Chapter 33
Rayne
Midnight Rain—Taylor Swift
It feels almost surreal when Easton and I go upstairs to his room later. The last time I was here, we kissed. Earlier today, we kissed again. Everything is different from last time, and when I walk into his room, I realize just how different.
I don’t really know how to deal with it.
Easton strokes the back of my hand, and I look up at him and meet his questioning gaze.
“Should I drive you back to school?” He sounds reluctant, as though he doesn’t want to be asking this at all.
I shake my head. “No. Unless you want me to go.”
“No,” he says immediately. “I want you to stay.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay. Me too.”
He smiles. “I’ll just check in the bathroom to see if I can find a toothbrush for you.
You can use Willow’s stuff, I’m sure she won’t mind.
” He walks over to a dresser, pulls open a drawer, and hands me one of his T-shirts.
“Here. My sweatpants will probably be way too big for you, but you can have a pair if you want.”
“No, that’s okay,” I reply. I want to feel his warm skin against mine.
“I’ll be right back. Do you need anything else?” He runs a hand through his hair, looking strangely embarrassed, as if he’s just as insecure as I am. That helps the nervous tingling in my stomach ease a little.
I smile. “I’ve got everything I need.”
“Okay.” He walks to the door but glances back over his shoulder, and a tingle goes through my whole body.
I nod even though he didn’t ask a question, but I can’t just stand there and look at him, even though it’s what I want to do most. Easton bites his lower lip, and I immediately gaze at his mouth.
Those lips . . . He hesitates, then turns away.
I can hear him take a deep breath before finally leaving the room.
The lamp next to his bed is the only source of light.
I toss the T-shirt he just gave me on the bed and pull my phone out of my small backpack.
The display is miraculously intact after I threw it against the wall earlier.
Only the case is cracked. I tap the screen and discover half a dozen messages from Zoe and Mae in our group chat, and I realize it’s later than I thought. It’s almost midnight.
I open our chat; I have to at least let them know that I won’t be coming home tonight, otherwise they’ll definitely worry.
I bet Mae has been knocking on my door every few minutes for hours to see if I sneaked back to school without saying anything.
I haven’t written all day, even though I promised I would, and my guilty conscience makes me send a quick text back.
Mae:
How’s it going?
Mae:
Come on, Rayne, we’re curious.
Mae:
Please answer me.
Mae:
Raaaaaaaayne, I’m going to keep bugging you until you write back!
Zoe:
Gosh, Mae, don’t be so nosy. She’ll get in touch.
Mae:
I can’t help it. Rayne not answering must mean something. Right?
Rayne:
I completely forgot to get back to you, I’m sorry. It went well. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.
It takes less than ten seconds for Mae to reply.
Mae:
Finally. I was starting to worry.
Rayne:
I’m sorry!
Mae:
No biggie. If you want to tell us everything tomorrow . . . does that mean you’re not coming home tonight?
I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, though I have no idea why I’m so embarrassed.
Rayne:
Yes. Looks like it.
Mae:
OMG! Does that mean what I think it means?
My face gets even hotter, and I pray that Easton doesn’t choose this moment to come back. I quickly type a reply.
Rayne:
I think so. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, I promise.
Mae:
You better!
Zoe:
Good night, sleep well!
Mae:
Or maybe not, heh heh.
I have to laugh. Then I wish them a good night and slip my phone back into my bag at the exact moment that the door opens and Easton comes back into his room.
“I have a toothbrush and a towel for you. Willow’s makeup remover and creams are lying around. Just use whatever you need,” he says.
I reach for his T-shirt. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
The bathroom is one floor down, right next to Willow’s room. The guys’ voices float up from the living room along with the background noise of the movie they’re watching. Closing the door quietly behind me, I step toward the sink.
I pull Easton’s hat off my head. My hair is complete chaos, and I grab a brush from the shelf.
Once I’ve managed to smooth it down, I take off my makeup, moisturize my face, and brush my teeth.
Then I exchange my dress and tights for Easton’s T-shirt.
It’s much too big for me and reaches all the way to my thighs. It smells like him, and I love it.
I fold my clothes neatly before leaving the bathroom and climbing the stairs to the attic.
The steps are cold under my bare feet, but that’s not the only reason I’m getting goose bumps.
It’s mostly because Easton is waiting for me in his room.
I’m going to fall asleep with him and wake up with him again, and everything in between.
My heart is beating way too fast as I slip into the room and quietly close the door behind me. Easton is already in bed, wearing a T-shirt, which is kind of a shame and kind of cute at the same time, because I know he’s trying to take the pressure off me.
He pulls back the covers, and I climb into bed with him. He pulls me close until my head is resting on his chest and his lips brush my temple. It’s warm under the covers, and his body against mine makes me feel calm. It feels familiar and new at the same time, and absolutely right.
As if it were meant to be this way, from the very beginning.
I look at him. There’s nothing I’d rather do.
“You don’t have to do the music video if you don’t want,” he says. “Maybe it’s a silly idea.”
“No, it’s not. I want to do it.” I swallow. “It feels nice to be a part of it.”
“I’m glad you want to be part of it,” he whispers. He kisses my forehead again, and I close my eyes for a moment. I haven’t felt this safe in months.
“I’m glad Colin doesn’t call me Text Girl anymore.”
Easton laughs softly, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Me too. He’s been doing it long enough. At a certain point, it’s not funny anymore.”
“Do you think they really want me to be involved?”
“They wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. Not Jax, and definitely not Colin.”
“What about Beck? He didn’t really say anything about it.”
“Yeah, but he likes you. I think he just doesn’t want to pressure you. He’s a little more empathetic than Colin and Jax.”
“You don’t say,” I reply with a smile. But my smile fades quickly. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to do the choreography. Please don’t get your hopes up too high. I might be totally useless at it.”
“You won’t be.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. You know, Willow is a dancer, and even though I don’t know as much as either of you, I’ve learned enough from her to be able to tell if you’re good. And you are.”
“That doesn’t mean—” I start to say, but Easton cuts me off by pressing his lips firmly against mine.
“Don’t say it. Seriously. Have a little faith in yourself, Rayne. Please. And if you don’t like what comes out in the end, that’s okay. We’ll just forget about the video. But I’m sure it’ll be great. Your song turned out amazing.”
“Our song.”
“Our song,” he confirms with a smile.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He turns slightly so we’re both lying on our sides, my head resting on his arm. He lifts one knee so I can slide my leg between his.
We’re so close, but it’s a completely different kind of closeness than this afternoon when my legs were wrapped around his hips. This feels more intimate. More real. His skin against mine, warm and soft.
“Have you thought about whether you’d want to write another song?” There’s a cautious tone in his voice I don’t recognize, but somehow it feels familiar anyway. It sounds so much like him.
“No,” I lie. I have. Not recently, but I used to.
I told him I wanted to make music back when we were first messaging.
He knows that, which is why he’s asking.
But that was then, and this is now. It’s become much more complicated to make music.
Even to think about it. “Yes,” I admit a second later, because he already knows the truth. He knows me.
He’s silent, waiting for me to continue. If I want to. He gives me time.
“I don’t know what I want,” I finally admit. “Writing that song with you felt . . . right. It felt good. But I’m not sure I can do it again.”
“You could try.”
“What if I fail?”
“Then so be it. But it wouldn’t be the end of the world. At least you’ll have tried.”
I bite my lower lip. If only it were that easy. But it’s not. It never has been. Because I am who I am, and Dad was who he was. I’ll never be like him. I open my mouth to say that, but something else comes out instead.
“I called my mom this afternoon. It was stupid. I knew she wouldn’t answer, but her number hasn’t been disconnected yet, and when the voicemail kicked in, there she was. I got so angry. Why did I get angry?”
“You’re allowed to be angry.”
“Really?” My eyes fill with tears. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
“You’re allowed to feel everything.”
The next breath burns in my chest. It hurts, and part of me wants to stop talking and avoid the pain and sadness, at least for tonight. But I can’t avoid it, and I have to let it out. “I miss her. I miss talking to her. I want to tell her and Dad about you.”
“I wish you could.” He sounds moved by the idea. He blinks, and his eyes are just as wet as mine probably are.
“It’s so unfair that I can’t tell them anything about you.
I wish they could get to know you. I want—” I break off and take a shaky breath.
“I spoke to Mom’s voicemail. It was terrible.
I was terrible. And I can’t take it back.
I talked to her, and I know she’ll never hear it, but I said so many awful things. ” There’s a note of shame in my voice.
“I’m sure you didn’t.”