by Lacey Dailey
I’d like to hear just how everyone is interpreting the song about survival. What are they pondering? Who are their hearts reaching towards?
It's hard for me to think of anything besides Aiden and wonder who he is, where he is, and why he’s such a secret. Anybody who played a part in Max’s survival played a part in creating the man he is today—the man who sings as a way to give people whatever they need.
Maybe that’s just Aiden. Maybe he hides because he’s still protecting Max. Maybe, somehow, he’s still helping him survive.
“Hi, everybody.” Max speaking into the mic startles me. His voice in its regular tone, the tone that isn’t raspy or filled with air, sounds different when it’s in surround sound. “I know I don’t normally say a lot, and I hope you understand it’s not because I don’t appreciate and respect each of you for giving me your time. It’s simply because I’ve never been much of a talker. I like to share my story through music, and I’ve been working on some new stuff.” He pauses, lighting up the crowd with an appreciative smile in response to their cheers. “Tonight, I want to share another piece of my story with you. This new song is called Make A Move. I hope you enjoy it.”
The room grows smaller when you’re staring at me
Gentle blue eyes that hit me so deep
So close I can touch you, though I wouldn’t dare
Even though I was aching to touch the silk that was your hair
* * *
I could feel you everywhere
You were impossible to forget
As I lay in the dark and stare silently at your silhouette
* * *
Held my breath when you’d wake, worried you’d catch me staring
Now, baby, all I wanna know is what you’re wearing...
Under them sheets with your hands all on me
No noise but the sound of your breaths when I whisper into your neck
Oh, baby, give in to my touch while I surround you with love
I can’t wait any longer. So, let me plead with you
Make a move, baby. Make a move
* * *
I was scared to try
Afraid of regret
But how could I do it without being sure of your answer
Would you push me away?
Or scream in my face?
Or would you kiss me back
and sink into my embrace?
* * *
My mind raced quickly
I watched your chest rise
Your lips parted slowly
and I practiced my lies
* * *
Held my breath when you’d wake, worried you’d catch me staring
Now, baby, all I wanna know is what you’re wearing...
Under them sheets with your hands all on me
No noise but the sound of your breaths when I whisper into your neck
Oh, baby, give in to my touch while I surround you with love
I can’t wait any longer. So, let me plead with you
Make a move, baby. Make a move
* * *
His gaze is cemented on mine as he sings his last note. Sweat runs down his cheek and disappears beneath the tip of his tongue. His eyes never leave me. My heart pummels my ribcage, looking for the quickest way to his. I wrap my hand around my throat, counting the beats of my erratic pulse.
I have blue eyes.
I sleep across from him.
Does he really think my hair looks like silk?
Does he really think about kissing me?
Or am I just going crazy, refusing to let a song just be a song? He would’ve never written a ballad about me. That’s not the type of relationship I have with him.
I blink and he’s lifting his hand to the crowd, jogging across the stage to shake Arthur’s hand. His cheeks redden at the audience chanting his name as he staggers toward Landon and I. Beneath locks of sweaty hair, he’s beaming.
He pushes Johnny backward, letting him flip upside down and rest on his back. Solid hands reach for me, wrapping around my hips. I stumble when he tugs me toward him and wrap my arms around his damp torso, rubbing my cheek against the quivering muscles in his chest.
“Gia.”
A million is how many times he’s said my name. Never is the number of times he’s said it like that. The bones beneath my skin tremble. My heart reaches for him—wild for his expression. He stares at me like I’m glowing or made of gold. As though I’m a piece of treasure he found just for himself and intends to take good care of.
“Max.” I lift my hand, running the tips of my fingers down his sweaty cheek. “Your song was—”
“Incredible!” Landon’s hand slaps the back of Max’s neck, shaking him and dutifully tearing us apart.
I find myself wishing I had eyes capable of creating explosions for the second time in an hour.
Max’s eyes are no longer lit, his cheeks no longer flushed while he nods, taking in Landon’s ramblings. I slip my hand in his, clutching his shaky fingers like I’ve done many, many times before. His grip doesn’t tighten, and his fingers barely graze the back of my hand.
A lump in my throat forms, and I struggle to swallow it while staring at Max’s neutral expression and polite smile. I battle the urge to pinch myself and discover if thirty seconds of electricity actually happened, or if it was just some starstruck induced daydream.
14
Max
My parents used to claim that fear is a fleeting emotion. It’s something you only feel until the moment you decide to do whatever it is you’re afraid of. Once that’s done, the fear disappears, and you’re met with disappointment when it didn’t pan out the way you expected or delirium when it was everything you’d hoped for.
I’m not sure if we should discredit the power fear has by shoving it into a category with a bunch of other things people tend to write off. Fear may not be permanent, but I’m not so sure it’s temporary either. Most fear doesn’t go away with a few hours or a good night sleep. It won’t disappear as time ticks by.
When it comes to fear, we have two choices: conquer it or avoid it.
I found my peace within the latter option for a long time. It was always easiest to pretend it wasn’t knocking at my insides. And then I meet Gia Moretti and it wasn’t so easy to pretend anymore.
She knocked the wind right out of me. Thoughts of her have monopolized my mind, and I fixate on those thoughts as if they’ll disappear after a certain number of hours. I crave her presence and seek her perspective in all aspects of my life. Months ago, all I needed was myself. Now, I wonder how’d I start my day if I were to open my eyes to her absence.
Life without Gia terrifies me.
Life with Gia terrifies me so much more.
I wrestle with fear each time I look into her eyes. For the first time in forever, I long to annihilate fear rather than run from it. I wish to demolish the parts of me that believe I can’t have her.
Easier said than done.
For weeks, I’ve been violently grappling with myself on the perfect moment to let go. Vulnerability isn’t something I have a lot of experience with, and though annihilation is my ultimate goal for fear, the first step is always the hardest.
Sixty minutes ago, with my heart in my stomach and Aiden in my head, I took my first step in the form of a song.
Make A Move was an intricate poem, woven into lyrics that all but cut me open and left me raw and unprotected. I’ve been waiting—waiting for her to reply to my honesty. To acknowledge the love letter I wrote for her. To recognize the way I bared my soul.
I’m not so sure she understood, and I think maybe I’ve done this all wrong. I’ve consistently told her my songs are never interpreted the way they’re intended to be. I’m sure she didn’t even try to decipher my sincerity.
The most candid moment of my career, and she may not even know it was all for her.
Maybe I should’ve just written that message in the sky, or spelled it out in cheesy puffs.
“Max?”
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I look upward, pressing my palms to my stomach with a tremulous breath. It’s the first she’s spoken since I’ve stepped off the stage. She almost spoke once—with her fingertips branding the skin of my cheek and her heart eyes branding my soul, her voice was trembling as she tried to tell me what she thought of my song. Oblivious to the mountains moving between us, Landon tore me from my girl. She went mute as we walked back to my dressing room, withholding her thoughts from me. Even as we rode the elevator back up to our suite, and the door latched behind us, signaling our privacy, she didn’t speak.
Her silence nearly killed me.
“Gia.”
I run my fingers through the nervous sweat at the back of my neck, offering her my eyes. She stands before my position on the couch, her bare feet fidgeting against the rug beneath her. She’s still wearing the black denim shorts she wore to my show, tugging at the loose purple shirt that hangs partly off her shoulder. She’s released her hair from the braid it was in earlier, running the tips of her fingers through the feral locks. Her eyes hold trepidation as she stares at me, gnawing on the lips she stained the color of a plum.
“Do you have a second?”
“All my seconds are for you.”
My words seem to pummel her. She makes a noise in the back of her throat and sits beside me with slow, cautious movements. Her eyes are trained on the unlit fireplace before us as her chest rises and falls with dense breaths.
When she finally looks towards me, her pupils are dilated and she’s fighting to form words. “I, uhm, I really liked your song. The new one, I mean. About making moves.”
There’s too much space between us. I rectify that by moving closer, pressing my side against hers. My skin feels as though its melting off my body. “Thank you.”
“You said it was special.” Her knee starts to shake, and she shuts her eyes before looking to me. “Why was it so special?”
I clasp my hands against her face, running the pads of my thumbs across her cheekbones. Resting my forehead against hers, I press a hesitant kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Her eyes spring open.
“Because it was the first song I didn’t want to be misunderstood.”
Her chest swells against the soft fabric of her shirt. The bones beneath her skin undulate as she reaches for me, seizing the tops of my shoulders. A noise escapes her lips. One blink and she’s throwing her leg over both of mine, seating herself in my lap. Dubious fingers tangle themselves in the hairs at the nape of my neck. Warm puffs of her breath waft against my cheeks as she straddles me. “Your lyrics were for me.”
With quivering hands, I palm her hips and draw her in so we’re an inch apart. Our chests knock together with each oversized breath that blasts from our lungs.
“Max.”
“Gia.”
“That was for me. You want me to make a move?”
“Yes.” I shudder beneath her. “I can’t do it without you.”
“Baby.” Her lips whisper across my cheek, and I fucking whimper. “You don’t have to do anything without me, Max.”
A tight fist takes possession of my chest, compressing my airway. I gasp, the corners of my eyes crinkling with her words and candor. “God. You are everything. My Gia.”
My support. My voice of reason. The one who possesses the hand that stops me from trembling. The owner of the smile that’s had me wrecked since day one. She. Is. Everything.
It sounds so fucking cliche. I write songs for a living and I can’t summon a better word than that? Fact is, she is everything.
She is everything that matters.
Everything I need.
She runs the backs of her knuckles down my face. “I don’t know what it means to be your Gia.”
I palm the back of her head, holding her so she knows how deeply I cherish her. “It means Cheetos for breakfast and french fry cartons littering my car. It means Star Wars marathons and footy pajamas. It means late night gigs and jumping on the bed of a hotel room that costs more than my car. It means holding you close when you show me up in dancing and listening to me gripe about the amount of coffee you consume.”
Her eyes are wet. “What if I want it to mean more?”
Can she feel it too? Is this close proximity of conflicting body parts and anxious hearts hammering at her emotions?
“What if I want to kiss you?”
“Please.” Fuck. “Gia.” Her name is a plea. A plea for what, I’m not sure. To move away? To move closer? To say the words first? To just kiss me already?
We’re a breath apart, holding each other as our muscles convulse. I ache to consume her. I seek the moment our lips meet and I can escape all the agonizing moments that came before this one. The need I feel is profound.
I have never allowed myself to have anything but music.
I want Gia more.
When her lips brush mine, I stop trying to breathe. “I’m scared you won’t like it.”
“I’m scared I will.”
I swallow her gasp.
Kissing her is like experiencing snow for the first time. There is nothing, nothing more magical than standing outside, watching the snow fall lazily and cover the earth with a soft, white blanket. It lands wherever, having no care in the world and likely unaware of its ability to transform an entire town in the span of an hour. It’s an impact that can only be made on the people who experience it. An impact that’s strong, not because of its enormity, but because of its rarity.
Not everybody gets to experience the magic, and they’ll never know what they’re missing. They’ll never know how a small event such as wet ice falling from the sky can shift another’s world so greatly and so quickly, it leaves them trying to work out what everything looked like before it came along.
I would never have understood the magnitude of all this woman has brought to my life. I would’ve never considered just how hard that extra thump in my heart beat for her. If it weren’t for her lips moving against mine, her tongue caressing the inside of my mouth, or her hands gripping the muscles in my back, I may have never been able to uncover the undeniable truth. As my fingers slip through her silk hair, I reconcile with the idea that I am wholly, honestly, and purely in love with her.
“Max.”
I drink down my name as it passes her lips. The sound is a prayer I’ve been waiting my entire life to hear the answer to. The answer I’ve been waiting for. The answer to the great question—why am I still here? Why didn’t I die like my mother did or spend my life in foster care? Why didn’t I end up a homeless teen and why was I given such a wonderful life when so many other kids are still suffering?
It’s her.
If there’s a God out there looking down on me right now, he’s grinning because it worked. The souls he created to fall together are finally in sync, meshing together in the best of ways.
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love. I didn’t spend a lot of time considering what it’d feel like when I did, but I knew it’d be wonderful and painful.
Guilt knots in my stomach as I worship her, and I’m unable to ignore the rage I feel toward the world for making Aiden and I feel so different and unworthy of her compassion. I am saturated with conflicting needs to bask in her intimacy and run far, far away.
Pain, intolerable and unavoidable, kneads at my heart. I’ve felt her now—grown addicted to her touch and what it feels like to be consumed by her. I won’t be able to endure it if she walks away after discovering how much more to me there really is.
I won’t persist if she turns us away.
“Max.”
Moving swiftly, I flip her over, stretching my body over hers. Her legs wind themselves around my waist, tugging, silently begging for more of my weight. I give her what she pleads for, running the tip of my nose along her neck as she nips at my collarbone.
“Gia.” Reaching one hand behind me, I tear off my shirt. “Gia, if you want to stop you have to tell me.”
“What if this screws up everything?” Her fingers dip in
to the muscles of my chest, and I moan. “What if I lose you?”
“Impossible.”
She scrambles to tear off her own shirt. I make quick work of helping her sit up and sliding it over her head. She repositions herself beneath me, gripping my shoulders and using all her force to ensure my body imprisons hers. Her hands move across my skin smooth as water, exploring every dip and scar painted across my body. I jerk when the tips of her fingers slip just below the waistband of my jeans.
I groan, capturing her wrist. “Tell me you’re sure.”
“Max.” The tops of her fingers claw desperately at the muscles in my back, forcing my eyes to make direct contact with hers. They hit me like a freight train. The breath rams out of me as I stare at her. For a moment, that’s all that happens. It’s just eyes. Blue ones meeting green ones, trying to send a message.
I understand immediately.
She’s sure.
A gentle moan leaves her lips when I sink my teeth into her collarbone. Goosebumps make themselves known beneath my palms as my hands take a tour of the skin I’ve bared so far.
She squirms beneath me, whispering my name as a request for more.
I carry her to bed and cover myself in her smell, her touch, and her taste. I drench myself in the way it feels to have her nails in my back, her hair in knots against my pillow, and the breathless sound of my name as it tunnels from her throat.
I lose myself to the sweaty sheets and the satisfied sigh she makes as she curls into my warm chest. The kisses she peppers against my chest linger alongside the marks she made. I place my hand over them, protective of their symbolism and the person who made them. I hold her warm body against mine, reluctant to ever let her go. And then, as her even breath moves across my neck in slow blasts, I let myself sleep.
Waking up next to Gia Maria is eternally soothing. She is smothered in my scent—her new fragrance a heady mixture of strawberries and rock n roll.
