29. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Elise
A t six forty-five, I arrived in the school gym. Even though the dance didn’t start for another fifteen minutes, music was already pumping through the overhead speakers. Drawing a breath, I adjusted the straps of my gauzy emerald dress and ran my fingers over my carefully curled and woven hair. Sure I was only here as a chaperone, but seeing as how Dad and I had bought this gown two years ago in the hopes of me wearing it to a dance and I’d never gotten the chance—being an introvert had its drawbacks— I was going to make the most of this night.
Teardrop diamond earrings jangling—they’d belonged to Mom— I walked toward the stage that was currently covered in speakers and cords.
“I’m just checking in,” I called to Principal Hodges who stood with three different sized cords wearing a perplexed look. “Has Dylan showed up yet? I’m sure he could handle that?”
He immediately dropped the wiring and smiled. “Brilliant idea, Elise. I like the way you think. You look lovely, by the way.”
“Thanks. Where do you want me?”
Hodges tapped his chin. “Let me see, we have Katherine manning the refreshments.” He pointed to where our eccentric art teacher stood behind the table filled with cookies and a punch bowl practicing her yoga poses. “Chris has the back of the gym covered, and I plan to supervise the front half. Why don’t you man the music and see to it Dylan and his band, The Lactic Acid Junkies, have everything they need?”
I snorted. “They named their band The Lactic Acid Junkies?”
“Oh, I agree, it’s a strange name, but Mr. Harper assured me it has nothing to do with drugs.”
Shaking my head, I explained, “Lactic acid is what people used to think made our muscles sore after intense exercise. We’ve since learned that the soreness comes from little tears in the muscles themselves, but Dylan must not know that.”
That earned me a puzzled look from Hodges. “You mean that he purposely named his band after something that causes him pain?”
I held up a finger. “Something he believes causes him pain. Can you honestly tell me you’re surprised that he’s warped enough to celebrate his own suffering?”
“I guess not.”
We both gave a chuckle.
Over the next few minutes, Hodges showed me how to work the computer that controlled the music, then wandered off to check on the rest of the preparations.
Soon, Dylan strolled in wearing a tuxedo with his electric guitar case slung over one shoulder.
“So we meet again, Mirage,” he said in a husky voice when he got close.
My stomach did a slow roll, and I focused on the computer screen rather than the way his black suit, vest and bowtie made him look like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel.
“What you working on there?” He squatted beside me, his gelled hair brushing against my forearm. Hopefully, he didn’t notice the goosebumps trailing up my skin.
Intelligent language abandoned me as he reached over my arm to point at the screen.
“Looks like a pretty good song selection. The dance starts in five minutes, and we’ll need at least fifteen to get everything set up. What if we plan on playing from seven-thirty to eight-thirty? Then, we can take a half-hour break and finish out the night with a final performance from nine to nine-thirty?”
“Sounds good,” I squeaked.
Was he wearing cologne? The sweet, yet spicy odor had me leaning forward to get a better whiff. He turned his blue-green eyes on me, and I forgot how to breathe.
“You look awesome, Elise,” he said.
I swallowed. “Thanks, so do you.”
“I’m going to get stuff ready. You let me know if you need anything, okay?”
Before I could answer, he pressed a feather soft kiss to my arm, then rose.
What had just happened?
Dylan
What had just happened? Had I really kissed Elise on the arm? Who kisses people on their arms? Weirdos, that’s who. Hopefully, I didn’t tick her off too much and ruin the effect of my coming surprise. Why did she have to look so unbelievably hot tonight? It was messing with my mojo and making me do stupid things.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I joined the rest of the band up on stage.
Candace, our violinist who never dressed in anything that wasn’t black, tipped her head and looked me over. “You okay?”
I blew out a breath and tossed my freshly dyed hair out of my face. Time to be a rockstar. “Never better.”
Here’s to hoping Elise didn’t kill me for what I was about to do.
Elise
Staring at the computer screen that was currently playing a Taylor Swift song, my fingers itched to type in Dad’s email address and scan his history again. Why hadn’t I found anything helpful there? With Dylan’s policeman cousin ignoring his calls, a security system installed, but no new activity from druggie Greg, and no sign of Tara anywhere, we’d hit a total standstill in our investigation.
I checked my watch. Seven twenty-nine. The gym was filled with couples, including many of our runners who had stopped by to say “hi.” Dylan and his band were clustered together on the stage. Hopefully tonight wouldn’t be a repeat of what had happened at the fitness center when I’d stood there drooling over him like a total idiot.
No, tonight, I was cool, calm, aloof. Just because I’d worn the most elegant dress I owned, Mom’s diamond earrings, a fair amount of makeup, and spent two hours arranging my hair didn’t mean I wanted anything to come from tonight.
Dylan stepped up to the mic and introduced his band. More than one chaperone raised an alarmed eyebrow at the name Lactic Acid Junkies, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Next, he played the slow, single notes of The Smashing Pumpkins hit, “Today.” His band quickly jumped in a few seconds later as the solo morphed into a raucous jam that had the kids in the audience bobbing their heads and jumping to the beat.
I couldn’t keep my toes from tapping or the smile from my face as I watched Dylan slam on his guitar. His neatly gelled hair was quickly becoming a whipped, yet sexy mess.
Whew, was it hot in here? I needed a distraction if I was going to survive this dance without turning into a puddle of mush at Dylan’s feet.
I eyed the back door, wondering if I should prop it open when a random thought leapt into my mind. Didn’t Dad have a second email, one he used mostly for team communication?
I drew my phone out of my purse and scrolled through my message history looking for the address. Hadn’t I saved a workout schedule he’d sent with our summer training info?
Found it. There was the list of weekly miles we were expected to complete, along with a schedule of in-person practices. Beneath the team business was a personal note.
Love you, kiddo. Hope you have a day as terrific as you are.
My eyes stung, and I had to look up at the ceiling strung with rows of twinkling lights to keep my tears in check. No way was I crying here in front of all these people, especially not with this makeup just waiting to make hideous black streaks down my cheeks.
A few seconds later, I cleared my throat and looked back down at my phone. I clicked the contact name to view Dad’s full email address. After taking a screenshot, I went to the login page of the email host. Using the same password that had gotten me into Dad’s other account, I logged into the second server without a problem. How had he not been hacked by now?
Dylan’s band had launched into a new song, and their gothic looking violinist with fishnet tights and combat boots took her place at the microphone beside Dylan’s.
His haunting voice combined with the somber notes humming from her instrument cast a spell over the whole room as they played a classic by Collective Soul. Couples spun in silent circles, eyes pinned on each other or the musicians.
It was almost enough to make me forget Dad’s email history sitting open on my phone. Almost.
Tearing myself away from the scene, I looked down at the list of messages in Dad’s inbox. Since no-one had signed in for almost a year, there was a mountain of junk mail.
I quickly scrolled past anything that had been sent after September 29, the day he disappeared. Thankfully, Dad had done a good job of cleaning out his inbox when he’d been alive. In fact, there was hardly anything here. Only eleven messages in total. Three from me, one from Pete, and the rest were from other school’s coaches.
Though I opened each of them to be sure, the emails were all innocuous. Nothing here pointed to any malicious schemes, or even the blackmail Tara must have forced on Dad.
Together, Dylan and the violinist played a duet unique from anything I'd heard before. Even Principal Hodges, who had been visiting with the head football coach, paused his endless chatter to listen to the way the two harmonized.
When he returned to the microphone and flipped that blue hair, I couldn’t help staring. From this distance, I could see the joy in his smile and the glow behind his eyes. The only other times I’d seen him this happy were when he was running and when he’d made me laugh the other day.
Not that he wasn’t joyful. In fact, he smiled more than any other person I knew.
The next moment, he turned that beaming glow in my direction. Was it my imagination or did his grin actually grow? Dylan’s cheer was as bright as a burst of sunshine. He was the sun, and I was a flower, ready to finally peel open my petals and let him warm my soul.
Seeing my obvious pleasure, He gave me another wink, just like he’d done last time he caught me mesmerized by his performance. Only this time, I managed to return his smile before hot embarrassment flared through my cheeks, and I had to look away.
My phone screen had gone dark. I unlocked, clicked to view Dad’s sent messages, then froze. There was a constant stream of emails, right up until yesterday. Dad couldn’t have possibly sent them. Someone else was using this account.
I clicked on the message that had been sent yesterday.
Sven,
I don’t have the money. Rob and I are getting divorced. All my spare cash is going to legal fees. This is Robert’s problem now. He’s the one who racked up all these debts, not me.
Leave me alone
There was no signature, but it was obvious the message came from Tara. In a way, it made sense. Since she’d become his assistant coach, Dad had probably given her the password. But wouldn’t the police have combed this and anything else related to Dad during their investigation?
Looking through the history, Tara hadn’t used this email much until after the police had closed the case, or if she had, all traces of her tampering had been erased.
Dylan and his band were getting ready to play a new song. Too bad it wasn’t 8:30 yet. It would be nice to get his perspective on this latest development.
Only three notes in, I recognized the next song, “With or Without You” by U2. Hadn’t I told Dylan it was one of my favorites? He watched me closely as he opened his mouth to sing.
You hide yourself behind your walls.
I climb and climb and then I fall.
How can I reach you?
Those weren’t the words to the song. What was he doing?
Eyes like sapphires that pierce through me,
What will it take to set you free?
What I wouldn’t give to reach you
My mouth went dry. He was singing about me.
How can I reach you?
How can I reach you?
I’d give anything to reach you.
No, Dylan wasn’t singing about me. He was singing to me. He’d written entirely new lyrics to one of my favorite songs. I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed my blush or the pointed way he watched me. Fortunately, all eyes seemed to be trained on the stage as they listened to this new rendition.
So much more than a pretty face,
Fastest chick that I’ll ever race.
I’d give anything to reach you.
I’d taught him the beauty of poetry and how it could reach us on a deeper level, shown him that at its core, music was poetry. He’d taken that knowledge and molded it into something both personal and sincere.
What will it take for me to reach you?
What will it take for me to reach you?
I will give, I will try,
What will it take for me to reach you?
Still watching me, Dylan’s eyebrows raised as if he was asking a question. There was a pleading, even a longing tone in his voice. I knew what he wanted from me, but was I even capable of giving it to him?
Tossing his hair, he launched into the next verse.
Your heart’s on fire; I feel the sparks.
Please don’t leave me in the dark.
I’d give anything to reach you.
My stomach knotted. He was asking me to open myself up to him, to be vulnerable, to trust him.
But what if I did?
What if I gave him access to my whole heart, and then he broke it? Could I honestly take that kind of pain, on top of what I’d already endured and was still enduring?
Rather than fight the emotions, I closed my eyes and listened to Dylan’s warm voice, let it wrap around me like a blanket. Let my muscles and mind relax in a way they hadn’t since Dad’s disappearance.
What will it take for me to reach you?
What will it take for me to reach you?
I will give; I will try,
What will it take for me to reach you?
I stayed like that, probably smiling like a goofball, until the song ended. After the last chord, the band set aside their instruments and left the stage. I clicked a button on the computer before me to activate the waiting playlist. Wearing a surprisingly shy smile, Dylan walked toward me.
What should I say? My mouth went as dry as the Sahara.