My eyes water and I blink in order to keep myself
in check, but I can’t help the way I react to him. He sings all of his parts,
skipping over mine, and I’m jealous that his first run through is without fault.
He knows exactly what his voice needs to do to compliment the music. Not a second
is flat and nothing is anything less than perfect.
When he exits the booth, I’m pretending to
be unaffected. My wine glass is back in my hand and I’m
smiling.
But can he see the fading pink in my cheeks, the
glassiness of my eyes, the way my hand clenches around the glass to hide its
shaking?
“Your turn,” he announces before
he sits down beside me. Inside, I’m a zoo and my heart is the main
attraction.
“Really, you could sing the
whole—”
“Go, Emerson.” I sigh and he takes
my wine from me. His hand brushes mine and I look down at where our skin met.
“Go.”
My eyes crawl slowly up to his face and then his
eyes and he gently nudges me, his face telling me to go. I can’t say no, so I slip
off my heels and I’m a good three inches shorter. I pile my hair on top of my
head and rub my hands together, hoping it helps them steady. He’s looking at
me, and I feel like I have to tell him why I’m so hesitant and
afraid.
“I don’t sing in front of
people,” I explain.
“The good thing is, I’m only a
person.” He turns to face me and leans his elbow against his
desk.
Have you looked in the mirror?, I
want to ask him. Only a person? Pfft. Only the most beautiful man I’ve ever
stood this close to and I’ve been around some of music’s finest. I walk
inside the booth and all I can hear is my breathing. Because I don’t want to
worry him, I get right to it and place the headset on and listen to his verse. Then the
hook begins and I’m harmonizing with his already laid down
singing.
You arrest my
senses,
And I’m left
defenseless.
I want to tell myself not to cry, but I can’t
because of the wine and because of the words. This song means too much not to cry.
I only worry that I’m going to sob so hard that the words are unintelligible.
Now would be a good time to look at Maddox and see if I’m doing all right,
but I can’t do that either. I keep my eyes closed as I sing my love letter to no
one and to him.
The songs ends but I don’t want to leave
the booth. Thankfully, my tears are gone with one swipe under my eyes. I look down
and wonder what comes next because I can see all of the secret pieces of me
scattered before me in this small closet. If Maddox sees them, I don’t know
what that’ll mean. It’ll likely mean my embarrassment because
there’s no way….
“You can come out, Em,” he says,
and I figuratively pick myself up off of the floor and join him. “Where the fuck
did that come from?”
I grab my glass and gulp it down. My hands are
steadier by the time I’m through, and I take that as a good
sign.
“Don’t tell anyone,” is all I
say. He nods and I don’t think he knows that I’m not just talking
about the singing. Then again, why would he? I want to take every small moment
we’ve shared and hold them to my chest. I want to go home with them in my
arms and lock those moments in a safe, and on days where I feel like I need more,
I’ll look back on the many almosts we
shared.
“Yeah? Well, what the hell do we do with
the song now?” I hear something in his voice and I can relate to it. I wonder if
other artists feel this way after they create a masterpiece. A little empty, a little
shaky. Like somehow their life source is depleted. Like sharing a bit of your soul
leaves you with less and less each time.
“Nothing?” I need to sit and rest
and maybe try to get back what I lost. But the more time that passes, the more
comfortable I am with this piece of myself existing outside of my
body.
“No, no. This is too much to keep it to
ourselves.” He hands me a copy of the song on a flash drive and I toss it in my
purse.
He’s so intense right now, and I just want
to lie on the floor and breathe him in. So I do. I squat down near his couch and let my
butt hit the ground with a thump before spreading my limbs out. The floor is hard
beneath my back, but I feel a little saner down here.
He plays the song, and I can’t help but
shudder when our voices sing together. How could anyone not feel something when
they hear music?
“You talked so much tonight. You do
realize I’m never going to let you go quiet on me again, right?” I look
forward to his coercion.
He sits beside my body, and I want him to touch
me so badly. Always wanting when it comes to him only to be disappointed when
nothing happens. I’m drunk on his presence more than I am on the wine, and
before I know it, he’s lying next to me on his hardwood floor. All of this space
and he chooses right here, nearly touching me. Does he feel the world slowing? Is he
reaching out for my hand?
“I love this. It feels so honest.” I
hear the way he gulps after he says this, but he doesn’t know how honest it
is. He doesn’t know that he’s gotten something from me that no one
else has. We were at it for hours, the music making us numb to time, so I’m
not surprised to see that it’s nearly three in the morning when I look at the
digital clock on his wall. He’s relaxed beside me as the song plays on repeat,
and we talk about random things.
I can feel his body heat and I wonder, as he tells
me he’s a Leo, if he knows that his pinky is so close to mine, I can almost
taste the way it’d feel to touch him. I try to remember if it felt like this before,
but the same way Maddox demands every part of me belong to him without ever
even knowing, he erases what used to be. Funny, it took nothing from him to erase
everything from me.
I searched high and low for a way to forget the
pain, and he was here all along. All I needed to do was sit in his
presence.
Maybe it’s the wine, but I could lay here
forever.
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New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Sawyer Bennett is a snarky southern woman and reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all of the stories that were floating in her head. Her husband works for a Fortune 100 company which lets him fly all over the world while she stays at home with their daughter and two big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Sawyer would like to report she doesn't have many weaknesses but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate. Sawyer is the author of several contemporary romances including the popular Off Series, the Legal Affairs Series and the Last Call Series. Connect with Sawyer: Facebook: 
