He beams. “I know. I wanted to.”
“I know.” Keeping the flower pressed between two fingers, I offer the other hand to Eli. He hesitates, glancing sidelong at me, almost as if to ask permission but when I laugh at the expression on his face, he twines his fingers with mine and I’m doing it—I’m holding hands with a boy.
His hand is soft and warm, enveloping mine with those long musician’s fingers and I find myself smiling as we walk down the path through the park. He tells me about his day and I tell him of mine, then I decide to take the plunge.
“So. I was thinking. I’d like to hear you play sometime.”
His forehead crinkles, making him look more than a little doubtful. “I’m honored, Teagan, but I’m really not that good without Jake.”
“So ask him to play too. Maybe I’d like to meet him.”
He laughs. “You sure about that? You said it yourself, he can be a bit prickly.”
“Well so can I. Besides, he’s your best friend and I’m thinking I should get to know your best friend if—and I say if—we decide to start dating. How awkward would it be if Jake hated my guts? Better to find out now, right?” Somehow I doubt that Jake will hate me, just a feeling I have, and it makes me happy. Hopeful, even.
He grins wide. “Then it would be my pleasure. How does tomorrow night sound? Around six? We’ll give you your own personal concert.” His laugh is a little bit sheepish. “To be completely honest, this will be the first gig we’ve ever done for the public eye, so apologies in advance if we sound like dying cats slamming into trash cans.”
I squeeze his hand and he stops rambling long enough to look at me and for a moment, I’m lost in his eyes or maybe he’s lost in mine; I can’t tell, but I’m blushing and smiling at the same time and it feels foreign…but nice.
“I’m sure you’ll be great. I can’t wait,” I tell him, honest from the bottom of my soul, and the smile he gives me is bright enough to light up the darkened corners of my world, even if just for a little bit.
Eleven
Elias
I walk Teagan back to her apartment, our hands locked together, swinging loosely between us and I know it’s such a simple thing but it feels like she’s given me the world—given me her trust—and my heart is bursting with emotion. She doesn’t welcome me inside, but it doesn’t matter. She’s started to trust me. She wants to hear me play, wants to hear our band, and that’s the thing that shoots straight to my heart.
I can’t wait; on the way home, I dial in Jake’s number, wait the two rings, and when he picks up, I ask him what he’s doing after school tomorrow. Even if he wasn’t my best friend and our two-man-band’s drummer, I’d want him there with me. I want to share that moment and more than that, I want him to see what I see—a beautiful girl, haunted by the ghosts in her closet, but worth it nonetheless. I want him to open his eyes and see Teagan.
“Xbox and a bag of chips,” Jake replies and in the background, I hear machine guns shooting off rounds in one of his war games. “That’s pretty much the extent of my evening. Why, you wanna join me?”
My ears are buzzing. “Cancel those plans because we’re having our first concert.”
There’s silence for a moment and then, “For your coffeeshop girl?”
“Her name is Teagan, but yeah. She wants to hear us play. She’s a bit of a musician herself.”
“Man, I don’t know, I really—”
“Come on, Jake. I’ll owe you. Big time. I’m not good unless you’re there playing with me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He sighs, a hiss of static across the line. “Fine. I’ll be there, but you’re feeding me and it’d better be something good.”
“Deal, but you have to promise to be nice to her.”
“Nice? You think I’m some sort of woman-hating bastard or something?”
I laugh at that. “A little bit, yeah, so try to be on your best behavior.”
“Aye, aye captain. Will do my personal best.” Gunshots pick back up again, followed by Jake yelling at the TV for cheating before he says goodbye in typical Jake fashion. “See you then, bro.”
The next day, I text Teagan the directions to my place. She texts me a little while later: I can’t wait; and my heart is soaring high amongst the gray clouds above. By a stroke of luck, I get through the school day despite how it drags on forever.
I get home and immediately start cleaning because, let’s face it, I’m a bachelor. The place is a wreck and a half. I go downstairs and rearrange the set and bring in a few lamps, trying to make the whole thing look more like a stage. I drag in my old blue leather recliner, so she can sit in the throne of comfort while we play.
Beefcake follows me from room to room, but he perks up the minute I start gathering ingredients around to make my famous chicken alfredo—one of mom’s homemade recipes and the one meal I’ve perfected over the years.
Jake pounds on the door at a quarter to six and to my surprise, he’s dressed up a bit, wearing nice jeans and a button-up shirt with a blazer. He waltzes in, catches a whiff of dinner, and promptly lets out a groan. “All this for a girl? You’ve got it baaaad, bro.”
I laugh. “I know. It’s sad, but I’m loving it. I’m happy, dude, and I want to give her the best damn indie concert she’s ever seen.” Though I am nervous, especially of what she’ll think of the house. It’s not like I own this place—it’s in my parents’ name and all—but it still screams spoiled rich kid.
By six o’clock, the house is filled with the heavenly scents of creamy alfredo and melted mozzarella cheese and I’m setting the table when the doorbell rings. Beefcake runs barking into the other room and I jerk to a halt, my heart picking up speed. Calm down.
“Can you get that?” I call to Jake before I can think about the repercussions that might have. Jake + Teagan = a possible disaster but he’s already booking it for the entry way, so I settle for listening in on what’s being said.
I guess Jake took my ‘best behavior’ line to heart, because he’s actually being decent. I blow out a breath of relief and send my thanks skyward, praying that tonight will be as amazing as I hope.
I glance up as Jake strides back into the kitchen, Teagan tagging along at his heels, looking a little out of place but when I catch sight of her, I can’t help it. I stare, unabashed. She’s dressed in a pretty cream sundress with lace at the bodice, showing off just the right amount of cleavage, and her feet are tucked away in strappy flats. She’s pulled her coffee-dark hair up in a loose braid so that just a few tendrils of her bangs fall in curls around her face. Diamonds glint in her ears and when she blushes, I grin.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her. “I made dinner. I hope that’s okay.”
Her hands toy with the sash on her dress. “It smells amazing,” she admits. “You never told me that you cook.”
“I also never told you I had a worm farm when I was eight. I sold those worms as bait to the fishermen around the lake, not knowing where my babies were going to end up.” I say it with a straight face and she laughs, just as I’d hoped. It’s true. I was a pretty naïve kid. “But now you know.” I glance between my two friends, straightening up. “Teagan, this is Jake. Jake, the lovely Teagan.”
“Soon you’ll learn that Eli is the prince of flattery,” Jake says around a smirk.
Teagan shakes her head. “Oh, I’m already aware…but if he’s the prince, then who is the mighty king?” She lifts a brow and looks at me, the right corner of her lips tugging upward, like she’s trying to resist but failing miserably at it.
I shrug. “The royal throne is reserved for my father.”
“All hail the true king,” Jake adds, raising both hands and looking up at the ceiling and in a completely serious tone says, “Hallelujah.”
I snort. “My dad’s not Jesus.”
“Tell that to him,” he says—and then, I kid you not, he looks at Teagan and Jake-the-woman-hater actually winks. Well shit, color me impressed. I catch Teagan’s eye. I can tel
l she’s amused and when Jake turns his back to us, she widens her eyes and mouths, ‘He’s not that bad!’ and today just gets better and better.
We fill the dinnertime conversation with talk of music, of course, and somehow Teagan’s asking all the right questions, offering all the right answers, and Jake seems impressed. He gives me a look that, in Jake-language, might mean, ‘You know, she’s not actually half bad, for a girl!’ and by the time dinner’s over, my cheeks hurt from grinning but it’s a good feeling. One I haven’t felt in a long time.
Mr. Beefy, of course, plops his ass down right beside Teagan and places his chin on her knee, looking up at her longingly all through dinner. I pretend I don’t see Teagan give him a little piece of chicken even though we both know that I did.
“If you wanna take her to the jam room, I can handle the dishes,” Jake offers after we’ve finished eating.
“You’re full of surprises tonight,” I tell him and he mock-scowls at me and waves us off. I turn to Teagan, extending a hand to her. “Shall we?” She indulges me and I lead her through the house, hyper-aware of the way she takes it all in, from the plush cream carpet to the high ceilings and beveled glass light fixtures, to the ornate carvings on the staircase banister on our way down. I don’t know what to say—should I apologize for having such nice things?—so I just keep my mouth shut.
“Your house is beautiful,” she says softly when we reach the bottom of the stairs.
I almost stop breathing then and there, at the almost-sadness touching her porcelain face, but the show must go on. I clear my throat. “This whole place has nothing on this basement. C’mon,” I say, squeezing her hand. I take her over to where our instruments are set up—thousands of dollars worth of equipment, all of it paid for on my dime, not my father’s. My pride and joy.
“This is where the true magic happens. It doesn’t look like much, but this room has damn near perfect acoustics. And this…” I motion to the chair, one I’ve spent many nights sprawled out in, playing guitar. “Is milady’s throne.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I bring her hand up and place a gentle kiss on her knuckles.
She turns pink and lets out a giggle and it’s the cutest thing in the world. She claps her hands over her mouth, like she can’t believe she just made such a girly sound, and I bust out laughing. “You’re freaking adorable.”
“I am not,” she says, but her scowl doesn’t reach her eyes, twinkling like stars in the sky, and if the stars could laugh, they would be. Seems she and Jake have more in common than I thought. She crosses her arms over her chest and flops down in the chair like a stubborn child. The leather seat hisses beneath her and I laugh again at her expression. “Shut up and play the damn guitar!”
“Yes, ma’am.” I flick on the lights that I rigged and they spill across the makeshift stage, brightening up the dark room and making Jake’s drums gleam. I sit down on my stool and reach for my guitar, the face inlaid with coffee and cream. I slip the strap around my neck and shoulder, slide my pick from between the strings, and strum a few chords. I have to warm up and I know it won’t be perfect and that’s when the nerves begin to eat at me, like little fleas nibbling at the edges of my soul.
I want it to be perfect. I want to blow her away.
I don’t realize that Jake’s joined us until I hear the sudden crash of his cymbals, followed by a quick punk beat played with careful movements that never let the sticks hit the metal rims. I glance to my side to see he’s staring at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to take the lead. His dark hair is brushed back away from his face and his gaze is sharp. Intense. Ready to rock and roll.
I grin, whoop out loud, and in unison, the two of us turn waves of crashing noise into something magical as we kick off into the beginning of our first song, the first track on our set list for someday when we get our first gig.
This is it. This is that day.
I’m nervous—what if we mess up? what if she hates it?—but as my fingers press against the frets, as the familiar pulse of the drum beat sounds behind me, I gaze out at our audience, at Teagan, and I belt the familiar verse with all my heart and soul, and let myself fall right back in love with our music.
It’s all worth it, just for this moment.
Twelve
Teagan
They’re not what I’m expecting, at all. I guess I was prepping myself for a soft acoustic John Mayer-y vibe—don’t ask me why—and they’re way different, punk-meets-folk-meets-boy band. But different is good, and they’re damn good, especially for not really having a goal. Right now, in this moment, they’re just playing to play, just performing to perform, and they’ve got it. That showman pizzazz, that sharp but sultry sound. They’re natural rock stars.
I’m so wrapped up in the essence of them, from the steady bass pulse of the drums, to the slight twang-buzz of Elias’s electric guitar, the smell of excitement and sweat heady in the air, and Eli’s voice… I can’t even begin to describe it. It’s beautiful, soft and sexy and sinful and he brings the words to life just by singing them. If you could bottle up this sound, this feeling, in a bottle, you’d make millions, and that’s the great thing—you can’t. This is 100% Elias St. James and I’m grinning from ear to ear, swaying to the music.
I’m in love with it, and the fact that Eli trusted me enough to do this for me? That just sends it slamming home harder—I’m falling for him, damn it, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I don’t want to stop it. My heartbeat pounds in time with the strike of the drum. I’m lost and I don’t want to be found. I want to curl up in the velvet of Eli’s voice, to the emotions his words light inside of me, and just stay.
As they wind down, Eli’s grinning and Jake is pumped, both of them laughing, high on the adrenaline and the music. They look at each other and bump fists, letting out another crow of laughter and I toss my reservations aside and hurry to join them. I can’t stop smiling. “You guys are great. Really great, I mean that.”
“Aw, we’re nothing special. We don’t even have a name,” Eli says, humble to the core, and I smack him lightly on the shoulder.
“Well you need to find one, and soon. The world deserves to hear you guys. Have you thought about self-recording an EP?”
They glance at each other and Jake smirks knowingly, like I’ve just proved his point. “I’ve been hounding his ass about an EP for awhile now, but this bastard is stubborn. He doesn’t realize he has talent.”
“You never realize it as talent when it’s something that comes easy to you. Eli.” I reach for him, take his hands in mine, and I have his undivided attention. “Consider it? Just promise me the first CD. You guys are like…god, I don’t know. Near-perfect symmetry. It’s amazing.”
Eli stares down at me, a little slack-jawed. “Near-perfect symmetry?” he repeats, slower.
I nod. “I can’t explain it, but that’s how it felt to me and—”
Jake’s sharp bark of laughter cuts me off. “Fucking amazing, man. That’s perfect. Goddamned perfect.” He grips my shoulder and I glance up at him, confused. “You’re an angel,” he says, his voice two shades softer now, and it’s like he’s looking at me through new eyes. I don’t have a chance to ask him what he means as he races back to his drum set and pounds out a quick one-two. “Eli, take it, my man!”
I spin around and Eli’s back up on the makeshift stage, guitar still slung around his neck, but his hands cup the microphone stand and he looks beyond elated. “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Near-Perfect Symmetry!” he says, his voice bouncing from the speakers and my heart skips a beat. I can’t help it—like the secret fangirl I keep locked away, deep down, I squeal out loud and cheer for an encore.
In that smooth drawl, Eli announces they’ll play one more song. “This one’s for a special lady,” he says, looking right at me. My heart flutters. “It’s called Spin.” I get caught up in his voice once again, but this time I focus on the words that he’s speaking, the lyrics crafted by my coffeeshop boy’s poetic mind. It’s a song about r
ising from the ashes of the past, about finding new connections as his heart spins a web of love, and if his voice could take on a physical form, it would be cradling my heart in its hands right about now.
I’m definitely falling for him.
After the concert ends, we all go upstairs and have celebratory malted milkshakes. The three of us sit in a semi-circle around the kitchen table, sucking our super thick milkshakes through straws way too thin. “God, brainfreeze! Abort, abort!” Jake moans, head butting the kitchen table like that might somehow help and Eli and I both start laughing.
“Get fucked,” Jake snaps back, but he’s grinning too. “Alright, dude and dudette. I’ve got to get back to campus. Studying and all that shit. Nice meeting you, Teagan.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, as if him leaving will end up with me and Eli in bed, so I flip him off with both hands. He crows and slams the door behind him.
“I’d better get home too,” I say. “Thank you. Tonight was…beyond amazing.”
He gives me that lopsided, boyish grin and I melt a little more. “Any time. Let me walk you to your car?”
I agree and out of impulse, I reach out and take his hand in mine. Leaving our milkshakes to melt all alone, we walk down the driveway to where I parked, taking our time, our fingers laced together in the space between us. We reach my old car and we stop; our eyes meet, we both smile, and my heart’s doing leaps in my chest. “Thank you. My first concert. I’m glad it was you.”
“Teagan, I’m really—”
“No. You really are that good. Don’t be humble about this, okay?” We’re close now, our bodies only inches apart; I can smell the musky scent of his aftershave and I’ve never once found that smell attractive, but on Eli it is. It’s damn near delicious. Whoa, girl. I take a step back. “You’re good, but I have to ask… When will you play me the song with the lyrics on that cake?”
He chuckles softly. “It’s too early—that song’s still a baby. Jake hasn’t even heard it yet.”
Neverlost (Melodies and Memories) Page 6
