All The Ways You Saved Me Page 14

Ian: You figure out what song you’re singing tonight?

  Bianca: Yup, “Hallelujah.”

  Ian: Could you pick a longer song?

  I scowled at the phone, darting my eyes from the screen back to the sidewalk in front of me. I had no desire to walk face-first into another person or step straight into traffic. With a quick Google search of “the longest songs ever,” I was able to supply an adequate comeback.

  Bianca: I guess I could’ve gone with “Free Bird.”

  Ian: I’ll give you $50 if you can sing any line from that song, right now, off the top of your head.

  In true, mature fashion, I stuck my tongue out at the phone. The woman passing by me at that minute stared at me through the oversized lenses of her sunglasses.

  Bianca: This conversation couldn’t have waited another five minutes?

  Ian: I’m bored.

  Bianca: You sure you don’t just miss me?

  I made it one whole block without a response, even double-checking to make sure the message went through. The little words next to the date stamp confirmed that not only had it gone through, but he’d read it.

  I’d meant it as a joke, but I could see how the message could come off as having deeper meaning. Apparently, missing someone went into the category of, “No, this should not happen because it violates the terms of our exclusive, casual non-relationship.” I ran a hand over my hair, fluffing the short ends that stuck out of my ponytail. After another entire block of no response, I switched the phone over to vibrate and tossed it in my purse. Even if he did answer, I didn’t want to read whatever lame response he came up with.

  Pulling the ends of my coat closer around me to keep out the cold, I inhaled a deep lungful of brisk air and kept on my way. I’d already memorized the end of the directions, and after one more left turn and another few blocks, I was right where I was supposed to be.

  A black lacquered sign stuck out from the brick façade, its hinges squeaking as it was tossed about in the wind. Chipped, gold letters that were starting to fade scrawled out the words, The Blackbird. I stuck my face to the window beside it, cupping my hands around my eyes to try and see in. The inside looked pitch black, and either a curtain or thick set of blinds had been drawn across the window. I tried the doorknob, gold as well, but it was locked. Hesitantly, I lifted up my hand and gave a quick knock. Nothing.

  I checked the time, ten-thirty on the dot. Assuming Ian was running late, I leaned back against the wall, crossing my leather-booted feet at the ankles. To pass the time, I started keeping track of how many cars I saw in different colors. Black was the clear winner, with silver coming in a close second.

  When I grew bored of that, I moved on to cataloguing my surroundings. Gray sky above, a touch on the cloudy side with a heaviness that predicted it was going to rain sometime in the next twenty-four hours; gritty sidewalk below, an acorn wedged in a crack; and an empty Coke bottle, spinning circles up against a bench. I abandoned my post to dispose of the bottle, doing my civic duty, before returning to my spot.

  This was getting ridiculous.

  Thumping my head back against the window, I dug through my purse, searching for my phone. Just as I managed to extract it, the door flew open next to me, and Ian’s head popped out.

  “Jesus!” I flinched, dropping my phone on the ground.

  Ian stooped down in front of me and retrieved it. He spun it in his hand, looking from the screen back up to me. Holding it out, he said, “So, you do have your phone. What the hell is your problem, Bianca?”

  “My problem?” I pointed a finger to my chest for confirmation.

  He tapped the screen. Six missed text messages. Two missed calls. “Yeah, your problem. Ever consider texting me back? Or I dunno, answering your phone? You’re almost thirty minutes late.” His voice was soft, but his jaw clenched, a muscle bunching in his cheek.

  If I was interpreting the signs correctly, he was really pissed off, but seriously?

  I snatched my phone out of his hand, flipping the ringer back on to ensure I didn’t accidentally infuriate anyone else. “I’m not late. You’re late.”

  “I got here an hour ago.”

  “Well, I’ve been here since ten-thirty.”

  If I’d been a guy, I think this is the part where we’d whip it out and measure them.

  “I was inside,” he said.

  “I knocked.”

  “I . . . didn’t hear you.” His head dropped, and he scratched a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

  My head spun with the quick turnaround. “Sure, fine, whatever.” I waved a hand in his direction, using the other to pinch the bridge of my nose. “So, why am I here?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Right. C’mon.” He held out his hand to me and waited to see if I would take it. I considered brushing past him, since apparently we’d taken a trip back to our teenage years where misunderstandings and hormones ruled the world. But that would have been me overreacting to his overreaction. With a deep breath, I let it go, and slipped my fingers through his.

  When he closed the door behind us, the light seemed to go with it. The barest hint of sunlight filtered through the covered window, tiny dust motes floating in the air.

  “One sec,” Ian said, disappearing from my side.

  The lights flared, and I squinted at their abrupt appearance. To my left there was a bar, of the used and abused version like Blackrose. Round tables dotted the open floor to my right, and an old jukebox was shoved in the corner. The whole wall on my right seemed to be a continuation of the brick outside and was covered with band posters, records, and advertisements.

  I scuffed the heel of my boot across the wood floor. “So, you brought me to a bar. A closed bar.”

  He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Back here.”

  I followed behind him, dropping my purse on one of the empty tables. He stopped in front of what looked like a small stage. It was maybe only a foot and a half off the ground, with a microphone centered on it, two stools on either side, and a piano in the corner. Additional music paraphernalia decorated the wall behind it.

  Ian turned around, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I thought you’d like to scope out the place ahead of time, get your bearings. I know how much you love to be prepared.”

  It took everything in me to hide my feelings at that moment, dropping a shutter in front of my eyes and blanking my face. Cupid had plucked an arrow from his quiver and skewered it through my heart with those two sentences. I forced my face to smile, it was used to it so that wasn’t a problem, but inside I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream at Ian and beat my fists against his chest. You can’t do things like this.

  “Wow, that’s really . . . awesome of you.” I stretched the corner of my lips wider, trying to make my smile look brighter. Pulling my eyes away from his, I casually looked around again. “So, you don’t own this place, do you?”

  “No.” His arm brushed mine as he stepped up next to me and looked the place over like it was the first time he’d ever seen it. “Belongs to a friend of mine.”

  “You think it’ll be crowded tonight?”

  “It can get a little full in here, especially on karaoke night.”

  I peeked at him over my shoulder. “You ever done it?”

  “Yeah.” A smile ghosted across his face. “Feels like another lifetime ago though, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” I felt it then, this small bubble in time that I’d slipped inside and was hiding out in. I was Dorothy, and these few months in the city were like my visit to Oz. My ruby slippers were already at my disposal, ready to return me home as soon as I was ready. The only problem was that as more time passed, it was getting harder and harder to visualize myself going back to a life with no color.

  Brushing away the thought, I stepped onto the stage and positioned myself in front of the microphone. The place was empty, but my heart rate still kicked up speed. Fifteen tables, fourteen stools at the bar, five booths at the back. I did the math in my head, but d
idn’t like what I came up with.

  “Relax,” Ian whispered in my ear. “If you grip the mic stand any harder, you’ll snap it in half.”

  My eyes flicked down to my hands where they had a death grip around the slim, metal pole. I pried my fingers off, leaving smudged handprints behind. I blew out a breath.

  “Nervous?” he asked.

  I tilted my head back to take in the sarcastic smile that was playing across his lips. It did nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders, and I gave myself a shake. “Very.”

  “I don’t get it. Aren’t you used to crowds by now?”

  I wandered around the stage, the heavy footfalls of my boots echoing around the room. “Crowds? Yes. Need me to give a speech on the importance of environmental protection? Sure, no problem.” Continuing my pacing, I crossed to the piano, tracing my fingers along the gleaming surface. I brushed my fingertips together, an unconscious gesture I’d picked up from my mother, to check for dust. There wasn’t any. “A solo piano recital? Sure, you got it.”

  “Still not understanding.” Ian sat on one of the stools, tucking his feet up on the spokes. His fingers drummed against the worn denim of his jeans.

  “I don’t like to do anything in half measures,” I admitted to him. “I’ve been trained on the piano. I can be talking to the most boring person on the planet, and I know exactly how to arrange my face so that it looks like I’m interested and amused.” I did just that, wiping away all traces of anxiety and giving him my uber-fake smile. “This? Singing? I’m not good at it. I’m not bad either, but when I do something, I want it to be done well.”

  “You don’t want to fail.”

  “Fail” was one of my taboo words. It wasn’t possible, it wasn’t acceptable.

  “I don’t fail,” I corrected him, meeting his gaze across the stage.

  He tried to lift the heavy mood in the room with his smile, but even that wasn’t strong enough. “So, you wanna practice then?” He gestured to the microphone.

  “Hah, no.” I shook my head. “I’ll be doing this once, and once only. I’ve practiced at home, worked on my breathing, and I haven’t eaten any dairy today—”

  “Dairy?” He cocked his head to the side.

  I rubbed my fingers against my throat. “It makes you mucousy, harder to sing.”

  He leaned his forearms against his thighs, bending over with laughter. Blood rushed to my cheeks, settling hotly underneath the surface of my skin. Lifting his head, he ran both hands over his hair, the thick mass of it flattening under the pressure and then springing back up. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

  Oh, well, damn. The twang of a bow string as another imaginary arrow piercing my chest rang through my ears. I shook it off.

  Sticking out his chin, he gestured to the piano. “Will you play for me?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.” Slipping onto the bench, I ran my fingers over the keys—the glossy blacks and the warm whites that had faded with age. “Any requests?” I asked, watching as he sauntered across the stage and sat down on the bench next to me.

  “You pick.”

  “Hmmm.” Nothing too complicated; it’d been awhile since I played. I questioned him while I ran through the possibilities in my head, searching my brain for songs I actually remembered. “Do you play?”

  He nodded. “Decently.”

  I nudged my knee against his. “For all you claim to be a musician, I’ve never heard you play.”

  “You’ve never asked.” I expected to find a playful smile on his face or a teasing note to his voice, but instead his words were low and flat, and he turned away to stare out across the empty room. “I’ve been . . . taking a break from music,” he finally added.

  I flexed my fingers over the keys, letting them run over the smooth surface without uttering a note. “Is this not okay, then? I mean, if you want to bail on this one, I’d understand.” I gave a fake laugh. “Maybe it would be better if you did so you wouldn’t be able to make fun of me afterwards.”

  “It’s fine.” He nudged my knee back. “So, are you gonna play or keep me in suspense all day?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him and slammed down middle C. He flinched. The note resonated around us, swirling through the air like it had wings. “You should tell your friend that his piano is just a hair flat.”

  “Really?” His thick eyebrows drew together in a frown. He spun his pointer finger in a circle, in a do-it-again gesture.

  I played it again, and he closed his eyes. I could practically see him focusing his ears on the sound, his lips slanting to the side.

  “Barely,” he said. “God, you can hear that?”

  I gave him a smug smile. “Mhmm.”

  With one hand gripping the back edge of the bench, he leaned across me and captured my lips in a kiss that made my toes curl in my boots. He’d barely let up and let me breathe when he said, “C’mon Bianca, don’t make me beg.”

  Now that would be a sight.

  I stared up into his gray eyes, which had taken on a playful quirk, and rolled mine at him. “Fine.” I shoved him with my shoulder until he sat back up.

  Positioning my fingers over the keys, I adjusted my feet over the pedals and started to play. The first movement in Moonlight Sonata had always been a favorite of mine, and it had nothing terribly difficult that I would slip up on. I let the music crescendo around me, striking the quarter notes with a harsh efficiency that seemed to slash the notes through the air. I relished in the minor chords, enjoying the haunting beauty of them that seethed around me like angry waves.

  The room was completely silent for almost a full minute after I’d finished, the last strands of music still clinging to the air like shadows.

  “That was . . .” Ian ran his tongue over his lips.

  “Good?”

  “‘Insane’ is more of the word I was going for.”

  I should’ve felt thrilled and reveled in the comment. Instead, frustration built. “See, this is what I mean. I can’t sing like I play. It’s just not at the same level.”

  “Who cares?”

  “I care.”

  “But why?”

  “I just . . . I don’t . . .” I shoved up to my feet and flattened my hands across the lid of the piano, curling my fingers so that the nails bit into the sensitive skin of my palms. How could I explain to him that everything I did was a reflection on my parents, that every misstep, every miscalculation was just one more reason for them to be disappointed in me? What words could I give him that would make him understand that for all my successes, each of them was just an effort to apologize to my mother for the one thing I could never truly apologize for? And was there even possibly a way for me to do it, to scrape down to the raw, crushing pain that I’d never once admitted to anyone, not even Renée, without sounding utterly pathetic?

  “Hey, forget it. Forget I asked. It doesn’t matter.” He spun me, both hands on my hips, his thumbs slipping above the edge of my jeans to rub small circles against my stomach. “You’ll be great tonight, I know it.” Nuzzling his lips against my neck, he trailed soft kisses up to my ear. “I loved watching you play, that look you get on your face when you strike a chord just right.” His lips reversed their direction, taking the same path back down my neck. Running a hand along the collar of my shirt, he pushed it to the side so he could trail his tongue along my collarbone, stopping to place one delicate kiss on the edge of my shoulder.

  With a little pressure, I sank backward, my butt landing on the keys and letting out a discordant squeal. I chuckled and ran my hands over Ian’s shirt, not stopping until I rested my hands on his shoulders. “Look at that, you’re making music again.”

  The corner of his mouth quivered. “Not me, we.”

  He ducked his head down to mine, stepping into the space between my thighs. My hands found their way up into his hair, tugging him closer to me so that I could sweep my tongue across his lips.

  My phone let out a shrill beep, the assigned tone for my parents’ dreaded e-mails,
and it was like someone doused me with a bucket of ice water. I broke my lips away from his, letting my forehead thump forward against his chest. I never should have turned the sound back on.

  One of Ian’s fingers traced up the length of my spine. “Need to get that?”

  “No,” I mumbled into his shirt. Maybe if I pretended I never heard it, I could also pretend the brand new e-mail in my inbox didn’t exist. It’d been a blissful three weeks without any communications from my parents, twenty-one days without their condescending words to drag me down from my life-induced high. They weren’t even in the same state, and they could still kill the mood. Their timing was impeccable, as always.

  I didn’t want to read their e-mail, not here, not now. Probably not even today because it would put me in such a dark mood that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy tonight at all. Although, “enjoy” might not be the right word for how I was feeling about tonight. But when I pulled back, Ian’s eyes were filled with questions he either didn’t want to say or wasn’t sure he had the right to ask.

  So, I answered him anyway, because this, at least, I could give him.

  Retrieving my phone from my purse, I pulled up the e-mail without even glancing at it and passed it to him. He frowned, flicking his eyes from me to the phone like he wasn’t quite sure what I wanted him to do with it.

  “Go ahead, read it.” I folded my arms across my chest and looked away.

  If there was a clock in the room, I’m sure I would have been able to hear the second hand ticking. Since there wasn’t, I heard absolutely nothing at all.

  “Is this for real?”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. I didn’t really have to answer that, did I?

  “Fuck, Bianca. This is . . .”

  “Yup, that about sums it up.” I took back my phone and scanned the e-mail, despite myself. It was brief, checking my itinerary for the upcoming holidays, reminding me of the family Christmas picture, and, of course, expressing their ongoing displeasure at my current location and refusal to obey their every command. Pretty par for the course, and not even one of the worst ones I’d gotten. I went back for my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Listen, I’ve got to run.” I walked back to him, my stride long and confident, and pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you so much for this. You have no idea how much it helped. It really meant a lot.” The fake smile was back, and I was sure my cheeks would splinter with the effort. I wondered if he’d be able to pick it out now that I’d shown it to him. If he could differentiate from the smiles I put on for everyone else and the one I saved especially for him.