Chapter 7 #2
“This first song is something I’ve been working on.
A story, like most of them are, but a bit of a detour from my usual style.
” He surveys the audience, nodding and smiling as he connects with them, then he looks over them, at me, where I’m standing behind the bar.
“I hope it hits the right notes for you.”
The crowd quiets as he strums. The intro is soft but has depth, even without lyrics. By the time the first line leaves his mouth, my heart is already beating faster.
And as he sings the last line in his deep, smooth voice, my throat feels closed up and my heart is trying to hammer its way out of my chest.
That was a love song, but more than that. A story of lessons learned, both good and bad. Of regrets and realizations. Of dreams, past, present, and future. An apology without using the words I’m sorry.
He strums the last chord, the room giving his beautiful song its due. No whooping or whistling, just strong, steady applause that goes on for a solid fifteen seconds. And in those seconds, his focus rests solely on me. His dark eyes hold my gaze as if waiting for my answer to an unasked question.
So I nod. Smile. Tap my chest in the area of my heart. Three quick, small gestures, but they’re enough.
He dips his head once, then turns his attention to the waiting audience. “All right, now it’s your turn to choose the song. What do you want to hear?”
That’s all it takes for the volume in the bar to skyrocket. Grüsh and his band have had a lot of hits, and the bar is full of people calling out their favorite song titles.
Grüsh has become noticeably less involved with fans in the past few years, but here, now, he’s the old version of himself.
The big green troll who’d been forced to live in secret, dreaming of a life as a professional musician who could go anywhere, play for everyone, never thinking it’d be a possibility.
In the early years of his success, his excitement and gratitude shone through in every performance, interview, and picture taken with fans.
Then it dimmed, like a light being turned down so slowly it’s barely noticeable while it’s happening.
But I noticed.
“You know him from when he lived here, don’t you?” Jane says, moving to stand beside me after her last customer walks away from the bar.
Nobody cares about getting drinks while an actual rock star is performing a live acoustic version of a song that went multi-Platinum.
“I do, yes.” I busy myself with wiping down the bar, but the weight of Jane’s stare is almost palpable, and heat climbs up my neck to my cheeks despite my attempt to appear composed as always.
Her sharp intake of breath is very audible. “Holy crap. You know him, know him.”
“What?” I choose acting affronted rather than lying because there’s not a chance in hell I’m confirming.
“You heard me.” While giving me a hip bump, her eyes go wide and she gasps again. “Wait—was that song about the two of you?”
“It’s his song; you’d have to ask him.” I laugh as if asking him is a ridiculous suggestion, but knowing Jane, I might as well have issued a dare. Backpedaling would basically be an admission, and I have no desire to be next week’s topic of hot gossip around town.
Her gaze follows me as I wipe my way down the bar, putting a buffer between us. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. I have to start hiring less perceptive employees.
Grüsh ends up playing five more songs before finally denying the full-to-capacity crowd’s repeated “just one more” begging. Disappointment rolls through the audience like a crushing wave when he rises from the stool and leaves the stage.
If I hadn’t been thoroughly distracted earlier, I would’ve asked him how he wanted to handle things after his spontaneous performance. Too late now, and I couldn’t get to him if I tried.
Fans are six deep on every side of him as he inches his way toward the bar, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He signs everything they hand him—including some hands and arms—and pauses for pictures with everyone who asks.
“Want to disappear?” I ask when he reaches me.
“Sounds good.” Holding the guitar in one hand, he raises the other in a signing-off wave, then follows me down the short hall to my office.
The space feels as if it shrinks when he closes the door behind us, and not only because Grüsh’s seven-foot-tall, solidly muscled body takes up significant space. It’s always been this way when we’re alone together.
“You can slip out through service door down the hall. I just need to grab the keys.” I move toward my desk, but he stops me with a hand on my wrist, staring down at me with those intense, dark eyes I’ve gotten lost in more times than I can count.
“What did you think of the song?”
“It’s beautiful. It…hit the right notes,” I say, copying the words he used on the stage when he addressed the audience, even though I know he was talking to me.
“Good.” He nods, tugging me closer. “I know you have to get back out there to the packed house, but I’d like to hang around until you close so we can talk.”
Before he leaves town, probably. A more peaceful goodbye than our previous one.
“Okay. You can wait in here, or you can go upstairs to the room where we had Ogram and Hope’s party.”
“That’s not what comes to mind when I think of that room.” Still holding my wrist, his thumb sweeps over my skin.
In the years he’s been gone, it’s been hard to think of anything except the last conversation we had in that room. Now, though, all the other memories rush forward, and with them, a flurry of sparks that converges between my squeezed-together thighs.
He notices, of course. Hiding my physical responses from Grüsh has always been impossible. Catching my scent, his nostrils flare and he dips his head toward my upturned one.
I hold my breath, certain he’s about to kiss me, and totally uncertain how I want to react.
He stops short, our faces close enough to feel his warm breath mixing with mine. “See you up there.” Then he releases my wrist, steps away, and exits the room, leaving the door open, literally and figuratively.