Текст книги "Beat"

Lucky

It’s been two days since I heard from Dylan. The sound of his sexy voice does what it’s done to me since I was fourteen years old—I grin like a teenager when he says he misses me.

“I miss you, too.”

“What have you got planned for tonight?”

“I’m actually on my way to Lucky’s now. Avery’s still down a waitress, so I’m filling in.”

“Why is it that you’re always there when she needs you, but not when I need you?”

“When did you need me?”

“I need you now.” Dylan wanted me to go with him on tour. Sell Lucky’s entirely and travel with Easy Ryder. It’s been a source of contention between us lately, and part of the reason I decided it was time to start seeing Dr. Curtis again.

“You don’t need me. You want me. There’s a difference.”

“You keep saying that, but you’re disregarding my needs.”

“Really? I thought I did pretty good fulfilling your needs.”

“When you’re actually around, you do.”

“We’ll see each other in less than two weeks. I’m coming to the Atlanta show. Remember?”

“Two weeks is a long time.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.”

“That’s bullshit. I still don’t see why you couldn’t come with me.”

“You know why.” We’ve been through this a dozen times and the place to rehash it is not on the phone while I’m walking into Lucky’s. He doesn’t get why I need to keep with my plan. Why not being on stage is holding back more than just my singing career. I need to break through to move forward. “Tonight I’m going to get up on stage after Lucky’s closes.” Saying the words out loud brings a new wave of nausea.

“You’ll do great. Although that little stage is beneath you.”

“You sang on this stage once.”

There are some gargled voices in the background. Dylan covers the phone and then returns. “I gotta run. I need to do a sound check.”

“Okay. Good luck with tonight’s show.”

The bar is busy, but that doesn’t stop me from checking the time on my phone every three minutes. The way I’m watching the minutes tick down with dread, you’d think a bomb was due to explode. Actually, with how terrified I feel, waiting for detonation might be easier.

I clear a table and head toward the bar with new drink orders completely oblivious to my surroundings, when a familiar voice greets me. I jump, the simple sound startles me from my obsessive preoccupation with how many minutes remain until I’m facing the firing squad. My full tray wobbles on my unsteady hands and then tips, sending a half dozen empty glasses smashing to the wooden floor, where they shatter into a million tiny pieces.

“Shit!” I drop to my knees and attempt to rake the glass with my hands, but all it does is slice small shards into my fingers.

“Are you okay?” Flynn says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I thought you saw me.” He’s down on his knees attempting to help me gather the mess I’ve made.

“It’s not your fault. I’m…just a little preoccupied tonight.”

“A little? My uncle Nathan with Parkinson’s has more stable hands than you tonight.” I look up at Avery and she points in the direction of the back. “Go! You need a break. Jase and I got this. Take as long as you need.”

“You sure?”

“I insist.” She jabs her finger at the man next to me. “You. Flynn. Go with her,” Avery orders. She hands him a bottle. “Take this. She needs it.”

A minute later, we’re outside. The fresh air hits me and suddenly I’m bent over, hands on my knees, gulping air like I’ve been deprived.

Flynn wraps his arms around my waist and grabs me tight—he’s afraid I might fall. “You okay?”

I take a few shallow breaths before I respond. “I’m good. Sorry. Panic attack. It’s been a while since I’ve had one. I forgot what they can do to me.”

We’re in the alley behind the bar. Surprisingly, it’s empty—usually there are a few smokers polluting the air back here. Flynn rubs my back as I attempt to regain my composure.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks as my breathing returns to normal.

Two guys stumble loudly into the alley, lighting cigarettes before they’re even fully out the door. Flynn looks at them, then me, and grabs my hand. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

Fingers linked, we walk silently from the alley and make our way around the corner to a bench just outside Bryant Park. It’s after midnight and the street is quiet, especially for New York.

“So, I’d like to think you were so happy to see me, you couldn’t contain your excitement. But something tells me that isn’t it.” Flynn uncaps the bottle of Jack Daniels that Avery handed him and offers it to me.

I take a swig. My face scrunches up from the taste. “Thank you for walking with me. I actually feel better already.” I extend the uncapped bottle back to him.

He lifts the bottle to his lips, and then stops. “Glad I can help. Hope it’s my company and not the alcohol.” He gulps a shot from the bottle and smiles. “So tell me what’s going on? What’s got you so anxious?”

“It’s just…anticipation of something I need to do.”

“You breaking up with Dylan?” His voice sounds hopeful.

“No. Nothing like that.”

He brings the bottle to his mouth a second time, mumbling before he drinks, “That’s too bad.”

The first real smile of the day threatens my lips. “You’re ridiculously charming, Mr. Beckham. Women must fall at your feet.”

“Not the right ones,” he says and offers me the bottle, but I decline. “So talk to me. What’s got your sexy self all twisted up tonight?”

“It’s nothing, really. I…” It’s difficult to admit my fears to anyone, let alone a guy who does what I fear most on a regular basis and makes it look as easy as breathing. “I sort of have stage fright.”

“Okay…” he says, waiting for more.

“And I’m supposed to sing tonight at the bar.”

“When was the last time you got up on stage?”

“Eight years ago.”

“Wow. It’s been a while. Have you tried before tonight?”

“No.” I chuckle, knowing how ridiculous I must sound. “I’ve been working up my courage.”

I expect him to laugh at my admission, but he doesn’t. “Did you always have a fear, or did something happen that scared you?”

“A little of both.” It’s the truth. Well, sort of. I was always nervous when I got on stage, but then…one day…everything changed.

“When you used to go on stage, what calmed you when your nerves got the best of you?”

I don’t have to think about the answer, yet I take a minute to steady myself before I speak. “My dad.” It’s ironic how the man could be the source of my strength and now, a big part of my fear.

Flynn takes my hand and squeezes. There is something so comforting about the way he looks at me, waits for me to continue. It makes me feel like he really wants to hear whatever I have to say—like each conversation is a layer he peels back, yet his goal isn’t to strip me bare. Instead, he leaves me feeling blanketed.

“The first time I went on stage, other than at school, was here at Lucky’s. I was nervous. The crowd was pretty much filled with faces that I’d already won over before singing my first note—my friends, my mom’s friends, my dad’s buddies. It wasn’t a tough crowd. But I got up there and froze anyway. I looked around the room. Every smiling face my eyes landed on made my heart thump louder in my chest. Until I found my dad in the crowd. He was beaming proudly. It helped to take the edge off, although I still wasn’t sure I could go through with it. But then I looked down and saw he was barefoot.”

“Barefoot in the bar?”

I smile, remembering back to that exact moment. Looking down at his wiggling toes, the spirit of who my father was somehow cracked through all of my tension and brought me relief. “My dad always played barefoot. He liked the feel of the drum pedal under his foot and the vibration that caught on the floorboards and seeped up into his legs. But it was more than that. He said the earth under his feet made him feel grounded…somehow balanced. It helped him forget everything else and give everything over to the sound.” My voice breaks as I finish.

Flynn wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. It feels good, comforting, I close my eyes, but it doesn’t stop a few wayward tears from falling. My dad was everything to me.

Although he keeps me physically close at his side, Flynn gives me the mental space I need for a few minutes before he speaks. “He’s going to be watching you tonight. With a big smile and bare feet. He may not be in the audience anymore, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see you. You just need to close your eyes and see him.”

I look up into Flynn’s beautiful blue eyes. “He’d want me to sing.”

“So that’s what you need to do, then,” he declares with unerring confidence. “You want to know my secret for calming my nerves on stage?”

“You still get nervous?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Sometimes it’s worse than others. I can’t even figure out what makes it easier for one show than the next. You’d think it was the venue or size of the audience…but it’s just random for me.”

“Well, tell me your secrets, rockstar.”

“I’ll tell you. But if word gets out, it might tarnish my rockstar status. So you have to keep it to yourself.”

I make an X across my chest. “You have my word.”

“I recite the words to a song in my head and take a walk around the stage.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“The song is ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’”

“Oh.” I chuckle. “Guess that might soften the bad-boy rockstar image just a bit.”

“Did you know it has five verses?”

“‘Twinkle, Twinkle’? You mean there’s more to it than just, ‘how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky’?”

“Yep. A lot more. Most of the world doesn’t know the best parts.”

I shake my head, amused, yet intrigued by his enthusiasm. “Why did we only learn two verses as kids if there are five? And more importantly, why do you know the five?”

“I don’t know why we’ve been deprived of the other three. But I found out about them in college. Astronomy major. Did a paper on what makes stars appear to twinkle and titled it ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, How I Wonder What You Are.’ I looked up the lyrics to make sure I had them right, since half of us sing things we learned as a kid wrong, and found the whole song.”

“Astronomy major, huh? The more I get to know you, the more I find you’re a complete enigma, Flynn Beckham.”

“Are you into enigmas?”

I laugh his harmless flirtation off, but all I can think is…shit, I’m into enigmas.

I sat around talking to Flynn on that park bench for almost another half an hour. He told me one of the lost ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ verses, but refused to tell me the others. He promised I’d get the remainder of the classic song when I was done with my performance. My reward—which he’d grace me with after I sang. It meant he was planning on staying for my performance, monumentally increasing my crowd by twenty percent, from five to six. Oddly, it gave me more comfort than stress to know he’d be there.

That didn’t mean I spent the remainder of the night in a calm state—not by any means. I dropped another tray, screwed up half my orders and gave my last customer twenty-six dollars change from his eight-dollar drink…that he paid for with a twenty.

But I made it through without running away, at least. And now, as I stand here locking the door while the last patron stumbles from Lucky’s, I feel my nerves fraying at their ends. A body comes up close behind me in the narrow hallway. I know who it is without turning around, yet I’m so jittery it doesn’t stop me from jumping.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you again.” Flynn’s voice is low, soothing.

“I’m just a—”

“I know. That’s why I followed you out here. Figured you might either sneak out the door behind the drunk guy who just left, or could use some calming.”

“I’m still here.”

“I noticed. So I figured I’d give you a small reward now.”

Umm…yes, please.

“Oh yeah?” I turn around and face him. “And what is my reward for not ditching out?”

Flynn leans in, every hair on my body standing to welcome him into my personal space. Traitors. I feel his breath on my neck as he whisper-sings into my ear.

Then the traveler in the dark,

Thanks you for your tiny spark,

He could not see which way to go,

If you did not twinkle so.

Verse four. He’d given me verse three on the park bench.

A minute ago I was on edge at the thought of getting up on stage. Now I’m on edge for a totally different reason.

“It’s beautiful. Such a shame I didn’t know about it all these years.”

Flynn’s eyes wander to my mouth. “It sure is.”

Before I get on the stage, I think back to when I was seven. My dad took me to a public pool out on Long Island. He was busy laying drum tracks for a studio album with his band. We’d passed the pool for three days before he got to take me. I stared longingly at the high diving board each time we drove by. I was a good swimmer—hotel pools were one of my favorite parts of traveling with the band—but I’d never been on a high dive board before. I was an anxious mix of excitement and nerves. By the time we walked into the fenced-off pool area, I could barely breathe. I wanted to back out. But Dad was excited to take me, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. So I sashayed right over to the long line and forced a smile back at him as he waited by the edge of the pool. When it was my turn, I quickly climbed the stairs. Even more quickly, I walked toward the end of the board, telling myself I was just going to keep walking. Rip off the Band-Aid of fear I wore with one quick tear, and walk right off the end of the board. I made it three steps from the edge. Then my knees froze and crippled me. I couldn’t take another step.

This time is no different. My audience of six sits patiently in their seats while I stride confidently toward the stage. Of course it’s false confidence, but I work it anyway. Reaching the edge of the stage, which is only three steps off the ground, I actually climb the stairs with spring in my step. I make it two steps toward the center of the stage. And my knees freeze. I’m seven years old all over again.

I take a few deep, cleansing breaths.

They don’t help.

I close my eyes and try again.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I need to do this. Eight years. It’s been eight long years. I love to sing. Picture having the one thing that you love more than anything in the world right in front of your face every day. Only it’s behind a wall of impenetrable glass and you can see it, but you can never reach it. Never touch it. That’s how I’ve felt the last eight years. But my knees…they just won’t move.

I close my eyes and try again. I want this.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The pounding in my chest gets louder. It feels like my heart might really explode. I reach up and rub at the tightness.

I start to sweat.

The room is eerily quiet, yet I know there are six people sitting only feet away.

“Lucky,” Avery says in a soft voice. She’s testing the waters, unsure of how I might react.

Hearing her voice doesn’t pull me out of my panic, but it does calm me a bit. I swallow and force my eyes to look out at the room, without giving myself time to mull it over.

Avery is cautiously watching me. She attempts a smile over her worried face.

Through a fog, my eyes drift to the others in the room. There’s Jase; Levi, the DJ from tonight; and two of our friends. They’re all sitting together around a table, trying their hardest not to look disturbed by my display, but their faces can’t hide their concern. Then I look over their heads and my eyes fall on Flynn. He’s leaning casually against the back wall and he smiles at me. I try to smile back, but fail miserably.

Thinking I could use a major distraction, my eyes trail lower. Down Flynn’s neck to his tatted arms folded casually over his lean, masculine chest. I skim his narrow waist and my eyes linger on his jean clad thighs.

And then I see it.

He’s barefoot.

I can’t remember any man ever doing anything so sweet for me in my entire life. Except maybe the man he’s channeling.

Staring down at his feet, my focus shifts—I’m not thinking about being on stage…about that last day on stage. Instead, I’m staring at Flynn’s wiggling toes and thinking, Damn…even his toes are sexy.

The corners of my mouth tilt upward and my eyes follow their lead. Flynn’s beautiful blue eyes dance with triumph—he knows he’s gotten to me.

A minute later, I sing for my audience of six. Four verses of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

The elation we all feel when I’m done morphs into three hours of celebration. The sun is coming up by the time we all stumble onto the street from Lucky’s. I throw my arms around Flynn’s neck and hug him tight, thanking him for the twentieth time. He hugs me back just as tight, I notice. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol, the emotions of the night, or just the man I’m clinging to, but for some reason, I don’t want to let go. Being in his arms soothes me, makes me feel something I haven’t in a long time. I can’t put my finger on what that something is, I just know I like it. Maybe a lot.

Too soon, Flynn hails Avery and me a cab and kisses me sweetly on the cheek before helping my swaying body into the car. I’m disappointed he doesn’t join us—I’m not ready for the night to end. Not ready for whatever is going on between Flynn and me to end. Halfway home, I realize he never told me the fifth verse.

I don’t have to wait long. Just until the text comes the next day.