Chapter 15
Easton
I Can Wait Forever—Simple Plan
Rayne has small hands with long, graceful fingers.
Her hands are too small for a pianist; she can’t spread them wide enough.
But she’s good anyway. Damn good, even. She plays with such ease, and it’s a version of her I’ve never seen before.
Admittedly we haven’t spent much time together in the “real world,” but I can’t help wondering why she never mentioned that she plays piano, and guitar.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she could sing too.
I’m afraid I might have to ask her soon, and then ask why she’s really at this school.
She misses her mom, I get that. But I’ve been watching her every morning for the last three days, because I can’t help it when we’re in the same room.
She’s never looked as relaxed dancing as she does now, her fingers gliding confidently over the keys.
Her expression softens and turns introspective, but the sad lines around her mouth have disappeared.
She plays and plays, and I try not to think about the fact that I just lied to her.
Not a bald-faced lie, but not the whole truth, either.
It wasn’t just that I couldn’t accept her offer to help us because it feels wrong, although that does play a part.
But that’s not the whole reason. I couldn’t accept because she has enough problems of her own. She shouldn’t have to worry about ours.
A small, selfish part of me would have liked to say yes, because it would have made everything so much easier.
Rayne has all the right connections. She knows the right people, and she knows how the business works.
With her help, we might finally find a label.
But I couldn’t do that to her, or to myself.
My guilty conscience would probably kill me, even if putting an end to the endless cycle of sending out demos and getting rejected over and over again does sound appealing.
On the other hand, who knows? Maybe we’re just not good enough, even with Rayne’s help. There must be some reason why no one wants us.
Liam wanted you, a voice in my head reminds me. It sounds like hope. Only there isn’t much of it left now.
Yes, Liam wanted us. But he’s dead, and I can’t block out the other voice, the one that keeps telling me repeatedly that we’re not good enough, that I’m not good enough.
What if Liam didn’t really think we were that good?
What if he only wanted us as the opening act for his tour because his daughter liked our songs?
But no, that can’t be. You don’t take a band you’re not completely convinced of on tour just because someone close to you likes them. Or do you? Shit, I hate my mind.
“Easton?” Rayne’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and now I feel guilty for asking her to play and not even listening properly.
Great, Easton, you really knocked it out of the park this time.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine. Sorry, I was just thinking.”
She smiles a little. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“You’re good,” I say, because at least I heard enough to be able to say that with total confidence.
Her eyes narrow. “Are you only saying that because you like me?”
Now I have to laugh. “No, of course not. You’re really good.”
Now she shrugs, and something about the gesture makes me feel uncomfortable. It’s something in her eyes. Something that’s very familiar to me. Self-doubt.
I reach for her hand before I can stop myself. “You’re good.” I look at her intently and her eyes widen. She opens her mouth, and my gaze is drawn to her lips. She has such damn beautiful lips.
Oh, fuck.
Wrong direction, Easton.
I blush. I hate it, but I can’t help it. To make matters worse, Rayne blushes too, and it’s getting out of control.
“How’s the dancing going?” I say, changing the subject awkwardly. We need to talk about something, because silence would kill me right now. Her lips really are beautiful and I’m still holding her hand, which is small and soft in mine.
I quickly let go, but it’s too late. Heat is rising in my middle, and that’s not good at all.
I feel Rayne tense beside me. “Okay.” Her voice sounds different than it did a moment ago, more distant, and the heat inside me is abruptly replaced by an unsettled feeling.
“You don’t sound very convinced,” I say slowly. My thoughts are racing, and the voice in my head is back, but this time it’s telling me very clearly that I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Yeah, well . . . maybe it’s because I’m not.” She grimaces, reaching for the rings that are usually on her fingers but still aren’t there.
Yes, I really should have kept my mouth shut. I know Rayne, and I know ballet isn’t an easy subject for her. So why couldn’t I have just asked about something else? Unfortunately, the answer is simple: I didn’t think before opening my mouth.
“Why are we talking about me right now anyway?” she asks defensively. “A minute ago we were talking about you and the band.”
“I know, but—”
“Don’t. Don’t say it’s about me now,” she says sharply.
I don’t understand how everything could have gone so wrong so quickly.
“God, why did you have to bring that up?” She jumps up, her hands clenched into fists, her whole body trembling, and I want to take back what I just said, every single damn word of it.
“I’m not convinced because I’m not good, okay?
I’m really not, and it doesn’t help that everyone keeps telling me to take my time and not put pressure on myself.
They’re telling me it’s okay that I’m not keeping up, but it’s not okay. ”
Her words are sharp as needles, and I have a sinking feeling that somehow I’m missing something, something I don’t know. There must be another part of the puzzle, otherwise she wouldn’t react this way when . . . when what? I don’t have the slightest clue.
“Rayne.” I say her name, and that’s all I can say because I’m thrown off balance, and I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to make it better.
“Don’t you have to get going?” she asks, and the hard tone in her voice makes it extremely clear that for her, this conversation is over.
I look at my watch, and she’s right. I should really go. But I don’t want to. Not like this.
“Yes, but—”
“Go ahead. I should leave too.”
“Rayne . . .”
She shakes her head, her shoulders slump, and she looks just as lost and hurt as she did the day before yesterday in my room. My heart cramps painfully because this time, it’s because of me. This is all a huge mess.
“I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut.” Feeling helpless, I run my hands through my hair. We’re back at the place we were a few days ago. She wants to leave, and I don’t know how to stop her, or even if I should.
No, I definitely shouldn’t, because Rayne reaches for her bag, which is lying on the floor next to the door. “It’s okay, honestly. I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
She doesn’t even wait for an answer, just rushes out of the room before I can say a word.
That went well.
* * *
My mind isn’t working properly when I’m sitting in the living room with the guys that evening, trying to write a new song. It’s totally empty. There are no intelligent thoughts, no words to be set to music. Only emptiness.
And Rayne.
Frustrated, I drop the pen onto the table. Jax, who’s sitting at his keyboard trying to fit a melody to my nonexistent lyrics, looks up.
“No joy?”
“Nope.”
“Everything okay?” Beck puts down his notebook and takes off his headphones. I need silence when I write, but he needs music. He usually listens to classical music, and I still don’t get how that works for him. But in the end it really doesn’t matter, as long as it’s right for him.
“This isn’t my day.” I wave dismissively and grab my phone.
“Stress with Text Girl?” Colin asks, and I shoot him a dirty look.
“You could stop calling her that.”
He shrugs, grinning. “Maybe if you introduce her to us sometime. What’s going on? Are you two having problems?”
“What makes you think so?” I retort, because I don’t want to admit he’s right.
“Because you look exactly like I do when I’m having trouble with Emma.”
I’m about to answer when my phone lights up with a new notification on Insta. Rayne just wrote to me. I breathe a sigh of relief, and Colin laughs.
“And now she’s written back. God, you’re so lovesick.”
“I’m not,” I say, rolling my eyes. But I can’t stop myself from blushing.
“Yes, you are. What do the rest of you think?” I don’t look up from my phone, but I’m sure Colin is winking at Beck and Jax and they’re grinning like the idiots they are.
“Pretty much,” Beck agrees.
“I’d say so too,” says Jax.
“You’re so annoying.” I get up and give my friends a dirty look.
“Nah, we’re awesome.” Jax grins broadly. “And you’ve got a killer crush, dude.”
My face burns. Shit, I hate this. “What if you just write that song?” I suggest, because I can’t think of a clever comeback right now.
“Sure,” Beck says. But he’s grinning so much that I wonder what I’ve done to deserve friends like these. “You could help us, though. Maybe Rayne is your new muse.”
“Grow up.”
“As your friends, it’s our job to be childish. Now go on, answer the girl,” Colin replies, pointing to my phone.
“I hate you.” I give my friends a charming smile.
“No, you love us,” Beck replies, and unfortunately he’s right.
“Just a little less right now.”
“All the more love for Rayne.”
“God, you’re terrible.” I turn my back to them, because there’s no way I’m going to answer Rayne with my friends sitting there and making uncalled-for comments. I ignore their hoots of laughter as I go up to my room and throw myself on the bed before finally opening Instagram.
mockingbird:
We’ve never argued before.
eastcoleman:
I know, it was awful.
Her reply comes so quickly that I’m sure she was online the whole time waiting for me to read her message. I probably would have done the same thing.
mockingbird:
Let’s just not do that again, okay?
eastcoleman:
I agree.
mockingbird:
Are you angry?
eastcoleman:
At you?
mockingbird:
Yeah
eastcoleman:
Why would I be angry at you?
mockingbird:
Because it’s my fault we argued. I completely overreacted.
eastcoleman:
You didn’t.
mockingbird:
Yes, I did.
eastcoleman:
Maybe a little. But I understand, honestly.
mockingbird:
Really? Because sometimes I feel like I’m completely incompetent.
eastcoleman:
First of all, you’re not. And second, yeah, I feel that way sometimes too.
I start when the phone in my hand suddenly begins to ring, announcing an incoming Instagram call.
“Why do you feel incompetent?” Rayne asks without preamble as soon as I’ve accepted the call. Her voice is soft and gentle, and suddenly I feel much too warm. Shit.
“Because there has to be a reason why we still haven’t found a label.”
“Yeah, there is. They’re all idiots and obviously have no clue what they’re doing,” she replies so earnestly that I have to laugh.
“Yeah, I doubt that.”
“I don’t want you to doubt it. You guys are good.”
“I don’t want you to doubt yourself, either.”
“Easton . . .”
“Yeah, okay.” I sigh, and then I just say it, the awful truth.
The thoughts that so far I’ve only shared with Beck.
“It’s just frustrating, you know? We’ve been giving everything we have for years, and still, nothing seems to be right.
I want to write new songs because apparently our old ones aren’t good enough, but my head is totally empty.
Sometimes I wonder if the whole thing is worth it. ”
“It is,” she says without a second’s hesitation. “You’re good, and the songs are amazing. Dad believed in you.” Her voice cracks as she mentions her dad, and it breaks my heart a little. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to take you on tour with him.”
“Are you sure?”
She clears her throat, and I want to see her right now, because I have to know if she’s okay. She doesn’t sound like it. “Yes, I’m totally sure. He would have never done something like that just because I told him I liked you.”
“That would have been okay too,” I say softly. It’s stupid and it doesn’t make sense, but it’s totally true, unfortunately.
“That’s sweet, but it’s also total nonsense. It wouldn’t have been okay. But you guys are really good, I’m not just saying that. Have a little faith. You’re going to make it, I can tell.”
“You believe in us?”
“Of course. Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered to help you.”
“That’s true too.” I stare at the ceiling, just like the day before yesterday, and I suddenly wish she was lying right next to me and not a few miles away in her bed in the dorm.
“I have a feeling that the only thing missing is the right song. The one that changes everything. Huge cliché, right?”
“Kind of.” I can hear her smiling. “But yeah. Maybe you just need that one song.”
“But no pressure, right?” I laugh.
“You don’t have to write it alone.”
“I know. Beck is a songwriter too.”
“But you want to be the one to write it, don’t you?”
I sigh. She’s seen right through me, which shouldn’t surprise me at this point. “Yeah, I do.”
“You’re going to do it,” she says decisively. Just like that.
“Will you help me?”
“Maybe. I’m not very good at it.”
I don’t like how she keeps saying she’s not good enough. Dancing, piano, writing songs. I’m pretty sure she could do all those things very well if she only believed in herself.
“Says who?”
“Me.”
“I call bullshit.”
“It’s not! I just can’t.”
“Wanna bet?”
“I’d win that one.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I say.
“I am.”
“Why can’t you believe in yourself, Birdy?” My hand wants to reach for her, but she’s too far away. I can’t touch her or wrap my fingers around hers, even though it’s the only thing I want right now.
“I don’t know,” she replies, sounding lost.
“Believe in yourself. I do.”
She’s silent for a moment, and so am I, but somehow the silence feels like something more. Like words that need to be said, words that neither of us has enough courage to say.
“Do you know, when you hugged me the other day . . . that was the first time anyone hugged me since the funeral,” Rayne says, breaking the silence.
I freeze. I don’t know what I expected her to say next, but it wasn’t that.
“The first?” I ask. I can’t keep the sound of shock out of my voice.
“Sad, huh?”
“What about your grandmother?”
“She’s not the hugging kind.” A desperate laugh escapes from her. “God, now I’m crying again. I’m sorry, I don’t want to cry all the time, it’s just—”
“Stop apologizing. You don’t need to. Especially not for crying.”
“Yes, I do. Otherwise at some point you’ll get sick of my whining.”
Her words cut me to the heart. “Never,” I promise, and I hope she believes me.