn’t deny the feeling that my skin longed to be against his. I closed my eyes to compose myself and when I opened them he was staring up at a Celtic cross, reading the inscription on its face. We walked the graveyard in silence, and I was stunned again by how easy it was to take pictures of him. We didn’t need to communicate with one another and yet, the pictures I saw as I glanced down before they disappeared from the screen where perfect. Evan finally sat on the ground next to one of the relic headstones facing the water, his arms resting on his knees as he looked out at the ocean, and I wondered if it was the way his life had been run that made it easy to take pictures of him. As I watched him through my viewfinder I couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t it. He seemed comfortable there—anywhere I was.

  He looked up at me with a smile and patted the grass next to him. When I sat down he took my camera and stood. I ignored the sound of the shutter closing and watched the waves rush over the rugged rocks. This scenery was different than the beach; it was cold and forbidden. As the waves crested they rose in harsh lines against the rocks, lapping over them as if they were hands reaching up from beneath and struggling to recover from the tide. It resembled my life up until that moment. I had been struggling to pull myself out of the things that occurred, but now I realized there were worse things in life—like never being able to take a break, being constantly on the move, or always worrying about whom was going to knock you down next.

  “Has your life always been like this?” I asked.

  He snapped one more picture and let the camera hang idle around his neck before answering, “Like what?”

  “Endless concerts—never staying in one place more than a few days?”

  He tapped his fingers on the top of the camera as he thought of his answer. “Is it wearing on you?”

  “No,” I replied. “I just don’t know I could do it personally. It seems like you never get any time to yourself.”

  “You get used to it after awhile. It does make certain things difficult to maintain.” He took a deep breath and sat down beside me. “We should probably have this conversation anyways.”

  “What conversation is that?” I asked as I let my head rest on his shoulder.

  He put his arm around me and kissed my hair. When he answered his voice was sarcastic but edged with pain, “The one where you tell me you can’t handle my absence and hectic schedule…That this isn’t what you wanted.”

  I shook my head. “You’re right this isn’t what I wanted… It’s a hell of a lot better.”

  His chest rose as his breath staggered. “I swore you were going to say something else.”

  I elbowed him. “I know. Have people actually told you that before?”

  “Eh, honestly I’ve told people that one. I’ve never cared about someone enough to have them tell me something like that. I never realized how bad it was to say it to someone until I thought I was at the other end of it.”

  “Isn’t it funny how that works?” I teased.

  “Yeah…I mean the traveling wears on me. It’s not always like this. We’re on a world tour right now. It’s always right after the release of a CD that it’s hectic. When we aren’t touring we are usually recording, though.”

  “And I assume that’s where your house is located?” I inferred as he played with the rose ring on my index finger.

  “Yeah, California.”

  “Is that where everyone else lives, too?” I asked.

  “It makes it easier if we all live around the same area. There are good schools, and the wives all hang out and bitch about them, or so I’ve heard.”

  “That’s usually what women do—complain about their husbands.”

  “Would you ever leave the East Coast?” Evan asked as he moved down in front of me and put his head in my lap.

  I looked down at him and smiled. “I’ve never had a reason to think about it.”

  “Have you ever been to California? The coast is different than this. There are boardwalks instead of graveyards,” he explained in a casual voice, but I could tell from the way his brows were knit over his eyes he was looking for information.

  “No, I’ve never been there. It’d be nice to go sometime. I’d love to see the recording studio and your house. I bet it’s amazing. How many cars do you have?”

  He smirked as my hair fell into his face and he blew it away. “A few.”

  “How many is a few?”

  He ran his fingers through a piece of my hair before letting his eyes meet mine. “Like ummm…ten?”

  “Ten? Don’t you think that’s excessive?”

  He batted my hair away. “Excessive? No, what’s excessive is Paul’s wife’s ring. It’s like six carats or something.”

  “Does she have carpal tunnel yet?” I teased as I imagined how big that must be.

  “She thinks it’s worth it,” he replied; “do you?”

  “I hate diamonds. White, blah, whoohoo.”

  “What do you like then?”

  “Blue diamonds.”

  He chuckled to himself. “Yeah, as if those aren’t expensive either.”

  I traced the outline of the beads on his neck showing through his v-neck t-shirt. “What does this symbolize?”

  “Prayer beads.”

  I let my fingers follow the line of his vein down his shoulder, over the flowers that dotted his upper arm and down to his forearm. I turned it so I could trace the lion on the inside. “And this?”

  “Lions are bad ass.”

  “Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “Unfortunately, not every tattoo I have has a meaning.”

  “The roses?”

  “My mom’s favorite flower. I know it’s not original,” he commented as he took my hand and put it over his heart where the roses were. “But after everything my parents went through with me I wanted something to symbolize them.”

  “Everything they want through?” I asked as I let my fingers fan out across the shape of his chest muscles before bringing them back up and playing with the tips of his hair that were beginning to curl.

  “I left home when I was sixteen to record our first album, went on tour at seventeen, and started tattooing the crap out of myself at eighteen. I know I’m successful, but I can’t say I think this was what my parents wanted.”

  Evan had moved his head so he was staring out at the ocean. I watched as the waves reflected in his eyes and his chest heaved with a deep outlet of breath.

  “I’m sure they’re proud of you,” I tried to reassure him, but I could tell from the way his jaw tightened that this was something he had been dealing with for a long time.

  His eyes met mine and he reached up to touch my face. “I know…but it doesn’t change the fact I was their only child, and I abandoned them for a life they never approved of.”

  “I’m not an excellent poster child for things parents approve of either. There’s so much guilt I deal with day to day. I know that I hurt them,” I explained, my voice diminishing to a cracking whisper that was only just audible against the sound of the waves. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the look on his face as I admitted, “What’s worse is the anger I feel at myself for it.”

  I felt Evan get up and kneel in front of me, pulling my face to his own. I concentrated on the touch of his rough finger tips, the smell of his heady Axe cologne and then the feel of his forehead as it pressed against mine while I tried to calm my breathing.

  “Tell me something…” his voice drifted with the waves; “tell me why it feels like you’re a part of my soul?”

  I opened my eyes to look into his, watching as the yell
ow around his iris darkened to a burnt orange and the brown faded to a muted green.

  “Because you’re a part of mine.”

  Chapter 14

  It had been four weeks since I saw Evan last. The days had past in a blur of teaching myself another song on guitar, editing pictures, and doing small assignments for work. The paper must have given up on the rumors of my famous beau, because I was stuck back on high school sporting events and pining for the music related articles. When I wrote about music I felt like I was really writing again, but then it would fade away in the loneliness of my apartment and the blinking of the cursor over my mostly blank manuscript. I wanted to say it was because I didn’t have any ideas to write, but that was just a farce; a sad cover up to the truth. I still couldn’t bear to do it. I half wished Evan would force me to write, but he didn’t ask why I wasn’t, even as he worked on his own writing. He occasionally looked up at me with an accusing look, only to smile at me and continue writing or erasing what was there.

  “You look stressed,” he finally conceded as he put his pencil down and looked up at me.

  “Why haven’t you asked about my writing?”

  He shook his head. “Because it’s just that—it’s your writing.”

  “I ask you about your music,” I huffed.

  He looked down at his watched and tapped on the face of it, before his eyes drifted back to mine. “I’m not going to push you, Em. If you want to do it, you’re going to do it. I’m sure you’ll tell me when you decide you’re ready.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “You promised.”

  I nodded and he sat up. “Is there something else bothering you?”

  “I’m just worried I’m going to get an assignment at my old school—I know I will. It’s the biggest school in the state and the basketball team has won the Chapter A Championship for six years straight. College scouts go to those games and there’s a few big ones coming up,” I explained.