15. Jessica
When his hand covers mine, a jolt of shock shoots through my body. My heart races, and I don’t quite know how to respond at first.
“Let me… let me go tuck Lily into bed,” I stammer.
“Then you’ll come back, right?”
I bite my lip. “Are you sure?”
His eyes flicker with a dark intensity, answering the question for me. Then, he pulls out his phone and slides it toward me.
“Text yourself on my phone so that you have my number. Give me a call when Lily is settled, and we can meet in my garage.”
I’m reluctant at first but follow through. I can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush when heading home.
After tending to Lily, I find myself in Brian’s garage. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little impressed by the studio setup. So, this is it—his space to create my insanity. But now that I’m giving this thing he calls music a chance, I can’t really say it’s a nuisance. His band isn’t half bad. I was too consumed with our fights, competing with him and my deadline pressure to notice.
My eyes catch a coarse leather book cover on a drawer in the corner. “What’s this?” I ask.
He turns to me from where he sits in front of his laptop, making an edit. I’ve never understood the editing process. To me, it’s just a bunch of jagged lines stacked on top of each other. I miss when music was just stanzas and instruments.
“It’s where I write down lyrics when I’m inspired. It helps most times when I’m stuck on a new song…you know, just to spit it out.”
Nodding, I pick the book up and flip the pages open. I stop on a random page and read the verse.
Buy me the Mississippi.
Let me drown myself there.
Don’t act like you don’t see me.
I miss the times you were here.
Throw me into the river.
Let me lay my head on stone.
And when the blood from my head is finished,
I’ll know for sure that we’ll be one.
A sad smile spreads across my lips as I re-read the lines, an image of Liam crossing my mind. I miss him with every bone in my body, but I know he’s in a better place now, a place where pain doesn’t destroy him.
Looking away from the book, I lift my head to the ceiling and take a deep breath before wiping my teary eyes dry with the sleeve of my shirt. “This is pretty dark.”
He turns to me again, oblivious to my mini breakdown. “Let me see.”
I show him the page, and he merely glances at it before his eyes light up
with recognition. “Yeah, it was written during dark times…very dark times.”
“I like it, but I think it loses something at the end.”
He looks at me, his alluring brown eyes etched with curiosity. “I thought the same thing, but I just can’t find a way to make it rhyme and still make it make sense.”
I lean down so that we are both hovering over the book. “Yeah, maybe you can say something like ‘when the blood from my head has flown’ or ‘is done’ here instead.”
“Flown?”
“Well, it implies that the blood has spread in the water or drifted along with the current, and you’re dead. That’s what you’re trying to portray, right?”
He remains silent, his eyes shining as he looks at me. It’s as though I’ve unlocked a mystery. Maybe even a different side of him.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to describe.”
“Ok, then. And flown rhymes with stone, so it makes the verse more fluid.”
He snatches a pen from the desk and strikes the end of that verse before adding my suggestion. I watch him as he analyzes it again before looking at me.
“It’s perfect. You’ve got a better grasp of music than I gave you credit for.”
I shrug. “I’m a writer. Words are my thing.”
He arches an eyebrow with suspicion. “I don’t buy it. What, do you have your own blog or something?”
“No! I write books. Contemporary romance, for your information.”
He pauses. Tilting his head to the side, he asks, “Yeah? What are you working on now, then?
“I’m taking a break before writing the second part of a book in a series.”
He nods, thinking. “Then how do you understand music rhymes?”
“Words are words, despite the form they are written.”
He nods. “Then you just might be the best thing to happen to me in South Brook.”
Are you blushing, Jessica? Stop it.
But his sudden change in demeanor leaves me helpless, and a smile creases my lips.
He grabs the edge of his desk and pushes himself backward, the tires beneath his chair sending him flying to another storage shelf on the other side of the room.
My eyes follow his movements as he pulls another drawer open, rummaging through it.
“I’ve got this song that I’m working on, but I’ve been stuck on it for weeks. Just like that verse, I can’t seem to find the right middle or end for it, and I don’t want this to be some mediocre song—”
“Whoa. Hold up, mister. I’ve got so much going on right now, and writing music isn’t my specialty.” I fold my arms as he turns to me, the light in his eyes fading slowly. “Besides, I get paid for what I do.”
He pushes himself back to me, the book in his hands. I take a slight step, trying to remain composed.
“Well, I guess I jumped right into that one. But I’d like your input on this song, so maybe we can start by talking about payment. How much are we talking here?”
“Like I said, I got a lot going on.”
“You don’t exactly look like someone with much to do.”
I scoff. “It never stops with you, does it? First, you ask me to stay. Second, I’m only here right now because I’m taking a break from work.”
“You’ve been here for a while. Is it a break or retirement?”
And just like that, he’s back to being unbearable. And I’m back to loathing his handsome face. “Call it whatever you want. I’m busy, and I can’t write your music for you.”
“Fine, it was a long shot anyway.” He flings the book on the desk and returns his attention to the laptop.
I roll my eyes as I pick up the book and look through the pages. The lines in this one are a lot more organized, in contrast to the smaller journal. My eyes widen as I recognize a lyric from Gina’s ringtone.
They’re his released songs. At least, most of them are. I flip to the last page and find the song I think he was referring to. It was merely two verses long and with an abrupt end.
I glance at him, his headset covering his ears as he continues to edit. There’s that glow in his eyes again, much more intense this time. His lips are moving as he listens to the song, only stopping when he hits the pause button to adjust. I’m sure he’s completely forgotten about my existence.
Had I been the one who had a guest over while swamped with work, I would’ve most likely put my work aside, regardless of the deadline, to keep my guest company.
But not him. He’s so in love with his work that he doesn’t mind being unapologetically focused on it.
My heart fills with emotion as I watch him. I’m transported to a time when I would sit with the most enormous glasses ever on my face in the middle of the night, typing away on my laptop, ignoring my college roommate’s constant requests to go out. Back then, I was so devoted to my passion for writing that I might have inadvertently been rude to a few folks along the way.
I’ve lost that now. Now, it’s just deadlines and paydays. What if helping him with this project brings that spark back in me? God knows I need it.
Conceding, I utter, “Fine. I’ll help you.”
I worry he can’t hear me through his headphones, but he springs up from his chair and slams his laptop shut at the sound of my agreement, without allowing me one second for an afterthought.
“Great! Should we discuss our terms then?”
I giggle. “I’m not gonna charge you. Making it official would put way too much pressure on me.”
“And we can’t have that.”
“Nope.”
“Looks like I’ll be calling you more often...uhm, I mean, you are my unofficial songwriter now, right?”
I bat my eyes, a playful smile dancing on my lips. “For professional business only.”
“Of course.”
He grabs the chair he offered me earlier and pulls it closer to him. He opens his laptop again as I take a seat beside him. “Give me a second while I look for the tune.”
***
There’s that sense of fulfillment I’ve been searching for. I feel accomplished after spending nearly two hours working on his music with him. For the first time in a very long time, I feel proud of something I’ve done. I don’t have to worry about not meeting requirements or stress over mistakes.
We made art. It’s that simple.
I look up at Brian. He has the same satisfied and relaxed look in his eyes, but his gaze isn’t on the book. It’s on me.
“This is amazing, Brian,” I whisper.
“It really is,” he manages, his warm, inviting eyes remaining locked on mine.
The air between us crackles with tension, and though our proximity borders on intoxicating, I”m rooted in place, unwilling to break the spell his stare has on me.
I swallow as I lick my lips, my teeth teasingly lingering on the curve of my lower lip.
His touch electrifies me as his palms graze the back of my hands, his cool, rugged skin igniting a fire within. With a deliberate gesture, he closes the book in my hands before placing it aside.
I sit there, hesitant, doubtful, expectant, as he leans closer. His touch sends shivers down my spine as his index finger traces the line of my cheek, slow and tantalizing, until it hovers beside my trembling lips. His thumb brushes against my lower lip, sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through me.
As he draws closer, our breaths mingling, our noses almost touching, he pauses, the intensity of his gaze holding me captive. It”s almost too much to bear. My impatience reigns, and in a bold move, I plant my lips on him.
Lust ignites between us, leaving me craving for more. My world feels like a burst of warm colors, a chaos of emotions swirling through me as his hand gently pulls me in by the neck. Our kiss deepens, becoming even more savory with each passing second.
What the heck are you doing, Jessica?
I press my hands against his chest, backing out from the kiss. He releases me without struggling, his concerned eyes seeking mine.
“I should go home.”
He blinks, his lips open, but nothing comes out.
I don’t wait for him to find his words. I grab my phone from the desk and hurry out.