“Uh, I–I should go to bed.” His brisk words jolt me from the anticipation.
“Oh, okay.” I straighten my spine. Hurt crushes the longing, and in its place I’m flooded with reminders of all the ways I’m lacking. I’m not smart enough. I’m not beautiful. I don’t stand out. I give and give and get nothing in return. Leighton doesn’t want to kiss me. Why would he?
“I—” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but instead his gaze finds mine. The second he does he scoots out of the bench seat. “Yeah, okay.”
Yeah, okay?What the heck does that mean? I expected his lips on mine. Not a gruff good night. My chest tightens with rejection; one more in a lifetime of them. I swallow down the pain and reach for my precious letters, the only consolation I find.
“Hey, Opal?”
I lift my eyes to his. “Yeah?”
“I meant what I said. Your lyrics, they’re really good. I want to write a song with you.” His fingers tap at his side, a staccato beat that increases by the second. His eyes are wide and full of an emotion I can’t name because I don’t know him well enough. “If that’s okay.”
He’s asking permission and this isn’t about some unrequited crush. He wants to write a song, with me. How many nights this past year have I wondered if I had it in me? I didn’t grow up with the influence that Lexi had, but we share the same blood. Is there a tiny part of my father’s legacy inside? When I push my romantic feelings for Leighton aside, I realize there’s nothing I’d like more than to take him up on his offer. “I’d really like that.”
“Tomorrow, then.” He stops tapping and a grin kicks up the corners of his lips. “Get some sleep if you can.”
“I’ll turn in soon.” I nod, unable to stay mad when he smiles at me that way. After all, what am I upset about? Him not wanting to kiss me. That’s not his fault.
“Good night.” He takes another step backward, that sexy smile still in place. “Sweet dreams.”
My heart pitter patters inside my chest. Heat rushes to my cheeks and my body tingles with awareness. If he holds my stare much longer my dreams will be anything but sweet. “’Night,” I manage to whisper.
He turns, strides the rest of the way across the bus, and pulls himself up into his bed. With everyone else asleep I don’t need to hide my attraction, and stare unabashedly at his backside. He may not want me and that’s probably better. Safer. Less complicated.
Unfortunately, I can’t turn off my feelings so easily. Gathering my notebook and letters, I slide out of the seat and kill the light. Just because Leighton doesn’t return my feelings doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Or write songs together. And if I’m being honest, maybe I hold a tiny fraction of hope he’ll grow to see me as more. It’s not entirely impossible. The time we spend together feels special. I swear he feels it, too.
22
Leighton
The bus rollsinto the lot of Blue Hills Bank Pavilion as the sun breaks through the cloudy Boston skyline. I know this because I toss and turn all night, unable to turn off my brain and find rest. My tattoo itches like a son of a bitch, but that’s not what keeps me from passing out. No, it’s my conversations with Opal, playing in my mind on repeat. The look on her face as she gripped those letters and tucked them away from sight. The realness of her eyes when I almost kissed her. The hurt I caused when I didn’t.
Jay parks the bus and everyone stumbles out, still half asleep with dark shades to combat the daylight. There’s a breakfast joint within walking distance of the amphitheater and Trent leads the way to coffee and food. You’d think everyone was hungover with how little we talk during our meal, but it’s just sleep deprivation and too many days sleeping on a bus.
“Damn, that was good.” Trent stretches as we step back outside. “I need a nap already.”
“Hell to the yes,” Austin agrees.
On the walk back to the bus, regret churns in my belly. I should have kissed Opal last night. Or at least smoothed things over better. The last thing I need is to create tension between us when my uncle is dead set on digging around her personal life. I need to make things right, and I have an idea about where to start.
In three long strides I’m by her side. “Hey, when we get back grab your notebook.”
“Yeah?” She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her black ripped jeans, the new ones she purchased yesterday, and scuffs her shoes along the sidewalk. I half expect her to change her mind about song writing today, but once again her limitless grace is astounding.
I aim to keep my tone casual, but the truth is, I’m already excited about the prospect of writing music with her. “We don’t have to check in until two, and the weather’s awesome. We’ll find some shade and get to work.”
“Sounds good.” She grins.
“Guitar practice?” Austin steps to her other side and slows his gait so he’s even with us.
Opal glances at me before turning to him. “Oh, um. Yeah. Practice.”
“Fine, don’t tell me what you’re up to. My feelings aren’t hurt.” His dramatics are over the top, but he’s only teasing. I think.
“I’ll get the guitar,” I say with the bus in view.
“I’ll just grab my . . . pen and paper.” She avoids meeting my gaze and darts ahead to where Sean and Trent step inside the bus.
