“Wait? But you love, love opening presents.”
“True, but I was thinking it might be fun to do it later when life is a bit more cheery.” She situates beside me and tugs the hem of her dress down as she stretches out her legs. Her hair is up, her deliciously looking lips sheen with gloss, and her green eyes radiate enthusiasm. “And it could be like a weird little tradition we do. Instead of being cliché and exchanging them on Christmas Eve, like a ton of people are doing all around the world.”
I ponder her offer. “All right, you have yourself a deal.”
“Good.” She grins. “Because I can’t think of a damn thing to get you.”
I shake my head, faintly smiling. “I knew there was an ulterior motive.” I strum the strings of a song I’ve been working on.
“What’s that tune you’re playing?” Lyric wonders, sliding her legs up and facing me.
“Just a song that’s been stuck in my head.”
“I like it… it’s pretty.”
“Pretty isn’t very rock n’ roll.”
“Neither are you.” She slumps her head against the headboard. “You’re sweet and sensitive and piercing free.” She touches the tip of her finger to the corner of my eye, causing me to miss the next chord. “You have such long eyelashes… They’re gorgeous.”
“So let me get this straight.” I set the guitar down on the foot of the bed and turn to her. “You tell me I’m not very rock n’ roll and that I have gorgeous eyelashes. I’m not really sure how to take that.”
“You should be happy,” she insists, her gaze momentarily flicking onto my mouth. “Being rock n’ roll in a band is cliché and your gorgeous eyelashes make your eyes stunning.”
My cheeks flame. I’m blushing.
“You’re cute.” She swipes her finger down the brim of my nose. “I remember the first day of school how I held your hand. I felt so special that you were all mine.”
My heart flutters like an upbeat song when she declares that she pretty much claimed me a year and a half ago. “You are special,” I say, wishing I was brave enough to kiss her right now. But after therapy, the doctor had said take it easy with anything severely emotional. Just being with Lyric sparks emotions to life. Good ones like happiness and longing.
I pick my guitar up while Lyric fluffs a pillow and lies down in my bed. She watches me play for a while, running her fingers through her hair.
“So how did your therapy go today,” she finally dares to ask as I play a song.
I shrug. “Not too bad but that’s probably because nothing really happened.”
“You didn’t remember anything at all?”
Another pluck, another strum. “Maybe a little.”
“Okay.”
I know she wants to ask what I saw, but she seals her lips together, suppressing her questions.
“It was when the police found us.” I cease playing. “It was the last time I saw my sister… and she seemed so happy that we were saved.” His jawline tautens. “One of the women that was holding us there… she said we’d never be saved… she warned me she’d find us again.” My fingernails enfold into my palms, scratching my flesh. “What if that’s what happened to my brother? What if they went back for him and it’s only a matter of time before they come back for me?”
“Ayden, you’re safe.” When I try to look away from her, she captures my face between her hands. “You have a family who loves you—people who love you. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
Life would be less complex if I could wholeheartedly believe her. But after my brother’s death, I can’t fully accept that nothing will happen to me.
I rest my forehead against hers and take a few shallow breaths as she slips her leg through mine and aligns our bodies.
“What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” she asks, playing with my hair.
“Can we just stay like this? Can we just pretend that everything is okay for a while?”
“Of course.”
She wiggles around until we’re both lying down face to face. She keeps her leg between my legs, her hand on my cheek, and her forehead against mine. We fit together so perfectly it’s mind-boggling.
How is this possible?
To completely fit with someone.
Our bodies creating lyrics
Perfectly composing
As our hearts dance together.
Nothing makes sense.
Yet everything makes sense.
Perfect is so confusing.
A dizzy spell inside my head.
Thirsting for answers.
With nothing to drink.
Where do I go?
To find out who I am?
Chapter 9
Ayden
I try not to worry over the failed attempt of restoring my memories and instead concentrate on the band. It’s not like that session was the only chance for me to remember. Plus, part of me is relieved the session didn’t work. Relieved I didn’t have to relive the hellish nightmare. But another part of me feels guilty, like I’m not doing all that I can to help track down my brother’s killer.
A couple of days later, I’m sitting in Sage’s garage with Lyric, listening to music, attempting to focus on chords, notes, the strum of my fingers. It’s still Christmas break. December thirtieth to be exact. Everywhere I look still screams, the holidays aren’t over yet! Cheer up! We’re starting a new year! On top of everything going on with therapy, I haven’t heard anything back from Rebel Tonic yet and cheering up seems impossible when the possibility that he ripped me off gets higher.
Things remain pretty quiet for the first ten minutes or so while we wait for Sage and Nolan to show up so we can get band practice started. They were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, but Sage texted me and said they were picking up pizza on their way back from a concert they went to over the weekend. He also still needs to chat with me about something. He’s been texting me for about a week now, but has never gotten around to actually telling me what he needs to discuss. I’d probably worry about it a little bit more, but I’ve had other things on my mind.
“Self-defense class should be called kick your ass class. I’m so sore,” Lyric says, massaging her shoulder. “I feel like such a wimp.”
“That’s because you are a wimp,” I joke as I strum a few chords on my guitar.