15. Raleigh
Raleigh
15
15 YEARS OLD
The soft sounds of Ezra’s guitar fill the house as I make my way into the kitchen to find him sitting up on the island bench, softly strumming a sweet acoustic melody. “Is that new?” I ask, opening the fridge and pulling out a soda, unable to keep from glancing back over my shoulder and taking in the way his shirt gapes open, showing off the defined pecs beneath.
“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, tracking my every step across the kitchen with eyes so dark they hold me captive every time I look his way. “I think I’ve almost finished the melody, but I haven’t worked out the lyrics yet.”
My brows furrow. Usually, he works the other way around and fits the music to the lyrics he’d already spent hours slaving over. “Everything good?” I ask, cracking my soda and dropping a straw in the top before taking a sip.
I lean back against the counter, my eyes greedily raking over him. He’s eighteen now, far from the boy I first met two years ago, and while he’s still exactly the same, he’s also so different. He was tall then, but now he towers over me, and when he pulls me into his warm arms, I’ve never felt so protected. His jaw is sharper and his voice even deeper, but the stubble that grows across his jaw brings me to my knees. He’s simply gorgeous.
Ezra Knight is my whole world, and it only gets better every day. However, now that the band is starting to get a little more traction, they’re getting fans, and they’re not just the kind of people who sit back and listen to their music while nodding along. They’re screaming girls who desperately try to throw themselves at the boys, and my patience is wearing thin . . . as well as my self-esteem.
The girls are always gorgeous, model-like beauties who are naturally older than me, more developed than me, more experienced, and definitely more suitable for Ezra than his best friend’s fifteen-year-old sister. It’s bullshit. I hate it and for the most part, I think I do a pretty good job at hiding my insecurities, but I know he knows. He knows everything about me. It’s as though he can read the thoughts entering my mind before I’ve even had a chance to decipher them for myself, and despite those girls and their frantic attempts to get his attention, his eyes are always on me.
Ezra tilts his head, silently asking me to come closer, and I push off the counter before striding across the kitchen. I move toward him, and he reaches out for me with his leg, drawing me even closer until I hover between his strong thighs.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” he murmurs as his guitar rests between us, forcing us to keep a respectable distance . . . mostly.
My eyes bug out of my head, my heart kickstarting as though it just received a potent shot of adrenaline. I’ve been waiting for this day for two long years. Twenty-four agonizing months. But realizing what he said and how I’ve very clearly interpreted it, he quickly rushes in. “Woah, Rae. Chill. I’m not talking about that,” he says. “I know I tend to toe the line every now and then, but I really don’t feel like having your brother beat the shit out of me today.”
“What about tomorrow?” I tease, my gaze dropping to the guitar pendant that hangs around his neck. He’s had it since before I knew him, a gift from his mother that he’s always cherished.
Ezra rolls his eyes and grabs the neck of his acoustic guitar before lifting it off his lap and placing it on the table behind him. “I wanted to ask you about a song,” he clarifies.
My whole body sags, the disappointment clear across my face. “Oh.”
“Well, shit. I didn’t realize asking you about my songs was such a boring topic for you.”
“Compared to what I thought you were going to do, uhhhh yeah. It kinda is. But go on then. I suppose I have a spare minute to unload my infinite wisdom on you,” I say, trying my hardest to keep a straight face before pulling out my best southern accent. “What seems to be the problem officer?”
Ezra waits a minute as if really considering the way he wants to approach this, and his lips twist with unease, which instantly puts me on edge. “Hypothetically, there was a girl,” he starts while sending my heart falling straight out of my chest and splattering into a million pieces on the floor between us. “And I’ve maybe been wanting to write a song about her, but wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that.”
I pull back just an inch, feeling my first true heartbreak coming on. I’ve been preparing for it these past few months. I know it’s been coming; I just never knew when, but surely there would come a time when Ezra realized I’m just some stupid kid. And I guess that day just came.
My jaw clenches, not wanting to fall to pieces right in front of him. I’ve always seen him as mine, as the other half of my soul, but technically, he never has been. Nothing has ever happened between us. He’s never touched me, never kissed me, never done any of the things I hear Rock, Dylan, and Axel brag about doing with the girls who come to watch them perform.
“A girl, huh?” I ask, my voice wavering, on the verge of tears.
“Hypothetically,” he reminds me, watching me a little too closely as I inch back again, only for him to pull me right back in.
“Well, hypothetically, who is she?”
He thinks on it for a moment. “She’s someone I maybe want but can’t have.”
God. Why can’t he just be straight with me? The more he dances around the answer, the harder it gets to keep my composure. “Why not?” I mutter, more than aware of the fire in my tone.
“Because she’s far too beautiful for an asshole like me,” he says as his fingers dance across my face, pushing my hair back behind my ear. “She’s got this thick auburn hair with eyes that somehow penetrate right through to my soul. Since the day I met her, everything that I am has belonged to her, but it doesn’t change that the one thing I want most in this world is the one thing I can’t have.”
Ezra holds my gaze as my heart races for a whole new reason.
How stupid could I have been? I’m the girl.
I swallow over the lump in my throat, not knowing how to respond, when his hand circles around the back of my neck and he pulls me in just enough to drop a kiss to my temple. “I wanna write her a song,” he continues. “But hypothetically, if I did, I’d want to know that she’s okay with me putting it out there.”
“I see,” I mutter, purposefully taking a long sip from my soda just to give me a moment to rearrange the wild thoughts racing through my head. “I think if you hypothetically really liked this girl with the soul-penetrating eyes enough to write a song about her, then you should have the guts to tell her what you’re really feeling instead of dancing around the topic. But I also think that if you were to write a song for her, that would be really sweet.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, “Though, I don’t know why all of a sudden this song has you feeling like you need to start asking questions. It’s not as though this hypothetical girl doesn’t already know that every song you’ve ever put forward to the guys has been about her. Hypothetically, of course.”
“Fuck. She already knows that, huh?”
I nod. “She does.”
His eyes glisten with silent laughter. “Even Scarlett Rose?” he asks, questioning the one song that’s a clear metaphor for all the nasty thoughts he’s ever had about me.
My cheeks flush, and I have no choice but to glance away, unable to take the heat in his eyes. “Even Scarlett Rose.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah . . .”
I can’t help but laugh, but as his fingers brush a searing trail down the length of my arm, a seriousness falls over us. “I wish it could be different, Rae,” he murmurs as those dark eyes stare so deeply into mine.
“Are you sure?” I whisper, airing my insecurities for the first time. “There are so many girls out there who throw themselves at you, and they’re beautiful . . . and older than me. You could be with them without having to fear Axel wanting to kick your ass. Not to mention, you wouldn’t have to wait. It would be okay.”
“Okay for who? Okay for you?”
I shake my head. “You know it would crush me.”
“Do you know the difference between you and those girls?” he asks me. “I don’t even see them, don’t even notice when they walk into a room, but you? Just knowing I’m under the same roof as you makes everything feel as though it’s going to be okay. When the guys talk shit and use those girls, I couldn’t care less, but the thought of anybody even thinking about touching you drives me insane with rage. I’m yours, Rae. Always have been since the day I first walked in here and you stood right here in this kitchen gaping at me.”
I push up onto my tippy toes, my lips barely a breath away from his, though I know he’ll never cross that line, never risk it. “All mine, huh?”
A stupid smirk stretches across his lips. “Hypothetically, of course.”
I roll my eyes and groan, and as I pull out of his arms, he jumps down from the counter and steps into me again, his eyes dancing with silent laughter. “You were jealous though, huh? When you thought I was talking about some other girl.”
I scoff. “I don’t get jealous.”
“That right there, Raleigh Stone, was the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”
I shake my head. “Nope. The biggest lie I ever told was when you were going out to that gig across town, the one with the cranky bar manager, and you asked me if I liked your shirt. I didn’t. It was hideous. I hate that shirt, but I told you I liked it because it was already too late for you to change.”
His jaw drops. “Holy fucking shit. Raleigh Stone is a stone-cold liar.”
“I know. Isn’t it thrilling?” I say, grinning. “You better watch yourself, ’cause you never know when I might strike next.”
His gaze narrows. “What other lies have you told me?”
I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out just how honest I’m willing to be. “That it doesn’t bother me if you were to become some big-time rockstar and go on tour,” I admit. “I know we always talk about it happening, and I want that for you, I really do, but I see how good you are, and if I can see it, then so can some big-time record label. It won’t be long before that happens, and I guess . . . I’m scared it’s going to happen too soon.”
“Too soon?”
“You’re eighteen, Ezra. I’m fifteen. If you get a record deal tomorrow and go on tour, you’d have no choice but to leave me behind, despite how much of a fight I put up about it. You’re going to leave me behind.”
He shakes his head. “That’s never going to happen,” he tells me. “I’m not leaving this place without you. I promise.”
A heaviness settles into my chest like a dead weight, refusing to budge. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Have I ever broken a promise before?”
“I ummm . . . I don’t think you’ve ever promised me anything before, so how am I supposed to know?” I challenge. “You could be a terrible promise keeper.”
“Actually,” he says. “I think you’re right. I’m kinda shit with promises. Secrets too. Don’t tell me shit. I’ve got a big mouth. But when it comes to you, Raleigh Stone, I’m not breaking anything. We’re going to make it big one day, and when we are performing in sold-out stadiums across the world, you’re going to be right there with me, and this time, there’s nothing hypothetical about that.”
A stupid smile stretches across my face, and everything inside of me begins to melt as Ezra reaches for his guitar. He takes my hand and pulls me toward the garage just as the familiar sound of Dad coming home fills the kitchen, and suddenly, the warmth in the house fades away. It’s been a year since Mom passed, and I hate to admit it, but I think Dad has been drunk every single one of those days, and what’s worse, he’s a nasty, mean drunk.
For the most part, he leaves us alone, but every now and then, he turns his sights on me, and when he does, I always spend the rest of my day in tears. I think it’s because I look so much like Mom. He struggles to even look at me, struggles to have any kind of relationship with me, and I hate it. This home was always my sanctuary, but that’s starting to shift now, and when the boys aren’t here, leaving me alone with Dad, my sanctuary morphs into a prison.
“Come on,” Ezra murmurs, keeping his voice down. “I wanna take you somewhere.”
My brows furrow, and I let him lead me along, stopping by the garage to put his guitar away before slipping out the garage door to avoid an awkward run-in with my father. Before I know it, we’re in his car, flying down the street.
He pulls to a stop outside a tattoo parlor, and I stare out the window, gaping at the shop. “We’re going in there?” I ask, wondering just how sanitary it is.
“Uh-huh,” he says. “How am I supposed to be some famous rockstar without a single tattoo?”
My face scrunches, not too sure about the whole tattoo thing. Axel got one a few months ago—a tribute to our mom—and it was a nightmare. Pretty sure he almost ended up with an infection that had him sulking on the couch like a little baby for nearly two weeks. I don’t want to see the same thing happen to Ezra.
“Come on. It’ll be fine,” he says, knowing exactly where my head has gone.
I groan and get out of his car before letting him drag me into the tattoo parlor and over the space of the next thirty minutes, I watch with hearts in my eyes as he gets the words Hypothetically Yours tattooed across his chest, a permanent gesture to remind me that no matter where he is in the world or how many screaming fans are calling his name, his heart will always belong right here, entwined with mine.
As he gets up off the table and wanders across the tattoo parlor toward the full-length mirror, his hand slips into mine, pulling me along with him. He stands in the mirror, and I can’t help but stare at the beautiful cursive words written across his chest.
He pulls me into him, my back against his chest as he winds his arms around my waist, the two of us staring at one another through the big mirror, his new ink still visible just over my shoulder, and when he drops his head and presses a kiss to my cheek, it’s everything I’ve ever needed. “Yours, Rae.”
“Yours,” I repeat.
Four hours later, way after we spent a good portion of the night having to explain where we were to Axel and what the hell “Hypothetically Yours” is supposed to mean, I lay sprawled across my mattress with my head hanging over the edge as I watch Ezra get lost in his music. He strums his guitar, repeating the same melody I’d heard earlier over and over as he jots down lyrics in his notepad.
I can’t help but notice the words Hypothetically Yours scrawled across the top of the page in his messy handwriting. He works on it for an hour at most, the words falling from his brain onto the paper with ease, and as he finally starts matching those lyrics to the melody, I realize that one day, this song is going to kickstart the boys’ careers, and when that happens, he won’t hypothetically be mine anymore, he’ll belong to the world.