Chapter 24
Rayne
I spent half the day thinking about Easton’s reaction and couldn’t figure it out.
That’s why I’m standing here in the kitchen right now with Easton, Beck, and Jax.
Everything is awkward again. This has to stop, otherwise .
. . I don’t know what will happen, but I’m not very keen to find out.
I just want everything to be simple again.
But was it ever? No, not really.
Easton clears his throat and pushes back his hair. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I nod, and Easton stands up, while Jax shoots Beck a questioning glance, as if he already knows what happened. When Beck shrugs, I’m sure he does.
“Be nice to each other,” Beck shouts after us as we leave the kitchen. Yes, he definitely knows. Easton stiffens next to me, I can feel it, but I don’t say anything as we’re walking up the stairs.
His room is dark until he turns on the lamp on the bedside table.
He doesn’t like bright lights, which is why there isn’t a ceiling light.
His room is messier than usual. There are a dozen notebooks on the floor in front of one of the beanbag chairs, along with loose sheets of paper that are full of his handwriting.
They’re songs; I can tell without looking closer.
It seems like he was searching for something.
I stand silently in the middle of the room, unsure about where to start.
It seems like he feels the same way, because he doesn’t say a word.
He’s looking at me, and something in his eyes makes me want to put my arms around him and hold on tight, like he’s done for me so many times.
I want to chase the shadows out of his eyes and make whatever happened today disappear. But it’s probably not that easy.
“I think I made a mistake when I asked you never to argue with me again,” I finally say.
Easton looks surprised. “Why?” His defensive undertone stings.
“Do you remember when I told you that I can’t argue with Hailey because I don’t trust her?”
He nods.
“And remember when you asked me if I trusted you?”
Another nod.
“I said yes. I said it’s okay if we argue.
Because I know you’ll always be there for me.
When we had our first argument a few weeks ago, I didn’t remember that I had said that.
Maybe I just forgot because I was overwhelmed.
Whatever the reason was, it was a mistake to ask you not to argue with me again.
I want us to argue if it means we can tell each other the truth. Because we’re friends.”
I don’t know why I’m saying this. Maybe to convince myself that this is what it’s all about?
Easton makes a face, and maybe it wasn’t only a few weeks ago that I made a mistake but yesterday too. I can’t undo yesterday’s mistake, not so easily. The other one, I can.
“So please, tell me the truth,” I urge him, straightening my shoulders. There’s a faint rushing sound in my ears. “Tell me why you got so angry. What did I do wrong?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He paces the room, agitated, kneading his hands. “You have nothing to do with this.”
“But it felt that way.” I can’t suppress the hurt undertone in my voice.
“No, I mean it. This is all . . . Fuck, Rayne, you really have nothing to do with it.”
“Then what was it?” I instinctively take a step toward him. “Can you just tell me? I want to understand. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and honestly, all I could think of was . . .” I go quiet as Easton’s head goes back with a groan.
“Don’t do that. Don’t worry about it. I totally overreacted,” he says. “It was stupid. Honestly.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you.” I reach out both hands to him. “Just tell me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I . . . oh, fuck. It’s about me, okay?” He looks at me, and a tight knot forms in my stomach. “It’s about me and my complete inability to do anything meaningful.”
“What?” I don’t understand a word he’s saying, because if there’s one thing he isn’t, it’s incompetent.
“We’ve been treading water for months. We can’t find a label, and it feels like no one knows we exist!
I’ve been trying for ages to write a song that I really like again.
One I can believe in. But I can’t do it, and then you show up, and we sit in my van and write a song that’s fucking perfect!
But it’s your song, not mine. Because I just can’t do it on my own.
That’s why we’re going to be stuck in this house in this city forever, and we’ll never get to live our fucking dream! ”
I stare at him, stunned. He’s said before that he feels incompetent, and I thought I understood because I feel the same way about myself, far too often.
I guess I was wrong. I had no idea the extent of his feelings, and I’m probably a pretty crappy friend because I’ve been focusing on my own problems the whole time instead of seeing his. Really seeing them.
“Easton, I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts me. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault I feel like a total failure because I need you to write a song that wasn’t even my idea.”
His words cut deep into my heart, and I hate that he feels this way, because it’s not true.
“You’re not a failure, and you don’t need me.” My voice has gone quieter and sounds terribly hoarse. Easton grimaces in pain.
“Yes, I do. I need you, but I hate myself for it. I don’t want to use you. I want . . .” he goes silent when I flinch. “Shit, that’s not the way I meant it. I meant—”
“It’s okay.” I dismiss his apology, even though what he said hurt somewhere inside. This is all getting completely out of hand, and I’m starting to worry that I made a mistake, that we can’t fight after all, because if we do, nothing will be the same as it was before.
“No, it’s not okay. I want to record this song, Rayne. I want to go to the studio with you and the guys and record it because it’s great. But we can’t afford it, and you—”
“I know,” I say. I’m starting to comprehend what his problem is. Even if I don’t understand one hundred percent, because I’m not in his financial situation and never have been, I still get it.
“You suggested it like it was some small thing. For you it is, and that’s really okay.
But right now, it feels to me like we can’t do this without you.
And that’s damn unfair to you and the guys, because it’s selfish.
I’m selfish and too proud to just get over myself and say yes.
I don’t want to need you that way. I want us to .
. .” He trails off, his chest rising and falling heavily, breathing too fast.
What was he about to say? I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but I can’t get the words out, because that’s not what this is all about. Why is it so damn complicated again?
“We’re friends,” Easton says, his voice breaking. My heart breaks too, just a little too much. “If we take this song to the recording studio and you help us to record it, then . . . what if something changes? We’re not starting in the same place, Rayne. You’re . . . who you are, and I’m—”
“So are you!” I interrupt. Tears fill my eyes. He has to stop before he says something else that he doesn’t really want to say.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t! I can’t help who my parents were.
I can’t help that my father earned a fortune that belongs to me now because he died.
I am who I am, that’s true. But so are you!
God, Easton, do you know what I’d give to have a dream like yours?
Or your talent? A family? I would give every damn penny I own to get my parents back.
I would give everything, but I can’t!” My voice breaks, and I lose control.
I know I have to get a grip on myself, but I can’t.
Easton has gone white, and I just hate this.
“I’m totally alone in this stupid world, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
But yesterday, when we were working on that song together, I had a feeling for the first time that maybe I am good at something.
Even if it only works with you. I couldn’t have done it without you.
I understand everything you just said. I really understand, but it still hurts!
And of course it’s unfair. Just because it helps me doesn’t mean it has to help you.
But do you know what hurts the most? That you can’t see for yourself how good you are!
” I try desperately to find the right words.
“Rayne—”
“No, I’m not done yet!” I shout. It’s terrible, but I can’t stop now.
I have to make him understand. “You’re so damn good!
I listened to your songs every day for months, because I needed to hear your voice.
Because your voice does something to me every damn time I hear it.
You’re special and you have talent. God, you’ve got so much talent, and that’s not going to change just because songwriting hasn’t been working out for a few months.
My dad didn’t write all his songs by himself, either.
I don’t think anyone can. And even if they could, who cares?
It’s not important. That song we wrote yesterday isn’t mine.
It’s our song, and if you ever say again that you’re useless or that you can’t do it, I’ll have to slap you.
Because it’s just not true!” Breathing heavily, I fall silent, my heart pounding so hard against my ribs that it hurts.
I only realize I’ve moved closer to him when I see that my hands are twisted in his shirt, tugging at the soft fabric. His fingers close around my wrists, and at first, I think he wants me to let go, but instead he just holds me tight.
“I’m a bigger asshole than I thought,” he says quietly, and I can’t help but laugh a little, in spite of it all.
“Are not.”
“Am too.”
“No. But Easton, I don’t want you to think we’re on different levels, or that you’re in a different league than me. It’s not true,” I say with difficulty.
“I know.” He lets go of me and pulls me into an embrace. I sigh in relief as he puts both arms around me, and I immediately feel calmer.
“Really?” I murmur into his shirt. It smells like him, of course, and even though we just argued, even though there are still a lot of things we need to talk about, my body responds to his scent.
I hear his heartbeat under my ear, feel his arms around my waist. Warmth is spreading through me, and it’s all wrong.
He should let go of me. I should let go of him. We should let each other go, because I feel horribly weak right now and want to be held by him too much. Far too much.
“Yes.” He sighs, and I feel it in my hair. A pleasant tingle goes down my back. I can’t let go; I’m just not able to. “I’m just . . . frustrated. And insecure. And annoyed. It was really shitty of me to take that out on you.”
“It was. But I understand you.”
“Really? Because I don’t understand myself.” He laughs softly, and I have to smile. Neither one of us moves. We aren’t letting go.
“Really. Easton . . . if you don’t want to record the song, it’s okay. It was wrong of me to assume that you would want to.” I look up at him. His hair is in a tangle on his forehead, and I want to smooth it back and find out if it’s as soft as I think.
“It was never about not wanting to,” he says as I stare at his face without meaning to.
His thick eyebrows and lashes, and the bluest eyes in the world.
Those lips that wanted to kiss me yesterday, that I wanted to kiss too.
I would have if I weren’t so scared. He’s so beautiful, and I want to run my fingers over his face, touch his lips . . . and that’s a real problem.
He takes a deep breath, his chest pressing against mine. We’re definitely too close, but neither of us is backing away.
“It was all about me and my stupid self-doubt. I want us to record that song together.”
The way he says us makes my heart beat faster.
“Okay,” I say, wanting to let go of him, because I’m about to do something very, very stupid if he holds me any longer.
“Okay,” he says, and swallows. Something dark and longing flickers in his eyes. He has to let me go right now, or we’ll go up in flames.
But he doesn’t. Instead, his hands caress my face, his fingers warm and a little calloused.
“Rayne,” he whispers, and I don’t think I’ve ever liked my name as much as I do at this moment. No one has ever said it like he does. Soft and deep, as if it were infinitely valuable.
He rests his forehead against mine, his breath caresses my skin, and I can’t think straight anymore.
My mind shuts down. He hesitates, surely because of how I backed away yesterday, and I know I should do it again.
Really. But I can’t. I forget why I did it yesterday.
Instead, I lift my head and pull him closer, just a little, but it’s enough.
His lips meet mine, hot and hungry. Not gentle, not careful.
My body bursts into flames. We’re burning.
Easton groans, a soft, throaty sound that burrows deep inside me, and I want to hear it again and again.
I open my lips and our tongues touch. My knees go soft.
I’ve never been kissed like this before.
It’s so wild that it almost borders on desperation.
It tugs on my heart, and that’s exactly what I was afraid of—what I’m still afraid of.
But my mind isn’t working anymore, and even though I’m afraid, this kiss and him are exactly what I want at this moment.
Everything blurs. There’s just Easton and me, one of his hands on my face, the other wandering down my neck, tilting my head back gently and firmly.
My body melts into his, my fingers dig into his hair, his groin presses against mine, heat and desire, longing and hunger.
Someone is panting, I don’t know if it’s him or me. It’s probably both of us.
I forget my name, forget who we are and what I was afraid of. I forget everything except us.
For one brief moment.