Mind Over Matter (8 page)

"This one's one of my favorites," Jonny said, nodding towards the glass box of creativity to indicate the song. She laughed as Q gave up his seat for her with a brotherly pat on the head, then she straightened her hair and turned her attention back to Jonny. "Gabe came up with most of the lyrics. I was working on this melody the other day, just kinda got stuck in my head, but then Gabe added on this really haunting... shit, you gotta hear it..."

Jonny gave her a set of headphones and let her listen. She'd never actually gotten a chance to see them at work in the studio. In the past she was usually catching him just as he was wrapping up, or she was smiling at him while he pulled on the last of his clothes and headed in. This was a different thing entirely. She was in the midst of watching him layer his solo onto the track the band was laying down. She watched the subtle artistry of his fingers over the strings, the way they vibrated under his touch and then sang out when he released them. The notes faded and then broke out into the silence of the room again. His eyes were closed, his head nodding along to the music in the headphones, trapped in his own world of music and creation. She realized her lips were parted and her eyes were glued to him, which made her sit up straight, clamp her mouth shut and divert her gaze to the wood and glass of the booth.

She swallowed hard, feeling like she was going to cry. A sad song, almost like a lullaby — a powerful, rocking lullaby — a labyrinth of sounds she was powerless to find her way out of untouched. Just when she thought the beat would take her down a predictable path, something changed and the words hit her in the gut. It was like she'd heard the song before, even though this was her first time.

Maybe it was the words. Maybe it was how Jonny's voice was begging some unknown girl for one more chance, for time to rewind away from coldness, back to fire, back to promises of forever that were etched into the very veins of the woman he loved. Maybe it was because as the chorus swelled it was like a cry to the heavens, an admission of loss that couldn't be fixed without undoing what seemed forever done.

It's just a song. He's just another ex-boyfriend. This is no fairytale.

And she was done being the foolish girl so easily caught up in the spell of him. But it took more effort than she thought it would to stop looking at him, drinking him in like the first gulp of water after a long drought. Force of habit, and bad habits like this always died hard. She just had to keep forging ahead.

"Wow..." she said finally, pulling the headphones off before she really did cry. “That's amazing. I don't know how you guys do this over and over again."

"It’s awesome having our number one fan around again," Nuke said with a grin. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder that once again made her miss them and miss this world.

"This one just kind of came out of nowhere," Jonny said and shared a look with Nuke that made her feel like knew exactly where the song had come from, "Last minute replacement for another song that just didn’t fit."

Nicole nodded absently at Jonny and turned back to Gabriel inside the booth. "It's beautiful. Perfect."

Gabriel's eyes opened and met hers. He registered only the slightest flicker of surprise. Then he smiled lightly, finishing up the last great wave of the song. It was like he was looking at her and into her all at once.

"What's the song called," she heard herself ask.

Jonny grinned and pulled his seat up right beside her.

"‘Loose Ends’," he said, and then sang part of the chorus softly in her ear.

"I would tie all these up for you

For you, for you

Just

You…"

Chapter Eight

"I didn't even know I had this much shit," Gabriel huffed after carrying yet another full-to-bursting box into his bedroom.

"Most of it's music," Nicole exhaled, equally winded as she dropped her box. "That's the last one. Fucking records, and CDs, and a million books. I don't know whether to laugh at how old-fashioned you are, or hate you for putting me through this. You know you can store all this stuff on computers now, old man?"

He laughed and came to his full height to stretch. "So I hear, youngin'. So I hear. But, like you said, I'm old-fashioned. I like to hold things in my hands. I like things with a little history to 'em."

They took a minute to bask in the silence of his new home before sorting through his belongings. It was the weekend and Jackie, Ian, the guys from the band, Trish, and Nicole had done the obligatory service that comes with being the friend of a person in the midst of big move.

Of course it was a little different now. They weren’t in college and lugging giant sofas up several flights of stairs. Movers had packed up all the big stuff – like furniture, appliances, and clothes. Mostly the gang was on hand to help him move his prized possessions, like his guitars, stereo equipment, and record collection, as well as new stuff he’d purchased that day. Nicole had been the last straggler to stay behind, offering to help sort through his music and books while Travis was having guy time with his friends.

It took a couple of hours tops to get everything moved in, the furniture set up, and the stuff he’d packed out of his car, but with plenty of hands and plenty of jokes to keep the mood light, they were nearly done with moving everything by noon. Then they broke for lunch and had their own informal housewarming party. For the first time in a long time, the whole gang was together again.

That had been his favorite part of this day. Everyone gathered around for sandwiches and drinks, laughing amidst boxes and unpacked luggage. They made fun of Gabriel for managing to hide a mansion's worth of stuff in one bedroom, and for not being able to decorate to save his life.

"Seriously, what are you going to
do
with all this prime real estate?" Trish asked, partially in awe and partially jealous. "You gonna leave those beams up over there, or take them down to open up the space? Oh, and the kitchen! I don’t mind the gray countertops, but what about a black granite or marble—"

"Slow your roll, HGTV," Chase joked, nudging her in the arm with his elbow. To the others, with a smirk, he said, "Trish is on a quest to conquer the world with interior decorating, one apartment at a time."

"Starting with ours," Jonny said, the good-natured twinkle in his eyes belying the sneer of disapproval on his lips.

"You two needed an intervention," Trish snorted, to which Jackie laughed and the rest nodded in concession with firsthand knowledge. "The only one who could stand to be in there was Q... and just barely, I might add."

"I know, right? And I have
notoriously
low standards," Q exclaimed around a mouth full of ham and cheese.

"I did you a favor."

The finality of her tone made Chase roll his hazel eyes. A silent concession. Everything in his life had improved since he let Trish corner him at that wrap party for their first music video, from his apartment down to his disposition, and they both knew it. The look they gave each other said as much, identical wry smiles curving their lips. Surly love personified. And it looked good on them.

Gabriel found himself trying and failing several times that day not to look at Nicole with the same intimate understanding. A flash of thought would hit him every time she set something down in his new bedroom, or stared at the space with as much appreciation as she had when he was still hunting for apartments. Every time they were removed from the others up until the moment they all left and she stayed behind, he would look at her and think:
This should have been
us.
We should have been moving in here together.

But I blew it.

She'd already taken that big plunge with someone else. Someone who didn't take every solid show of loyalty and devotion as a tightening noose around his neck, like Gabriel had thought it was back in the day. Truth be told,
this
Gabriel was having a hard time understanding what
that
Gabriel had been so afraid of. Especially now, when he was drawn into the present by the sound of her voice, by her presence and her scent.

"Fuck me..." Nicole whispered excitedly at her find amidst his record collection. She pulled the record out of its protective sleeve, but he wasn't paying attention to what prompted her response. Her words had caught his attention, the gasped exclamation sent a thrill through his loins, tickled a trail of memories over his tan skin.

Fuck me... please Gabriel...

She put the record on, placed the needle to vinyl like it was some sort of sacred communion she was partaking in. Then she stepped back and waited with arms slightly raised. When music filled the room she sank into it like a warm bath, her entire body relaxing into steady movement. She was swaying and singing along, softly, so she didn't overtake the magic of the original artist, but loud enough for him to hear her sweet, girlish lilt pay homage to it.

Too late. Always too late. He wanted it all and now he was going to have to settle for this. He was going to have to settle for watching her sway to their favorite music with a distant smile on her face, and forget when he would get up and wrap his arms around her, kissing her neck until she turned and offered her lips up to his lust, his love.

Well... maybe he could take a little more? There was no danger of being close to her, not when she'd moved on so thoroughly from him. Maybe he could claim a little closeness, a little something to ease the aching transition from past to present.

He stood up, walked to her silently against the smooth floorboards.

"God, I love, love,
love
this song... remember the first time I heard it—"

"I remember," he whispered against her ear, placing one hand against her waist, which kept her from turning to face him like she was going to. The other enfolded a hand that had drifted into the air to ride the beat.

He heard her gasp, and felt her still against him.

"Don't get so tense," he heard himself say, fighting back the sadness. "It's not like I'm gonna kiss you or anything. Just dancing, that's all..."

"I know you're not," she whispered back. Her body relaxed in the tiniest of increments. "We're just friends. I know you weren't going to..."

"Just two friends reminiscing," he said softly, filling the space that his gesture might have wedged between them. It was forward and inappropriate. But it was honest, too. And somewhere along the way he had to figure out how to be honest around her again. It was killing him not to be and he didn't want to die for a lie anymore.

"Just dancing to one of our favorite songs, Nic..."

He heard her sigh and she leaned back. He heard himself swallow as he wrapped his other arm around the front of her with his hand still clasping hers, but somehow he managed to sway confidently to the beat. Confident and scared of that double-edged familiarity. Holding her was like listening to your favorite song, the one that broke your heart no matter how many times you heard it. The smell of her, the feel of her warm and pliant against his body made him physically ache. It would take less than a second to change everything, to lean down and kiss the smooth skin of her neck, and hear that sigh become a moan against his waiting lips.

It would be as simple as breathing in synch with her like he was in that moment. Simplicity didn't exist here, though. He had to fight every second to block out his hunger and the world beyond this moment, a world that would intrude and pull her away from him again. But he fought for their former, simple magic anyway. He fought to have a piece of her without scaring her away.

"I remember the first time I played this for you," he continued. And then he sang to her, his voice soft and raspy, barely above a whisper.

The first time he'd played this she'd already heard the original version. She'd liked that one and had been convinced it couldn't be done better. But he'd always liked the lesser-known acoustic version the band taped live. She'd been standing in the middle of the room, her hair up in a ponytail that skimmed her neck, in shorts and a t-shirt to combat the summer heat. Her body was still, her head tilted to the side and eyes staring towards the floor, while she waited with skepticism to hear a better version of one of her favorite songs.

It was acoustic and simple. Grainy. It skimmed over a person's skin like a trailing kiss. She blinked and her lips parted in surprise, dumbstruck by how something so familiar could be given new life with just a tweak to the arrangement. She'd looked like she was about to cry for a moment. He knew now that she almost did, having seen what tears looked like glittering in her eyes.

He memorized the moment her eyes shot up to his and she smiled, fierce in her ability to show exactly what she was feeling. With music and books, with the ones she loved. With him. She'd always worn it all in those beautiful dark eyes, in the twist of her full lips. Her heart wide and full and resting on her sleeve.

She'd looked away then, swaying to the magic, and he'd watched her. He'd watched her close her eyes and smile the same smile she would later press against his lips. Love's smile. Even back when he didn't realize what he was seeing, something bloomed within him. Appreciation turned slow as the seasons into what it was now. Full-fledged love. The kind of love that left him both broken and mended just by the sight of her. The kind of love that made him wrap his arms around her and sing to her now — as if that could ever be enough — when all he wanted was to turn her around, kiss her, and tell her to stay with him.

Love was a double-edged sword, like memories, like time. Love kept him silent. Love kept him from hurting her again by begging her to take him back, when she'd moved on to someone else she may very well love more.

"I remember you bet me it wouldn't be as good, but I got five bucks off you that day, then treated you to ice cream with it. Or at least I tried to treat you to ice cream..."

She laughed at that, and he recalled the way she'd gobbled up the coffee ice cream enthusiastically before it plopped to the ground, half eaten.

"I was trying to get my hair out of my mouth because it was windy and getting caught in the ice cream. Graceful me... my hand bumped it while I was flipping my hair out of the way and it fell."

"Yeah. You had longer hair back then," he said somewhat wistfully as he placed his chin against her head.

"Not a fan of the haircut?" she asked with a chuckle.

"It didn't take away from anything. You still look like you. It still smells like lilacs," he whispered. "I was always a fan of that."

She turned around then, but he didn't release her. He swept his hand to the small of her back, held her other hand close to his chest, against his heart.

"Gabriel Roberts?" She took on a mock Southern accent, affecting the air of a young
debutante
. But her voice wavered with nervousness. Or maybe, something else? “What
ever
are you doing?"

He looked down at her eyes wavering with uneasiness and remembrances of the past. How it was supposed to be before human fallibility got in the way. "Dancing with my good friend, Nicole Langley."

She swallowed and lowered her eyes to his chest. Then she laughed and shook her head. There was a battle going on within her. She was relaxing into the moment, and gathering up the courage to pull away. He felt it, but he held firm. He wasn't letting go. Not yet.

Not ever...

"Just till the end of the song..." she whispered, and he couldn't tell if that was for his benefit, or hers.

She kept her word. She let them float in comfortable silence to the song, even resting her head against his shoulder for a moment.

Perfect. That's what it felt like to hold her. He would take any amount of pain afterwards if he could just hold onto this for as long as she would let him. He would have felt pathetic, if he weren't trying to block everything else out and grip the clarity of this moment. But it was already slipping away. A slight panic gripped him as the music started to fade, growing dimmer and dimmer like this moment he was stealing with her in present time. Another illusion coming undone.

She stilled, and part of him read that movement as easily as he used to read her sighs of pleasure, her eyes, and the lilt in her voice. This was comfortable. This was something that had been planted in them a long time ago. Part of her wanted to stay. He wanted to believe that.

But when she started pulling away, he broke the embrace first. He stepped away and headed for the box of books. He picked four, turned and looked over his shoulder at her and smiled.

"Heads up," he said, tossing her one book. He was careful to lob it slowly so she didn't miss it.

She did catch it. But then she stood there looking at him as if she wasn’t sure what just happened. He tried to ignore that look, walked to the bookshelf with the intent to do so. He shelved one book, two books. Then he stopped.