Just a Girl (19 page)

I thought about everything James had said for the rest of the night, wondering if there really was a chance for me. I wanted Paul back so badly; moving on did not seem to be an option. Seeing him every day at work only reminded me of what I was missing. We didn’t talk much anymore. There were no more quiet dinners in my mom’s office, no playing around with instruments after the store was closed. Definitely no shenanigans in the expensive guitar room, though I still got a thrill every time I had to go in there.

What I needed was a way to tell him I cared and I was here if he wanted me. I’d sort of done it before, but maybe he hadn’t been in a place to hear it. James was right: I needed one more chance to try. If he refused me this time, I would have to find a way to move on. Maybe I needed to stop working at the Continental altogether.

Okay, so now that I knew what I wanted to do, the question was how. I sat on my floor, sorting through LPs just for something to do, and I came across one of my dad’s old Bob Dylan records. More than a few albums had made their way from my parents’ collections into mine over the last few months. I wondered when, or if, they’d notice.

Dylan wasn’t my favorite singer, but the man wrote lyrics like nobody’s business. I threaded the record onto the turntable and let it play while I kept flipping through the collection.

What I wouldn’t give to write songs like this. I used to keep a lyrics journal when I was younger, but I’d stopped a few years back—right around the time The Luminous 6 began the shift from alt-rock to something more in the neighborhood of metal. God. What the hell had I been thinking? I should have gotten out as soon as I realized the music wasn’t what I’d signed on for. Stupid Shawn. Stupid Dixon and his stupid lyrics.

Dylan’s folk sound didn’t really match with my mood, and I was about to take down the LP when a new track started.

It was one of those moments where everything clicks.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Turned out, I needed James after all.

August 11

Me

I’m not coming back to L.A.

Liv

I know.

Me

I needed to be honest. I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend these last few months.

Liv

You’re not shitty. You’re just far away. Which is shitty. But I still love you.

Me

I love you, too. But I’m not coming back to L.A. I like it here, God help me.

Liv

Would a certain guitar player have anything to do with this?

Me

Not yet.

Liv

Interesting.

Me

I must be out of my mind.

Liv

But in the good way?

Me

I hope so.

Liv

Just promise you won’t forget about me.

Me

Never. You’re my best friend.

Liv

xoxo

It was hard not to pounce on Paul the minute he walked through the door, but I held out until there were only a couple hours left till closing. He had a short break before his next student came in, and he was out in the lobby for a cup of coffee.

“I don’t know if James said anything, but I didn’t want it to be weird. James and Nick are coming to the After Hours session tonight so we can see about a guitar player.”

“He told me.”

“I’m sorry. Is that weird?”

“A little.”

“Just so you know, I wanted it to be you.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“I know, and I respect that. But you should know that I wanted it to be you.”

“Well, thanks, I guess.”

“And it would really mean a lot to me if you’d stick around for a little while when After Hours gets started.”

“Why?”

“Surprise?” I didn’t know if he’d go for that.

“You’re not going to try to drag me onstage.”

“No. Nothing like that, I promise.” I offered him a small smile. “But James wants to bring Kenzie, and I think she might want to claw my heart out, so I could also use a bit of protection? I mean, unless you want her to eat me alive, in which case, well…I guess it was nice knowing you.”

He laughed softly. “She doesn’t want to kill you. Anymore.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“But I wouldn’t go under her tattoo machine anytime in the near future. No guarantees what you’d end up with.”

“Good to know.” I nodded firmly. “So…will you stay? Just for a while?”

He took a slow breath before answering. “Okay.”

Nick and James were as starstruck as I would have expected when they got to After Hours. My godfather Tommy was back, as well as three original members of the Gray Ghosts.

“Just be cool,” I told them in a low voice. “They’re really nice, but they’re not here to get fanboyed over, okay?”

“We’re cool,” Nick said, but there was no hiding the wideness of his eyes.

My nerves were running a bit high, too, though not because Tommy or the three Ghosts were here.

Kenzie had come, to my amazement. She was less gobsmacked, not recognizing all of the people here, but even she was stunned the first time she laid eyes on Tommy. Once she managed to take her eyes away from him, she looked at me coolly. Since I was already putting my heart on the line tonight, I figured I had nothing to lose by confronting her head-on.

“Kenzie, I hope you don’t hate me.”

The direct question disarmed her, and her chilly expression melted into something else. Confusion? Sadness? I couldn’t be sure.

“I don’t hate you,” she said like a kid who’s been made to apologize but is really not at all sorry. Then she sighed, just like her brother. “You were right. He needed help.”

“Is he getting it?”

“It’s not my place to say. He’ll tell you himself if he wants you to know. But he’s good.”

Tears pricked at my eyes, but for once they were happy tears. “Good.”

“He—” She hesitated. “He told me some of the things you said to him. It really meant a lot.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“Anyway, thanks for letting me crash. James would never tell you, but he’s so excited.”

“I asked Paul to stay,” I said.

“And is he?”

“He said he would.” But I hadn’t seen him yet. I also hadn’t seen him leave, so I was hopeful.

Tommy, my dad, and two of the Gray Ghosts were on tage now, ready to start the night’s jam session. They laid down a classic blues riff, and one of the Ghosts approached the mic to do an epic harmonica solo. It went on for a long time, with the other musicians in the audience letting out an occasional whoop of enthusiasm or an appreciative “Oh hell yes!”

A few minutes into the jam, I caught sight of Paul out of the corner of my eye. He’d snuck in the back and stood near one of the tall guitar racks, watching the stage. He’d showed. Thank God.

I let another two impromptu groups form on the stage, including one where my mother sang a Meghan Trainor song, which had James, Nick, and Kenzie leaning forward with expressions of total shock. I laughed, delighted to find Paul shift his eyes toward me with a knowing look. He’d been to enough of these now to recognize that my mom liked to throw in a few choice Top 40 songs now and again.

As I’d had a feeling she would, my mom found me in the small audience when the song was over.

“Presley, you got anything for us tonight?”

“Sure.” I stood, my heart instantly hammering in my chest and my palms tingling. I took the stage to stand beside my mother.

“What kind of backup do you want?” she asked.

“I’m all set,” I told her. “Just need to invite my friend James to the stage with me.”

The usual smattering of applause greeted the announcement; the regulars loved to check out new talent. James looked a bit pale as he got up to join me. But, oh, the look on Kenzie’s face was priceless. I had the feeling it was pretty rare for James to keep a secret from her.

I winked at him as he got to the stage. There was a keyboard already set up, a nice Korg that James looked over hungrily. He adjusted a few settings and wiggled his fingers comically before playing a couple of test chords.

My stomach was in knots. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this nervous before singing, not even taking the stage with Jukebox Bleu for the first time back at the Drafthouse. Maybe the time I’d sung the National Anthem at a baseball game when I was seven had been nearly as terrifying. Somehow this was worse, though. All those familiar faces out there, looking at me expectantly. Then again, there was only one I was really interested in at the moment, though I didn’t quite have the guts to look at him just yet.

“Everybody, this is James DePriest, my charming assistant for the night.”

They gave him another, slightly more organized round of applause.

My hands shook as I adjusted the mic stand, first up, then down—all of it unnecessary, as my mother and I were close in height and she’d been the last one to use it. Finally there was nothing else I could pretend to do.

It was time to make my last plea.

“This one is for Paul.”

He went still as James began to play.

I had to close my eyes for a second while I waited for my cue. Already, tears were threatening to choke out my voice. So I began, hidden behind my lids, but as soon as I was sure I had the first line solid, I opened them. I found Paul’s face in the audience and never looked away from him again as I sang.

The song was “Make You Feel My Love.” It was a Bob Dylan song, a favorite among a lot of musicians. Some fantastic covers were already out there, and Adele had given it another revival recently. It wasn’t a strenuous piece, but it was beautiful, and the lyrics were perfection.

Paul watched me as intently as I was looking at him. I’d been worried that he would be embarrassed that I’d named him before I started, but he didn’t seem to notice anyone else in the room. I sang to him, feeling as though my very blood was pouring out onto the stage.

I sang to him about all the things Dylan would do for his unknown lady love, and they were just as true coming from my mouth as they ever were for him. My entire body was shaking—I could only hope no one could see it.

The audience in Columbus that night might have thought I was raw, but that was nothing compared with how I felt right now. I could have been standing up there with no clothing on and I would have felt no less bare. Like I was made entirely of nerves.

James played out the last few notes, and there was nothing but quiet at first. Then someone let out a piercing whistle and everyone was startled into applause.

Finally, I broke eye contact with Paul to look at the rest of the people in the room and give them a slight nod. It was enough to send a tear running down my cheek, which I didn’t bother wiping. Two steps back from the mic I did a half-bow, then presented James, who stood behind the keyboard to give everyone a wave.

“Thank you.” I turned to him, pressing my hand to my lips briefly and sending the kiss in his direction.

He smiled and nodded.

Then I turned and walked off the stage.

Someone came up behind me and took the mic, asking for another hand for me, but I didn’t look back to see who. I had somewhere to be.

Paul abandoned his spot beside the guitar rack to stand in my path. He was outside the loose cluster of people watching the stage, but not very far away. Certainly not far enough to provide any kind of privacy.

I stopped in front of him, tears dripping freely down my face now, no doubt making a mess of my eyeliner. He reached out to touch my cheek, brushing the tears away with the back of his hand.

“Presley,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”

His eyes went over my shoulder briefly, taking in the number of people within earshot. He tilted his head toward the room with the expensive guitars, and I followed him through the door.

Inside, the sound of the jam starting onstage was cut off completely. It was soundproof in here, almost deafeningly silent after the ringing acoustics of the performance space.

Fear kept me near the door, standing just inches inside of it, only my toes on the oriental rug. Paul went farther into the room at first, but came back when he noticed I’d stopped short.

He looked at me for a long time, studying every inch of my face without speaking. My heart buzzed in my chest, beating so fast it felt like one long vibration.

At last I could no longer take the silence. “I know you don’t think you can count on me anymore—”

“Shhh,” he said, coming closer to cup my face in his hands. “I don’t need you to explain yourself.”

And then he kissed me. Softly, slowly.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine. “I’m still so in love with you.”

I wanted to collapse with relief, but part of me was waiting for the other half of that sentence. I had to be sure. “But…?” I asked.

He smiled. “No but.”

Now I did sag, knees turned to complete rubber, so that Paul had to put an arm around my waist to keep me upright. “Really?”

“Really.”

I let out a weird, strangled laugh and drooped even harder into his arms. “Oh thank God.”

“Pres—you’re gonna—” He tried to get a better grip on me, but it was too late; I was way too unbalanced a load. He went down to a hard squat, catching himself on one hand while I fell to my knees in front of him.

It hurt, but I didn’t care. I lunged at him, sending him the rest of the way to the floor, with me on top, laughing and crying all at the same time. He was startled at first, but then he wrapped his arms around me and we kissed.

When at last I let him up for air, he held my face again—partly in self-defense.

“You were…incredible up there tonight.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at him. “But I wasn’t doing it for compliments.”

“I know.” He sat up, tipping me into his lap with my legs around his waist.

“So, will you have me back?”

“Only if you’ll have me.”

“Yes. Absolutely yes.” I kissed him again. “One hundred times yes.”

“And what about the band?”

“They’ll have to get their own girlfriends.”

He laughed. “I meant, are you staying with them, too?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.”

I tilted my head in surprise. “Really?”

“They would be pretty pissed at me if I took away their singer.”

“So, you’d choose them over me? Is that what you’re saying?” I teased.

“No.” He shook his head. “I choose you.”

My heart fluttered happily.

“It’s just nice that I get to have you
and
not piss off my friends.”

“And they’re still your friends? Even though they asked you to quit?”

“They were right. You were right. I needed—I
need
help.”

“Are you getting it?” I knew the answer, but I wouldn’t betray James and Kenzie.

“Yes. Look.” He tilted us both to reach in his pocket, returning with a familiar amber prescription bottle. Only this one was new and had an actual pharmacy sticker on it. “It’s even got my name on it. And I think I’ve got the right therapist.”

I kissed him on the forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so willing to board this crazy train, but I do appreciate it.”

“I love
you,
” I said clearly. “Not just one part of you. All of you.”

He shook his head in wonder. “Okay.”

“Do you think you’ll ever want to come back? To Jukebox Bleu, I mean?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea right now. Neither does my therapist. But, yes, in a while, if the band still wants me. But you guys are going to have to have a guitar player in the meantime.”

“I know. But I like knowing that you’d even consider it. Because the truth is, I’ve never loved the stage more than I do when you’re up there with me.”

“It’s…a little easier for me, too. With you. But, you have to understand, it is still not what I’d call fun.”

“I know.”

“Although, when we do it in the bathroom right before going onstage, I’m too distracted afterward to get inside my head. So, you know, if you want to keep that in mind.”

I laughed, throwing my arms around his shoulders. “I will remember that.”

We kissed, delighting in the familiar feeling of being happy around each other once more. I’d missed him so much. Having him in my arms, his lips on my skin, only emphasized how empty I’d felt while we were apart.

And as always with Paul, it didn’t take long to ignite a fire inside of me. There had been something about him from the start, and being apart had done nothing to break that spell. Every cell in my body wanted to touch him, feel his warm skin, taste him, pull him so close that we became indistinguishable.

I snuck my hands up the back of his shirt just to touch more of him, spreading my hands wide and flat to get as much contact as possible. My heels dug into his back as I squeezed closer, looking for that just-right pressure that made my insides coil like a cat on the hunt. When I found it, desire sizzled through me.