Chapter Sixteen
Ryden
“Never forgot who you were to me, never forgot the recipe – of the kindness you showed to me… that one December day.”
Arc yank it down enough times, the ball slips and you’re fucked. Hold it in balance, you’re good as gold. My chains were heavy.
Scar smiled, appeasing the old man. “Still upright, Timb.”
“Atty! Atty,” he shuffled along the corridor. “What can I do for yous?”
I nodded to the back. “The guitar studio empty?”
He shooed me in the direction. “Even if it weren’t, I’d kick ‘em cobblers out. Go on ahead.”
I bumped his fist, leading Scarlett to the back of the music store. The strums of a guitar – Timbit’s playing – breezed through the space. “FUCK MY MUSIC WITH SOUND!!”
We burst out laughing.
“One day he’s going to have an actual customer and won’t know it,” Scarlett joked, glancing back at Timb seated at the register, bobbing his head to some techno house shit.
I simply smiled, knowing exactly the feeling. “You get lost in the music.”
She ran her fingers over the acoustics hanging from the ceiling. “See any you like?”
I picked up a black Fender, stepping into the studio. “Nothing compares to Harley.”
She followed me in, closing the door. “You’re cheating on her.”
“She knows it doesn’t mean anything.”
Scarlett snorted. “Which amp?”
“Vox one’s fine.”
I plugged her in and pulled a stool to the centre of the carpet, getting used to the feel of another electric in my hands.
To a non-musician, all guitars looked the same.
But to rock stars, guitars never felt the same.
You connected to one, imprinted on one like it was your own fucking Renesmee [Scarlett forced me to marathon Twilight with her, don’t ask].
“Am I so lucky –” Scarlett sat atop a discarded piano bench – “that the Ryden Spectre is giving me a private performance?”
I chuckled. “You should sit next to the shower more often.”
She shook her head, a small smile cresting her lips. “Play me something.”
I stared at her, contemplating if I should show her the piece I’d been working on for over a decade. It wasn’t… fuck, it wasn’t ready. But I itched for it, the way I itched for all things bad – all things high.
But not when I played, never when I played. So what do we do when we hurt? We create art.
Pale and blue, the rest is cold –
In a house of soil, my peace was sold…
To a man in the mirror, who looked like me –
I wished for blinds so I couldn’t see –
The death of my destruction, the death of all I knew… The death of absolution, all that I’ve been through –
I wished, so wished, for blinds that bleed –
A blackened blue, a pale reprieve –
To wash the pain of my mistakes –
The death of absolution.
Scarlett was sitting on the rug at my feet, tears settling atop her waterline. When did she move? “Are you…” I cleared my throat, setting aside the guitar, “are you okay?”
She stared at me for what felt like hours, doing what she does best. Assessing me, dissecting me, finding me.
Her knees were drawn up to her chin, head tilted slightly. “It’s funny,” she started, “I grew up watching you play, watching you sing. I never miss a soundcheck, turn up the radio when your songs come on yet –” she shook her head, “I never get tired of listening to you.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile. “Is that a compliment, Dove?”
“Hardly,” she got up, dusting her knees. “Just a fact.”
“The fact being?”
She stepped in front of me, between my knees. Fucking hell, I could feel the heat creeping up my spine, the tension whirring between us. I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to hold her waist, to press her body against mine. She was so close, dammit, she was so fucking close.
Just do something about it, Ryden.
She’s been yours forever.
You’ve been hers.
Who else is left?
Who else could it be?
She leaned forward, brown eyes levelled with mine. “Born an eagle, born a rock star.”
My pulse was hammering against my chest, raging against the emotions. My other half, my best friend, my fucking soulmate was a breath away from me and I couldn’t – I can’t do it.
There was so much risk. So much on the line for us.
We grazed the depths of hell to get here, and I couldn’t risk a selfish kiss, a rush of infatuation, a plume of lust. We were solid because of the everlasting loyalty, the boundaries we set in place. If something were to happen between us, those walls would come down and we’d be fucked.
I’d lose my everything.
Because I acted on what I shouldn’t have even considered.
Fuck it man, fill me with greed. I’m so goddamn selfish for this woman.
I pulled her by the belt loops so she was flush with my chest, allowing a lone finger to slip underneath the bottom of her top. “One last stop before my meeting.”
She pulled away, as if a lasso were wrapped around her hips, tugging her back. Her cheeks were red, I took pride in knowing I could do that to the one and only Scarlett Emory-Blake. But her barriers flew up, and I recognized the bars closing.
“You earned your reputation for a reason, Ry.” She rolled her eyes, but the hint of pink in her cheeks remained. “Let’s get bagels.”
I swallowed, laughing to myself in fucking pain.
Jesus Christ, Dove.
You’re so good at killing me.