Others rushed in from the kitchen behind me, Chance demanding to know what the fuck happened to the dining room table. I hardly noticed. Neither did anyone else. Miller’s voice, scratchy and low and perfect, filled the darkened room, the understated strains of his guitar moving under it. His tone and pitch were haunting, melodic. Everything on display. The talent he’d kept to himself for so long, now free and touching everyone who listened.
Including Amber Blake.
She sat cross-legged in front of him, a dreamy smile on her lips. Miller’s eyes were closed; he wasn’t staring longingly at her, but my heart told me he may as well have been.
What do you care? You like River. He asked you to the dance!
But Miller was singing for the first time in public, with Amber. For Amber, maybe. And he’d chosen our song. My heart flooded with both joy and pain—like being feverish and chilled at the same time.
The room was rapt. Some sparked up their lighters; others turned on the flashlight function on their phones so that the darkness turned ghostly and starlit. It was so easy to reimagine the living room as a dim concert venue in which Miller and his guitar sat under the spotlight.
I tore my gaze from him to see the looming shadow of Ronan leaning against the wall casually, arms crossed but watching over Miller. Protectively. I looked back to Miller who was now watching me.
Our eyes met, and he held on to my gaze mercilessly while he sang.
“For you I’d bleed myself dry.”
I must’ve drunk too much because suddenly, I felt sick. I couldn’t move. My stomach had twisted in knots so tight, I could hardly breathe.
What is wrong with me?
The song ended and quiet descended, until Holden, still on the dining room table, dropped two words into the stunned silence, “Holy. Shit.”
The rest of the party erupted into cheers and applause, and that’s when I broke free of my stasis. I clapped too. I clapped so hard, my palms stung. My smile was so wide, it hurt my cheeks. Joy filled my heart, and yet, tears were streaming.
Miller witnessed my reaction. His expression softened, and he started to rise, but I pushed through the crowd, out of the front door and into the night.
Chapter Eight
I lost her.
My heart had already shattered into a million pieces watching River follow Violet into that closet. It cracked again when she ran away.
Follow her. Tell her. Now.
I got to my feet to follow Violet out the door when Frankie Dowd and this friends, Mikey and Tad, came in, crowding me and pushing me back.
“Well, lookit who crashed this party. Where you running off to, Stratton?” Frankie said, giving me a shove. His nose was bandaged under white gauze and tape; dark circles ringed both eyes.
“Back off, asshole,” I snarled.
Amber’s hand was on my arm, and she murmured soft words to come back and sit with her. I shook her off.
Frankie sneered. “Or what? You going to have your convict bodyguard cold-cock me again?”
Ronan loomed behind me, arms crossed, boots planted.
Frankie’s eyes widened in fear to see Ronan, then he snarled. “You’re fucking dead, dude. You have no idea who I am.”
“I know who you are.” Ronan’s voice sounded like it was coming from the ground. “I know exactly who you are.”
Tension tied the five of us together in tight bands that were ready to snap. And Violet was getting farther away…
“Dude! What the fuck are you doing?”
The party noise flattened as all eyes turned to the dining room table. Holden was tap dancing on the mahogany, amid the shattered glass, and barreling through a watery version of “Singing in the Rain.” He was drunk off his rocker but managed to keep out of Chance’s reach as the big guy tried to get him down. The room was lit, cheering and laughing, cell phones out.
“My parents are going to fucking kill me,” Chance raged. “Someone get over here and help me get this prick off the table.”