Faded (Faded Duet Book 1)

by Julie Johnson

  Seven billion people on this planet, and I bet not one of them has eyes quite like his.

  There’s a crazy heartbeat of time when Ryder’s gaze drops to my mouth, his pupils dilating with something that looks like it might be desire. He sways forward, just a fraction of an inch. And maybe I’m going crazy… maybe he’s still unsteady from all the whiskey… but if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s about to try and kiss me.

  It’s such an unexpected move, I’m instantly freed of his spell. Releasing him, I retreat back a few steps.

  “You good?” I ask, blushing furiously. I focus on his chin so I don’t have to meet his eyes.

  He nods, staring at me with an unreadable expression. He looks almost as rattled as I feel inside.

  “Great.” I carry the empty bottle of Jack Daniels toward the bar, hoping he might simply vanish into thin air if I ignore him. I should know better.

  There’s no ignoring Ryder Woods.

  “There’s fire in my blood. A beat in my veins…” he sings, his voice smooth and strong, cutting into me like a blade to the heart. “The forecast tonight calls for nothing but pain.”

  I freeze halfway to the bar. I’m not sure whether it’s merely the effect of hearing him sing words I wrote or the slight tweak he’s made to the lyrics… but it sounds utterly perfect. Better than ever. Before I can stop myself, I whirl around to look at him. My eyes are wide, my heart is racing.

  “The forecast tonight calls for nothing but pain,” I echo back, testing out the new verse, too excited to feel self-conscious about singing in front of him. “Oh my god, that’s it!”

  Tucking the bottle under my arm, I yank the ordering pad from my apron and quickly scribble down the words before they disappear from my mind.

  “Glad to be of service,” Ryder drawls, walking up to me. “When can I expect my advance for the co-writing credit?”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “Fine — I’ll settle for a shout-out in the liner notes of your first album.”

  I flat out laugh in his face.

  His eyes glint with a teasing light. “Don’t make me sue you for copyright violation.”

  “First of all, you’re so drunk you probably won’t even remember this conversation in the morning, let alone the fact that you helped with a minor lyric change.” I tilt my head. “I think I’ll take my chances with the law.”

  He makes a pffft sound, but doesn’t contradict me. “And secondly?”

  I shove my ordering pad back into my apron and walk to the bar. “Secondly… even if I liked you enough to do a shout out in the liner notes… which I don’t, for the record… There isn’t going to be any album. I don’t sing in public. Ever.”

  There’s a loaded silence as he processes my words.

  I make myself busy, tossing the empty bottle into the trash bin, storing the disinfectant table spray in its spot beneath the sink, grabbing the keys from the drawer by the register. When I run out of tasks, I can no longer ignore him. I turn, eyebrows raised, and find he’s leaning against the bar, watching me with an inscrutable expression.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Just trying to figure out why someone like you, who’s got more talent in her fucking pinky finger than most people possess in their whole damn bodies, doesn’t want to pursue something she was clearly put on this earth to do.”

  “Trust me, I was not put on this earth to be a singer.”

  “Why? Because you found your true calling in waitressing?” he scoffs at me. “Give me a break.”

  “Why do you even care?” My eyes narrow. “What does it matter to you?”

  “I don’t.” His jaw locks. “It doesn’t.”

  I stare at him.

  He opens his mouth to ask me something, but bites back the words at the last minute.

  “Just say it,” I say tiredly. “Whatever it is. Say it, so I can go home before the sun starts to rise.”

  “I… I’m sorry.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, as if he’s nervous. I get the sense those two words don’t leave his lips very often.

  “For what, exactly?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Passing out in the bar? Or for being a total jerk earlier?”

  “Feel free to take it as a blanket apology for my many indiscretions.” His lips twitch up into that trademark grin, the one that breaks hearts all over town. I wonder how many girls have been brought to their knees by it; how many before me have crumbled at the sight, setting aside their hurt in exchange for just a few more seconds of his attention.

  Fudge that.

  I flatten my lips into a thin line, not returning his smile or accepting his apology. “I’m leaving now, so unless you’d like to spend the night on the stock room floor and deal with Adam tomorrow afternoon when he comes in to do inventory—” Ryder grimaces at the thought. “—I’d suggest you follow me.”

  I don’t wait for a response as I walk into the back room. He unleashes a heavy sigh before trailing in my wake. I feel his eyes on me as I untie my apron and hang it on a peg inside my staff cubbyhole. There are words poised on the tip of his tongue — I can sense them like you sense lightning in the air before it comes crashing down, electric and wild. He keeps quiet though, even as I flip off the lights and turn for the exit door at the end of the hall.

  I’m half-convinced he’s not going to say anything else to me. It’s only when we’re outside in the dark — both breathing too fast in the warm summer night, standing in the spot we first met with five careful feet of distance between us — that he finally breaks the silence.

  “I lied.”

  My brows lift.

  He blows out a breath. “What you overheard earlier — all that shit I said to Lincoln about you. It was a lie. I didn’t mean a word of it.”

  “Then why’d you say it?”

  “I thought if I acted disinterested in you, it might discourage Lincoln. He’s a great guy, but he’d be no good for you.”

  “That wasn’t your call to make.”

  He shrugs.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you ever consider maybe I’d like to be pursued?”

  His eyes darken. “Not by Lincoln.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. I don’t need you interfering in my love life.”

  “Clearly you do if you think Lincoln would be a good choice.”

  “Because you’re such an authority on me?” I snort. “We just met. You don’t even know my name. As I recall, you didn’t want to know it. You were too busy ordering me around in front of your girlfriend.”

  “I don’t do girlfriends, sweetheart. Way too much drama.” He sighs. “But I’ll admit that, yeah, I was probably a bit… harsh… earlier.”

  “Probably? You called me a cheap cocktail waitress!”

  “I’m a bastard, okay? And you’re right — I don’t know you. But I do know Lincoln. He’s a player.”

  “Oh, and you’re such a monk, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends?”

  “Never claimed to be. But Linc…” He blows out a breath. “For him, it isn’t just about getting laid. It’s almost a sport. He goes through girls like paper dixie cups at a water cooler — use once, drain of contents, toss in the trash.”

  “How charming.”

  “Not trying to be charming. Trying to be honest.”

  “Listen…” I chew the inside of my cheek. “I know you’re trying to make amends. Frankly, it’s unnecessary. I don’t need an apology from you.”

  “But—”

  “It’s three in the morning. I’ve been on my feet for nine straight hours. I’m exhausted. I just want to climb in bed and forget this night ever happened.” I try for a flippant tone. “In fact, consider it already forgotten. Goodnight, Ryder.”

  I turn to stalk away, but he stops me so fast I don’t even make it two steps. I glance down at his hand on my arm like it’s made of black toxic mold, trying to keep a lid on the sudden wave of panic crashing through me. He’s not holding me with any sort of force, but it still trigg
ers a fight-or-flight reaction I can barely tamp down.

  “Let go of me.”

  “In a minute, I just want to talk to you—”

  “Now.”

  He must hear something akin to desperation in my voice, because he drops his grip immediately. I see thoughts working in his eyes. Questions bubbling back up to the surface about my past, about why my pulse is racing at twice its normal speed simply because a man laid his hands on me without permission.

  “Hey. I didn’t mean to freak you out—”

  “It’s fine.” I cut him off, trying to calm my skittish heartbeat. “Really.”

  His eyes are intense. A storm is brewing behind them, and I’m not sure there’s anywhere I’ll be safe to take cover when it’s finally unleashed.

  “Ryder…” I trail off, not knowing what to say. I feel totally exposed. First the song, now this… He can probably see straight through me. All my secrets. All my pain. It makes me want to run, afraid he’ll use it against me as ammunition in a war I can’t win.

  “I’m sorry for for being such an ass today,” he murmurs in a soft tone I’ve never heard from him before, stripped of all faux charm and false confidence. He rubs at his stubble, a nervous gesture that might be endearing if I weren’t still so on edge. “The Lincoln thing was out of line. I just… didn’t want to see you get hurt, all right? You deserve better than that.”

  I stare at him, feeling a bit of my anger fade. All of this was actually his twisted way of… being protective?

  I want to laugh. I want to cry. The concept is so foreign to me, I barely know how to process it. I’ve never really had anyone fight my battles for me before. I’ve never even had anyone willing to try.

  “It’s all right,” I say after a long beat of tension. “Apology accepted.”

  Relief washes over his face. He keeps a careful distance from me, perhaps realizing there’s more to my skittish nature than simple shyness. But when he speaks, I feel his words like a hand wrapped around my heart.

  “You said I don’t want to know your name. You’re wrong. I’ve wanted to know it since the first night we met, right here in this spot. Before that, even. The moment I first saw you in the crowd during my set. There was just something about you…”

  My mouth feels suddenly parched. I lick my lips, breathing a bit too hard, and watch his eyes follow the movement of my tongue with intent focus.

  “I had to know you,” he says simply. “And I didn’t want to do it secondhand, through my bandmate. I wanted to hear your name from your lips, your eyes on mine when you said it.”

  “I…” My voice is so breathy, it’s almost unrecognizable. I hold his gaze, trying to keep myself in check so he doesn’t see how his words are pulling me apart inside, piece by piece.

  There’s really only one thing left to say.

  “I’m Felicity.”

  Chapter Seven

  ryder

  I’m Felicity.

  Of course she is.

  It makes perfect sense that her name means pure joy. I want to laugh when she tells me, but I’m still too angry. I manage to keep my rage contained beneath the surface, hidden away from her, but I can feel it charging through my system like an offensive tackle.

  The moment I grabbed her arm, I knew. She tried to conceal it, but I saw the way her face went pale, felt the sudden tension in her body. That kind of reaction doesn’t come from nowhere.

  Someone’s hit her. Recently enough that she’s still flinching whenever any man moves too fast around her. Combine that with the lyrics to the song she was signing earlier — the most haunted, heartbreaking fucking melody I’ve ever heard — and I’m seeing red.

  Who is this fucker who tore through her life like a tornado?

  Father?

  Friend?

  Ex-boyfriend?

  I want to ask who he is — hell, I want to track him down and show him what a real punch feels like. But I see the wild look in her eyes and know she’s already preparing to bolt. One more push, she might never speak to me again.

  So, I bite my tongue and bide my time.

  Not now. Not here.

  But someday — someday soon — she’s going to tell me the story of who she is, and where she came from, and what she left behind.

  I stare at her, barely breathing. “Felicity.”

  Some of the fear goes out of her eyes when I say her name. I take an tentative step closer. “It’s nice to meet you. Officially.”

  She doesn’t return the sentiment, but a small smile blooms on her face. It’s such a sweet sight, it’s almost enough to make me forget how shitty my night has been up till this point.

  “It’s getting late. You should get going.” I glance at the staff parking lot, but it’s empty. “Is your car here?”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  “You’re not walking home alone at this time of night.” I glower at the thought and, without thinking, I reach out and take her hand. “Let’s go.”

  She doesn’t flinch this time when I touch her. She actually lets me drag her a half-dozen steps before she digs her heels in. “Where, exactly, do you think we’re going?”

  “I’ll walk you home. Or, at the very least, split an Uber with you. I’ve got a loft right by the river that I share with Linc and Aiden, but I don’t mind riding with you.”

  Her eyes widen. “Never would’ve pegged Ryder Woods as the chivalrous type.”

  “I don’t have a chivalrous bone in my body,” I assure her. “My motives are purely selfish.”

  “How so?”

  I get to spend more time with you, I think but don’t say.

  “I get to crawl into my bed without worrying you’ve been abducted by a serial killer. Can’t have that on my conscience, sweetheart. Fucks with my beauty sleep.”

  “Oh, and you need so much of that.”

  “A solid eight hours. Nine, if I’ve got a gig the next night.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, rest assured, I’m not walking anywhere. Zero chance of abduction.”

  I must look dubious, because she holds up the set of keys in her hand and shakes them at me like a maraca. “See these?”

  I nod.

  She jerks her chin at the stairs that lead to the second floor apartment above the bar. Her lips twist. “I live upstairs.”

  “Shit. Really?”

  “Yep.”

  I rub my stubble, feeling like a total tool. I’m so out of my comfort zone here, it’s almost laughable. Flirting and fucking: those I can handle, no problem. It’s this shit — this good guy shit — that trips me up. Probably ‘cause I’ve never had any practice at it.

  “Guess it’s goodnight, then.” I glance down and realize I’m still holding her hand. It looks so small inside mine. Fragile. I tell myself to drop it, but my fingers don’t cooperate. “Sorry I tied up your night with my drunken bullshit. Not my finest hour.”

  “I’m sure the hangover will be punishment enough. And it was actually pretty amusing.”

  “I live to please.” With effort, I let go of her hand. I clench mine into a fist so it doesn’t feel so empty. “Goodnight, Felicity.”

  “Goodnight, Ryder,” she murmurs, walking toward her stairs. I watch her go, rooted to the spot like some sappy, sullen version of Romeo staring up at Juliet’s balcony, wanting something he can’t ever have. Something doomed to fail from the very start.

  She unlocks the door, but turns to peer down over the railing at me one last time before stepping inside.

  “Are you guys playing here again anytime soon?”

  Am I crazy, or is that hope in her voice?

  “Not for a while,” I tell her, a pang of regret moving through me. “We’ve got a gig at Tootsie’s on Broadway next Friday, then we’re one of the opening acts at the Let Freedom Sing festival the following week.”

  She looks at me blankly.

  “Shit, I forget you’re new here.” I grin. “Every year on the Fourth of July they shut down the streets and set up a stage down
by the river. There’s live music all day, plus a big firework display when the sun goes down, of course. Our time slot is pretty prime this year, so it should be solid exposure for the band.”

  Assuming we’re still playing together.

  Assuming I’m not out in LA by then.

  “Oh,” Felicity says, brows arching. “That sounds like a good time.”

  I nod and lock my jaw shut to prevent myself from doing something idiotic — like asking her to come to the festival with me. I can’t get involved, especially not with someone like her. She needs stability. Security. Basically the exact opposite of everything I have to offer. All I can give her is sex without strings. And even if I tried to change… to be different for her…

  How long would it last before I leave?

  A few days?

  A few weeks?

  The plain truth is, I’m getting out of this city. The more entanglements I have when that day comes, the harder it will be to walk away. So, as much as I want to kick my own ass for doing it… I keep my mouth shut and let the opportunity slide by without asking her out or making any kind of plans to see her again.

  A large yawn overtakes her face, drawing my attention to her mouth.

  “‘Scuse me.” She smiles, looking drowsy as she leans against the railing. Her ponytail is coming loose; several long tendrils of hair frame her face. The urge to touch her becomes almost unbearable.

  “Get to sleep before you fall over, kiddo,” I force myself to call, sounding blasé even to my own ears. “Nashville is a small town. I’m sure I’ll see you around sometime.”

  Surprise — or is it disappointment? — flashes across her face, but she just nods.

  “Oh. Yeah. See you around,” she echoes in a dull voice, turning away from me.

  It could be my imagination, but I think her door slams a bit harder than necessary. I tell myself this is for the best in the long run, but it’s pretty damn unconvincing. I’m so fucking tempted to run up those stairs in three bounds, knock down her door, and pull her into my arms. To slide my hands into that hair and crush my lips against hers, kissing her until her body melts into mine. Until she stops caring that I’m a messed up asshole who’s no good for her; until I no longer remember that I’d only leave her hurt when I inevitably walk away.