“Wise words,” I said in a gruff voice, kissing her softly one more time before pulling back. “Would you believe me if I said that my self-control was finally waning?”
“No.” Her cheeks flushed.
“Why?”
“Because a guy like you doesn’t wait twenty-three years in order to find someone worthy of every single piece of him—to suddenly offer it up to some legally blind local girl with a fear of ants.”
“Red ants,” I clarified.
“Yes.” She puffed up her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Red ants.”
“I disagree.”
“About the ants?” She frowned.
“About the girl.”
“Zane don’t—”
“Some might say it’s our fears that make us unique, different, special.”
“My fear of ants makes me stand out? Is that what you’re saying?” She stood and offered her hand, I took it and stood along with her, dusting sand off my body while she pulled her hair into a messy bun and crossed her arms.
“What if I wanted that?” I asked, a bit afraid of her answer.
“What?”
“Everything.” I grabbed her hands. “What if I asked you for everything?”
She released my hands and swallowed. “I’d have to say no.”
“Have to? Or want to?”
“Have to.”
I reached for her again, just as a loud scream pierced the air and then another and another.
“Shit,” I muttered, jerking my hand back, out of fear that someone would snap a picture and create pure hell for her, but I don’t think she saw it that way. Instead, she flinched, as if I was rejecting her when she was the one doing that exact thing to me not more than ten seconds ago.
“SAINT! SAINT! SAINT!” Chanting started, and sure enough, about seven or eight girls swarmed around the bend and into our little alcove.
I reached into my pocket and crunched some marshmallows between my fingers, struggling to keep a smile frozen on my face, but really, I would rather hold her hand, I’d rather she anchor me than sugar.
And that was my first mistake.
Relying on a person?
Always was.
Because once you love them—you risk losing them.
At least marshmallows—were always there. As stupid as it sounded, they were always available, and Fallon? She was currently walking away.
From me.
From anything to do with me.
And I had to wonder if she cared that part of my heart cracked in half in a desperate attempt to join her.
“SOMEONE’S IN A SHITTY mood.” Demetri whistled under his breath while strumming a few chords of the song I’d just delivered, on time, might I add, for the soundtrack.
I glared, but said nothing, just abandoned my guitar and walked over to the baby grand and started playing the song.
Alec whistled. “I like it.”
I nodded, still not trusting my voice to speak.
I was too angry.
A lot defeated.
And probably just as confused as she was.
We were friends, right?
So why abandon me on the beach? I found her an hour later by the car waiting, as if she hadn’t just left me to the fans, by myself. When I asked if she was afraid I would freak out again answered with one word.
“No.”
Followed by one-word answers for every subsequent question.
Did she have fun?
Yes.
Any ant bites?
No.
Did she still want to be friends?
Yes.
Lame. That last one was lame, but her smiles were forced, and she just seemed…sad. I wanted the happy girl on the beach, the one who had punched me in the face and apologized for slut shaming me.
I wanted that girl.
No one else.
And she didn’t want me back.
“Easy on the keys man,” Alec whispered gruffly.
Her smile had been polite, her thank you hollow, and when I squeezed her hand after dropping her off at her house, she’d pulled away and said good luck with recording.
That was it, like break a leg!
Kill it, Saint!
“Shit, I think he’s going to break the piano.” Demetri muttered. “Should we get Jay?”
She sounded like my freaking manager or agent.
I had those.
What I needed was someone I could share souls with—someone I could open up to, be insecure with, laugh with, cry with.
I pounded the piano harder and harder.
Damn it. I needed someone to be angry with!
I’d messed up by telling her, I knew I shouldn’t have, but she kept pushing and pushing and all I kept thinking was, if I tell her, then this is it.
That’s it.
I’ll be moving forward.
Because limbo sucks.
“Well, at least he’s channeling his emotions.” Came a new voice in the studio. “I was beginning to worry his next song was going to sound like a One Direction reject.”
“Blasphemy.” Alec said in a bored tone while Demetri hissed.
With a sigh, I looked up from the piano and let out a string of curses that would have made any sinner proud.
“Will.” I ignored his look of irritation and glanced back down at the piano and started the song over again.
“Has he been like this long?” Will asked.
“Right here.” I said over my own loud playing. “You want an album? You want a song? I’ll give you a damn song.”
And that’s when I started to sing.
Instead of feeling and letting the feeling dictate the sound of the keys as I played, I sang.