19. Reed
reed
. . .
Sleep won’t come.
I’ve been lying on the couch for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling fan turning slow, steady circles in the dark.
Every creak of the house, every tick of the clock seems louder at night. I shift, rolling onto my side, then my back, tossing the blanket off again.
I keep replaying the moment at my bar; my hands on her waist, the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin fabric of her shirt, the soft hitch in her breath when I didn’t let go right away.
She looked up at me with those bright blue, unguarded eyes, and for a second, it felt like the world had gone still, holding its breath for me to make a move I never made.
Fuck.
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. My chest feels too tight, my thoughts too loud.
Faintly, from somewhere out back, music softly plays, but the beat is anything but quiet.
A gentle hum that gradually grows, enveloping the night air.
I sit up, every nerve in my body suddenly awake. The sound is coming from my backyard. I push off the couch and move toward the sliding glass door.
And there she is, barefoot in the grass.
She’s wearing a matching pajama set, pale yellow with tiny brown teddy bears scattered across the soft fabric. The cami top is thin, loose in the breeze, the neckline dipping just enough to hint at the curves she usually hides.
I catch a glimpse of the bruise right beneath her collarbone again, and my breath turns ragged.
Heat crawls up my spine, and I force my hands to stay relaxed at my sides, but my knuckles are red from the sheer force of my clenched fists.
Her phone sits on the patio table, its speaker pulsing blue, softly playing crystallized (feat. Inéz) by John Summit.
The music wraps around her body like it’s part of her as she moves with it, slow and wild all at once, her arms stretched over her head as her hips sway to the rhythm.
She starts to sing, and I just let myself listen to the sound of her voice through the glass.
And I could stand here, listening to her sweet voice sing, and be a happy man.
The next verse swells, and she sings louder, her voice slightly cracking, spinning beneath the open sky.
She stomps her bare feet into the wet grass, her head thrown back as she’s yelling along to the chorus now, and I notice a slight sheen in her eyes, like she’s been crying.
I stand there, half-hidden behind the glass, my heartbeat syncing to the song. The night hums, and all I can do is watch her glow under it.
The first drop of rain falls, the first speck dampening the strands of grass, swaying with the breeze.
She doesn’t stop, of course she doesn’t.
The drizzle deepens, speckling her skin, darkening her hair, making her pajamas cling to her.
Fireflies scatter, regrouping around her as she twirls, water spraying from her fingertips.
She screams the last line of the chorus, spinning once more before collapsing into laughter, breathless and gleaming under the moonlight.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Not the kind of beauty you photograph.
The kind of beauty that hits you in the chest and makes you forget what air is.
She tilts her face toward the sky, her eyes closed, as rain runs down her cheeks, smiling. The light from the window flickers against her skin, mixing with the glow of fireflies and the silver shimmer of the storm.
I let myself stare, and it feels like balance is tilting, restraint slipping away.
She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it as she dances in the rain, looking like a promise I have no right to desire.
I’ve spent years thinking the world lost its color. That everything good belonged to someone else. That some people were just meant to live in the quiet while everyone else got the light.
But standing here, watching her sing and dance in the rain, surrounded by fireflies and moonlight, I’m not so sure anymore.
The song finally fades into the night, as the rain softens to a whisper.
She spins once more, this time more slowly, with her eyes still closed, her lips parting in a gentle hum that echoes long after the last note fades.
I stand there, watching her like a creep, who’s hopelessly in love with a woman who’s promised to someone else.
She can’t and won’t fall in love with a freak like me.
She slows to a stop, still breathing hard, rain dripping down her nose. For a second, I think she hasn’t noticed me, until her head tilts and her eyes lift toward the sliding door.
Fuck, she noticed me.
I think she’s going to make a face at me and walk away, but then she smiles.
The same radiant, sunshine smile that could probably burn through fog.
She gestures for me to come outside, just a slight tilt of her hand, her fingers curling toward herself.
My palm is already sweaty against the cool metal handle of the sliding glass door, and I have to wipe it once against my flannel pajamas before I move.
I tell myself to calm down, she’s just a friend, but my pulse is pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears.
The track squeaks softly as I unlock it and slide the door open, a rush of night air flooding into the room, threaded with the scent of rain and honeysuckle.
Outside, fireflies flicker brighter with the disturbance, scattered sparks drifting slowly.
“Dance with me, Reed.”
My stomach drops, and the sensation of butterflies comes fluttering back. “What?”
Her laughter ripples through the rain, unbothered. “Come on!” she yells. “Dance with me!”
I blink, glancing down at myself. “I’m not dancing in the rain.”
“Course you are,” she says simply, like it’s already decided. She takes a step closer, her wet cami clinging to her chest, her nipples hardening with each gust of wind.
Fuck.
“When I’m stressed, this helps. Moving, yelling, feeling the music. It’s stupid, but…” she shrugs, gaze softening, “I relate to this song so badly it hurts.”
Those two words hit me harder than I expected.
It hurts?
This woman, this vibrant, ridiculous, unfiltered burst of color, hurts?
The thought lodges somewhere deep. Because for all her laughter and brightness, there’s something in the way she says it that cracks something open in me.
I step out onto the deck, rain soaking through my white Henley instantly. She’s watching me, waiting, with her hand outstretched between us.
“Come on,” she whispers. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
A hundred things flash through my mind: embarrassment, slipping, falling, looking like an idiot, but none of it seems to matter when she’s looking at me like that.
I hesitate for half a second, then I take her hand, interlocking our fingers.
She tugs me forward into the yard, laughing when I almost trip on the slick grass.
The music is still playing, softer now, fading into another remix.
She starts moving again, her hips swaying side to side as her hair flies as she spins. “You’re too stiff!” she laughs, circling me. “Come on, Reed, let loose! Pretend no one’s watching!”
I shake my head, rain dripping from my jaw. “You’re watching me.”
“So!” she says, spinning again. “Now move those hips!”
A real laugh escapes me, and it surprises me with how loud it is; it’s been so long.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Thank you!” she shouts back, over the music and rain. “Now dance!”
At first, it’s awkward. I shift my weight, half-heartedly moving to the beat as she grins at me. But then she bumps her shoulder into mine, laughing when I stumble. She loops our hands together again, starts twirling under my arm, and I can’t resist as I begin to move along with her.
The rain soaks through everything—my shirt, her pjs, the ground beneath our feet, but it doesn’t matter.
She’s still laughing with her head tipped back, and for the first time in years, I feel something like joy.
It’s ridiculous, messy, and it feels good.
We dance until the music fades, and the only sounds left are our breathing and the soft hiss of rain.
“See?” she says quietly. “Told you it helps.”
I look at her, really look at her, and my throat tightens. The rain clings to her lashes, catching in the corners of her mouth where her smile still lingers.
“Yeah,” I say softly, voice barely audible over the rain. “Yeah, it does.”
She brushes a wet strand of hair out of her face, catching me staring again. “What?” she asks, voice breathless.
I shake my head, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Nothing.”
“Come on, Reed,” she teases, stepping closer, rain glinting on her lashes. “You’ve been staring all night. What is it?”
I swallow, hesitating before I lean down, reaching out and brushing her hair away from her face. My fingertips graze her hair lightly, barely touching her skin.
She inhales sharply, and my heart pounds against my chest. Her breath warms my knuckles as I let my hand rest near her jaw, not quite touching but close enough to feel her heat.
“I just… never seen anyone as beautiful as you.”
Her lips part slightly as her eyes glisten, not from the rain, but from something else.
“Hey,” I say, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She lets out a small laugh that breaks halfway through, her voice catching. “You didn’t upset me,” she says softly. “It’s just… I haven’t heard that in a long time.”
I stare at her, trying to piece together how someone like her, who shines so bright it hurts to look at her sometimes, could ever go this long without hearing it.
I want to ask, and I want to fucking know.
But I don’t have the right to pry.
So I stay quiet.
She inhales, wiping at her cheeks even though the rain does it for her, and smiles again, a little smaller this time. “I’m tired,” she says, brushing it off with that same sunshine tone. “Think I’m gonna head to bed.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Yeah, you should get some sleep.”
She lingers there for a moment, as if she wants to say more, like there’s something on her tongue neither of us is brave enough to speak.
The night air shifts, cooler now, and she wraps an arm around her chest, shivering.
Her toes curl into the damp grass before she steps. The blades bend and cling to her skin, dew glistening on her ankles.
She ambles, not because she’s hesitant but because something in both of us wants to stretch out these last few seconds.
Fireflies make way for her, scattering in gentle bursts as she walks toward the house.
Her thin pajama shorts brush her thighs with each step, the teddy bear pattern looking both silly and heartbreakingly cute under the moonlight.
The porch lights cast a soft, amber glow on the wooden steps. They’re slick with rain, and she carefully tests her footing, pressing her toes down gently.
She climbs one step, then another. She’s almost at the door when she pauses.
Like she felt the exact moment my breath caught.
She turns her head just enough to reveal her profile in the dim glow from the porch light, highlighting the delicate line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, and the faint shimmer in her eyes from the firelight behind them.
Then she fully looks back at me.
Rain falls in silver ribbons between us, with thin drops catching the light as they slide from sky to earth, and we just stare at each other.
She looks at me as if she wants to say something, but the hesitation in her movements tells me otherwise.
“Goodnight, Reed.”
“Goodnight, Layla.”
The door clicks softly behind her, and the yard feels different without her in it.
I stand outside for a while in the rain, watching the glow from the kitchen window fade as the lights inside turn off.
Layla, the woman who laughs loudly, talks too much, and brings color into every room she walks into.
And yet, I can’t shake the memory of her voice cracking when she said she hadn’t heard those words in a long time.
I run my hand through my wet hair, my chest heavy with an unnamed feeling.
Because now I can’t stop wondering, the woman who radiates sunshine... is she hurting, just like me?