Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Right,” Jake said tightly. “That’s all that matters.”
I paused as his expression turned serious, darkening the veins of gold in his eyes.
Maybe Livie was a sore topic, considering they broke up. I mean, Jake had to have loved her, at one point.
“Lovely, Aren’t Ya” is the type of song you could only write if you were utterly head over heels for someone.
“Anyway,” Jake continued, “I got to cowrite several songs, but ‘Lovely, Aren’t Ya’ is the one I wrote mostly by myself.
The label changed the title and swapped out a word or two in the lyrics.
But otherwise, that’s all they changed, so it’s the one I’m proudest of.
The label doesn’t always like my songs,” he admitted with a shrug.
“But I’ve been trying to get better and experiment with different things so I can write another one that they can’t turn down.
Although, sometimes, Marie says it’s not the song, it’s just that the piece doesn’t fit in with the type of music US usually does.
” He paused there, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth for a minute before continuing to strum his guitar absently.
“That’s why she told me to think about doing a solo side project. ”
The very thing that had caused the band to fight in the first place.
I leaned back against the wall. “Back in the car the other night . . .” You know, the night I nearly kissed you. “You told the boys you didn’t actually take the side project offer.”
Whatever Jake had been expecting me to say, that wasn’t it. For the first time that evening, I heard his fingers trip over the strings, striking the wrong chord. He blinked, as if unused to hearing dissonant noise come from his beloved guitar.
“No,” he said, carefully setting the instrument down beside him. “I didn’t. I’d started working on a few song ideas just in case, since I’d been thinking about it.”
“Are you still?”
“No.” He frowned. “Yes? Maybe? I mean . . . it’s complicated.”
“Why?”
“Because I care.” He stared at me. “Caring always makes things complicated.”
I wanted to protest, then remembered the very reason why he sat in front of me now—and why I’d tried to keep it a secret for so long.
“I care about the guys. About not letting them down. About who we are when we’re together,” Jake continued. “Me having less time to meet up with them already caused problems. You saw that.”
“I did. But you also care about music. Your own music that tells your own story. You’ve been writing songs ever since I can remember. Isn’t releasing your own album something you’ve always wanted?”
“It is,” he said instinctively. “I want to take the offer, but I also don’t want the problems that might come with it. Like, what’ll it do to US?”
“But you don’t have to leave the band, right? Having a solo side project just means you can work on music in addition to what you do with US.”
“Yeah, but the guys were right. I was spending less time in band meetings. I skipped out on hangouts. Maybe it made me less of a friend. The more time I took for the idea, the less time I had to give to them. Even if my album charted high and was a success, it wouldn’t mean anything at all if I lost everything with US.
The band’s my home, Lucy. Just like the café’s yours.
I love it. It’s not something I want to risk. ”
I fell quiet, hearing my own fears echo in his. “Yeah, I get that.”
Jake’s gaze went down to the well-worn musician’s calluses on his fingertips, then over at his guitar.
“Sometimes, the things we love eat away at us.” I thought about the loss of my final “free” summer.
The scholarship I was still uncertain about.
The worry that constantly came in waves as I tried to keep it from reaching Mom.
Jake looked up at me. “Doesn’t mean we love them any less. ”
That was true.
And yet . . .
“It doesn’t make us want more any less either.
It’s not selfish to want something just for yourself, Jake.
Writing songs is what led you to meeting the guys in the first place.
It’s what made the band get a big hit.” Mom’s words from our conversation on the couch came back to me.
“You shouldn’t have to lose one just to keep the other.
Wanting to do more with songwriting doesn’t mean you want the band any less. ”
“Try telling that to them.”
“But have you? Actually told them?” I questioned.
“I don’t mean just showing up late and telling them you were working on a song and expecting them to understand everything it means to you.
Not everyone automatically puts so much weight on a song like you do, Jake.
I mean actually explain how important it is to you, and the fact that you’re not abandoning them.
You supporting them means trying to make it to those meetings anyway despite being busy.
And them supporting you means accepting you’re a bit late. ”
There was still a way to make things work. A way without Jake having to give up his dream either. Just the thought of Jake not pursuing what he was so passionate about and had worked so hard for felt wrong, filling me with indignation that toed the line between sadness and fury.
Wait, was this how Mom felt when I talked to her about giving up my scholarship?
I’d been so stuck inside my head, I hadn’t quite understood her words before—not completely. But as I stood here with Jake, I suddenly started to be able to see myself too, like I was outside looking in.
The photograph Leon found of Jake and me flashed through my mind, the one with Jake gripping the mic and little Luciana with her plastic stethoscope.
We both deserved to go after our dreams to the fullest extent possible.
“You’re thinking of your home and of what you might lose,” I heard myself say, repeating Mom’s exact words, both for Jake and for myself. “But maybe you should also think of yourself, and everything you will lose if you don’t take this opportunity.”
I had to take that scholarship.
I would take that scholarship.
I just hoped the future looked good—for Jake and for me.
Jake gave me a knowing look. “I feel like you just discovered something about yourself there, Miss Future Veterinarian.”
I laughed, but I wasn’t done yet. I wanted Jake to feel the same newfound resolve that I was feeling too.
“You said it yourself, Jake. The band’s your home. If they love you, they’ll understand. And writing your own songs is something you love. Something you’ve loved for a very long time. You’re not yourself if you’re not living in a song. Songwriting’s your passion.”
It was true. If I collected all the times I’d caught him humming self-made refrains and writing down bridges out of the blue, there’d be enough sheet music to pave a path from here to LA. Twice.
“Neither one of us would be true to who we are if we didn’t go after what made us passionate.”
Jake studied me with an intense look in his eyes and his head cocked to the side—an expression usually reserved for when a new song came on the radio, and he became captivated with something that struck him in the melody or verse.
After a moment, he laughed lightly.
“What?” I asked, smiling in confusion at the way his eyes lit up. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, it’s just that you have a way of putting things so clearly,” Jake said.
“I get tangled up in thought sometimes. But you jump straight to the heart of everything. You always have.” He shook his head fondly.
“You cut though all the noise in my head, like the in-ears we use at our concerts to hear ourselves over all the feedback from the speakers and shouts from the crowd.” He paused, locking eyes with me. “I’ve always admired that about you.”
My cheeks warmed, and I ducked my head down, busying myself with petting Bunny so Jake wouldn’t see the twin roses blooming on my cheeks.
“You said you were experimenting with different things,” I said, clearing my throat. “What are you experimenting with now?”
“Oh, well, lately, it’s been different tempos.”
“Tempo. That’s the pacing, right?” I nodded down at his boots. “You tap your foot when you’re playing, sometimes.”
Jake nodded. “The tempo’s the heartbeat of a song. Literally and metaphorically. Even dance songs played in a club can mimic a dancing person’s heartbeats per minute.”
Intrigued, I laid my left wrist in my right hand, then pressed my right thumb down hard against my skin, trying to pinpoint my pulse. I couldn’t get a good feel for the beat.
“Here,” Jake said, standing up and reaching over. “Like this.”
He brought one of his hands up under mine, cradling the back of my hand in the curve of his palm.
With his other hand, Jake traced the path of my veins, his touch feather light and flush with heat. Desperately, I tried to control a shiver that threatened to chase after the brush of his fingers.
“Your thumb has its own pulse,” Jake explained as his hand settled over the tender center of my wrist. “You can’t use it for this.”
“Oh?” was all I could get out.
“Almost . . .” His brow furrowed slightly in concentration as my heartbeat rose beneath his fingers. “There, that’s it.”
Taking my free hand, Jake moved my fingers over my pulse in place of his, so I could feel the beat.
I should’ve been asking questions, or paying closer attention to the music lesson. Singing sensation and songwriter Jake Moody was giving me a beginner’s taste of music theory, after all. But focus seemed impossible with him so close.
We were both leaning in, our breath mingling, and our heads bent together, nearly touching. For a moment, it was like the universe had shrunk down to just the size of us.
I let my gaze flicker up to Jake’s face while his stare stayed fixed on my wrist. A breath closer and he’d be out of focus.
But at the moment, he was crystal clear.
My eyes roamed over his face, drinking him in: The full curve of his bottom lip.
The freckle on the bridge of his nose. The way his lashes fanned out so far, they cast delicate shadows that slipped over the edge of his cheekbones.
“That would be the rhythm,” Jake said, nodding down to where he held my hand steadily over my heartbeat. “That’s what I start with.”
Breathe, Lucy. Breathe. “What comes next?”
“Then I layer chords over it. Like . . .” He frowned for a moment, like he was at a loss for words. Funny, seeing that in a lyricist. But then, Jake always said he understood the world better through music. “Hold on, it’s easier to show you.”
Leaving the technicalities unspoken, Jake slid two of his fingers next to mine on my wrist, feeling for the rhythm once more. After a moment, he hummed softly, demonstrating how the melody settled over the tempo of my pulse.
My body went completely still, spellbound by his voice. It was sweet and smooth, like a sugar cube melting on your tongue, or rich, golden honey slowly spilling out of a jar. I nearly stopped breathing just to hear him better.
All too soon, Jake stopped humming, the song fading away on his lips.
“Lucy?” he asked, concern creeping into his voice as he met my gaze. “Are you okay? Your heart’s going kind of fast.”
Of course it is. Because I’m facing the fact a little more every day that I never got over you, not really. And I like the new you too.
But wanting something didn’t mean it was smart to go after it.
For a moment, it was like we were both waiting for something to happen.
The air in the slim space between us felt heavy, charged with anticipation.
It was like the sky the second before it begins to storm, when electricity crackles in the air.
It was the kind of feeling you get when something’s so close you can feel it in your bones and almost taste it on your tongue.
Jake leaned forward. It was only a millimeter. Just a touch. But it was enough, and—
Something thudded in the café, the noise reverberating on the tile and sounding as loud as a roll of thunder in the quiet.
I pulled my wrist back.
I missed the heat of his hands in an instant.
“I should go check on that,” I said, motioning toward the other side of the café, where the noise had come from. I swallowed hard, still feeling his phantom touch over my pulse. “Make sure everything’s still perfect for the livestream tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Jake blinked twice, disoriented for a moment, as if he’d just woken up from a daydream and was trying to bring himself back to reality. “Right.”
Turning around, I closed my eyes and let out an exhale.
I needed to concentrate on the livestream tomorrow. I had to focus.
But even as I walked away, Jake’s melody played in my mind, keeping in time to my heartbeat.