Chapter 17 #2
Unfortunately, he’s the only person I want to talk to at the moment.
He’s the only one who knows at least a little more than just fragments of my life.
He’s the only one who knows that my parents and my grandmother have barely spoken since I was born, because I told him.
I told him almost everything. Except for the not entirely unimportant fact of who I am.
But he knows that now too, so it doesn’t count anymore.
“Hey. Need some help?” The friendly voice makes me whirl around in surprise.
Behind me on the sidewalk is a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She’s a little older than me. I can’t tell by exactly how much, maybe a few years. In any case, she looks more grown-up than I do in her fitted beige coat. She’s pretty, and something about her seems strangely familiar.
“No. I . . . I was just going to visit a friend,” I stammer. “But I don’t think this is a good time, so I’d better go.”
An indecipherable expression crosses her face, and then unmistakable curiosity. “Who are you here to see?”
“Easton,” I say, not knowing why I’m telling her that, since I have no idea who she is.
But then she smiles, and she has the same smile as he does. Even the dimples. Except I find her brother’s much cuter.
Oh God, stop it, Rayne. Didn’t you say just a few hours ago that you were just friends?
“I’m Willow,” she says. Of course I know her name, and now that I know who she is I also know that she’s seven years older than me, three years older than Easton. She works as a dancer at the Boston City Ballet. “Come on in. It’s always a good time to show up here.”
She walks past me into the house, and I feel too shy to follow her right away. On the porch in front of the door, she turns around and looks at me. “Are you coming?”
I nod and hurry after her. “I’m Rayne, by the way,” I say after a moment, and a knowing sparkle shines in her eyes.
“Ah, Text Girl.”
I blush. “What? I don’t get it.”
“The guys call you that. Well, Colin does. He’s not so good with names.” She laughs openly while I briefly consider turning around and running away.
But Willow opens the door and disappears into the house, and somehow I can’t help but follow her.
Because today, for once, all the guys from We Are No Saints are here, and I’d really like to meet the one who gave me such an unflattering nickname.
I don’t know if it’s just a coincidence or intentional on Easton’s part, but I haven’t met any of his friends yet, even though I’ve been here a lot in the last few weeks.
Colin has been visiting his girlfriend Emma for a while.
She studies at Stanford, but she didn’t come home for the holidays, so this was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks.
I’m not so sure about Jax and Beck. Beck was out at the gym, and Jax .
. . Easton mentioned briefly that he was trying to get over something.
I didn’t ask what it was about. In any case, none of them were here when I was.
I follow Willow into the house, and as usual, when we enter the hallway, there are jackets hanging over the banister and too many shoes scattered wildly under the coatrack, where even more jackets hang.
I get a warm, homey feeling, and the black hole in my chest gets a little smaller, even if it’s just a tiny bit.
I can hear Easton singing. His voice fills the house and every cell of my body. It’s like silk on sandpaper. That’s exactly what it sounds like. That’s how it sounded the first time I heard him sing, and that’s how it still sounds today, nine months later.
I know the song. “Meet Me at 3 AM.” It’s one of my favorites, a story about friendship. About always being there when you’re needed. Even at three in the morning.
Willow slips out of her coat and shoes. She’s so incredibly graceful that you can tell she’s a dancer, and I wonder briefly if it’s the same for me.
Probably not. I take off my jacket while the guys keep playing.
Either they didn’t notice that someone came in or they’re ignoring it.
Jax sets the tempo, his sticks thundering on the drums, and the others follow.
It’s a cheerful pop-rock song with serious lyrics, and I love every second of it.
My pulse accelerates to the beat of the music, and when Willow beckons invitingly, I take a step toward the living room.
But I still feel like an intruder, because neither Easton nor the others know I’m here, or that I’m watching them. Because there’s no way I can’t.
I’ve never seen them play live, only in their videos. But jeez, there’s nothing like the real thing. Even here in this small living room, the energy they give off is somehow . . . unreal. Almost magical.
I get goose bumps, and at the same time I break into a wide smile without thinking about it.
It just happens, as it always does when I hear this song.
Easton’s voice gets under my skin, just like it did the first time I heard him, when I found their cover of “Mockingbird” months ago. In another life.
His voice works its way into my heart; but that already happened ages ago. By now, his voice is almost as familiar to me as my own. My stomach flutters just hearing him sing. It’s pretty much perfect when his voice blends with Beck’s in harmony.
They don’t notice me, completely lost in their own world, focused only on the music and the instruments in their hands, until the song fades away. Easton smiles when he stops, and there are those dimples again. They make me smile too.
Silence spreads through the living room until Jax laughs. It’s an enthusiastic and oddly relieved laugh. A proud grin spreads across Colin’s face.
“That was awesome! I don’t think we’ve been that good in ages,” Beck says. I’d agree with him if I could—no matter that I’ve never heard them play live before—but I can’t get a word out.
“No, we really haven’t.” Easton seems so relieved that it worries me.
“That was fantastic!” Willow agrees. She puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me all the way into the living room. “By the way, East, you have a visitor.” Four pairs of eyes turn to look at me at once.
“Hi,” I say, raising my hand in an awkward gesture. Easton’s eyes go wide, and then he smiles again. He smiles at me, and damn, my heart starts racing again.
“Rayne,” he says, sounding surprised and pleased. “What are you doing here?”