I want to open it and play it so badly, but I don’t think it’s smart. Music would take me down a path I don’t want to go down.
I sit up, my eyes still on the case. Feelings swirl around in my chest, some yanking me one way and others pulling me in the opposite direction.
No, music didn’t hurt me. Musicsavedme. Writing lyrics and singing were what helped me cope. When I moved to Washington, playing the guitar at Jaxon’s house helped me forget about my shitty home life.
Music saved me.
With resolve—though my hands shake terribly—I open the case and pull out the guitar. I find the amp and plug it in and play Lana’s Melody. Then I start to sing, writing a song to those who gave me a safe place.
TWENTY
WESLEY
My pulse kicks upas I walk down the sidewalk to get to Jaxon’s office. A few people have seen me, some doing double takes. I’m not sure if it’s because they recognize me from when I lived here as a kid or from any number of music videos.
Oh well, if they do realize I’m Ryder, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m tired of being cooped up in my house, hoping no one notices me. From what I remember, being in such a small town helps because the residents don’t like a bunch of outsiders bothering them. Hopefully they’ll keep my secret.
When I step inside the building, I head to the elevator bank, nodding at a few people who are waiting there.
“Excuse me,” someone says beside me. I look over to a short girl, probably high school age with her phone in her hand. “Can I take a picture with you? I’m a big fan.”
“Of course,” I say, giving her one of those practiced smiles Zed tried to get me to learn for PR shit.
I pose with her, and she squeals when she looks at the photo. “My friends won’t believe this.” We step onto therecently vacated elevator, and she peppers me with questions about songs on the ride up to the second floor. I answer them as politely as I can, nerves swimming in my belly, mainly because I’ve never done small talk with a fan.
She steps out and waves hard at me, and I give her a two-finger salute. I hear another squeal as the door shuts.
The rest of the elevator ride is silent, allowing me time to think about how bad of an idea this is. Seeing Jaxon isn’t the bad idea, I want to do that more than anything. But coming to ask him for what I want is.
God, I’m so out of my depth here.
When the elevator doors open, I step off and head to the last suite at the end of the hallway. The receptionist behind the desk looks vaguely familiar—I might have seen her around town when we were younger. I never visited Mr. Collins at work with Jaxon, and she wasn’t here the last time I showed up.
“May I help you?” she asks with a bright smile. No phony PR grins for her.
“Is Jaxon available?”
“Yes, he sure is. You have near perfect timing. He just got back in from court. You can go right in.”
“Thank you.” I head over to the door and knock. When Jaxon says to come in, I push it open. His smile is wide, and his eyes light up when he sees me.
“This is a surprise,” he says, rounding the desk and kissing me quickly. It takes me off guard, but I don’t pull away. It’s nice to be wanted for me and not because of my celebrity.
Wanting more, I lean in for another kiss, claiming his mouth again. God, these kissesmeansomething. All the affection I have for him is pushed into the kiss, and he returns it without hesitation.
I thought confessing how I felt about him, how Istillfeel about him would be awkward, or he wouldn’t reciprocate, seeing how I left him. But Jaxon kisses me like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it.
When I release his lips, he sighs, placing his forehead against mine. “Better than my wildest dreams,” he says.
When I pull back, I grin at him. “Dreamed about me? Sure it wasn’t a nightmare?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Positive. What can I do for you? You okay?”
“I’m good. I wanted to ask you something. Got time for lunch?” I hold up the bags I have in my hand. “I was going to order a hot meal, but I didn’t know how long you had before you had to get back to work.”
“That’s perfect. Thanks. What did you get me?”
“Ham on rye. I remember you used to like that.”
