Chapter Seven

 

Ireland

All day, I stared at Raven’s hoodie where he’d left it hanging over the back of my couch. He’d been gone a half an hour before I realized he’d left it behind. It was strange the feelings it stirred inside me when I noticed it laying there. It was nothing more than a simple piece of clothing, but it was his piece of clothing. I knew without picking it up that it would smell of him and that it had been wrapped around his body only a few hours before. There was something about that knowledge that lingered and prickled my skin.

Throughout the entire day, I’d gone about my weekend chores, purposefully avoiding it. However, its presence was a permanent fixture in the back of my mind. I should have picked up my phone and texted him any number of times to let him know I had it, but I didn’t. What if he came back and got it? Even though it made no sense at all, I knew I didn’t want that. Not yet. So, it stayed on the back of my couch like a presence in the room, less anxiety-inducing than if it’d been a person, but causing chaos on some other level all the same.

After dinner, as I picked my way through a few multi-player quests while playing a stupid online game my doctor had suggested, I couldn’t help being drawn by its presence. More than once, my gaze drifted to Raven’s hoodie, and more than once, it snagged my focus so completely I allowed my group to get killed by mobs.

Giving up on the game, I closed my laptop and stood, intent on getting ready for bed. Before I headed to my room, I caught myself wandering across the living room instead and stopping at the couch. To anyone else, my thoughts and actions would probably be classified as stupid, but to me, they were challenging in their own way. I picked up Raven’s gray hoodie, its weight psychologically more prominent and significant than its actual physicality.

He’d worn this article of clothing. Against his body. Ran in it. Touched it. Sweat in it.

Somewhere in my messed-up thought process, it was like an indirect way of touching Raven without touching him. What rocked me off balance was that I didn’t even know it was something I’d unconsciously wanted. In a week, we’d developed a sort of shaky friendship. I wasn’t blind to how drawn I was to his good looks or charm, but I had no idea until that moment that there was a pull for more. And that knowledge was a painful blow to the chest. A concrete reminder of how many struggles I still faced after years of therapy. Developing anything with Raven was about as impossible as me ever achieving normal.

I brought the hoodie to my face and breathed in the lingering scent of spices, sweat, and all things Raven. A smell that jolted and tugged at something in my core. Studiously, I ran my fingers over the fabric, imagining in a backward sort of way that I was touching Raven in every place his hoodie had touched him.

People assumed I didn’t want touch, but that wasn’t true. If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have spent years in therapy trying to achieve it. Fondling Raven’s hoodie and breathing in his scent could be the closest to him I would ever get. So, I absorbed it all, soaked it in, and allowed my blood to run warm, if only for a moment.

In the next breath, embarrassment and stupidity filled me. If anyone saw what I was doing or heard my thoughts, they’d probably call the crazy wagon.

Reluctantly, I inhaled his scent from the fabric one last time before returning it to the couch where he’d left it. In my bedroom, I lay in the dark for a long time, thinking. Perhaps our friendship had grown in a week, but not nearly enough for a firm foundation of trust to have developed. The mere thought of sharing a simple touch with Raven instantly spiked my pulse and made me squirm.

I’d had relationships with women in the past and successfully managed to progress toward intimacy with a few. Over the years, I’d been attracted to plenty of men, as well, but struggled to break barriers with them every time. That was all on me. My reluctance. My issues. Although Erin never failed to point out it was their impatience that inevitably ended things. I wasn’t sure if months down the road when I’d recovered enough from this setback if I’d be comfortable enough sharing anything more than friendship with Raven. The likelihood was, he’d give up long before that happened anyhow. As much as my mind showed interest where he was concerned, there was simply no way it would ever happen.

My morning jogs were a lot more fun with company, and Raven was laid back enough he didn’t seem to mind friending someone with innumerable issues. Despite wanting to, I didn’t allow myself to hope. Hope would lead to hurt, and I had enough of that in my life.

With him on my mind and his lingering scent a clinging memory thanks to his forgotten hoodie, I picked up my phone and sent him a text.

Me: I think I’d love to come see a rehearsal if the offer is still open.

He texted back right away with what I knew was plenty of enthusiasm. I could feel his smile through my phone and envisioned the way it carved indents into his unshaven cheeks. From there, we ended up texting back and forth for an hour about music and the songs Raven had performed over the years.

By the time I fell asleep, it was late, but I did so with a smile on my face—and shamefully—Raven’s hoodie in my arms. No one had to know.

 

* * *

 

My phone lit up with an incoming call from its place on the desk beside me, catching my eye. When the nursing home’s name and number showed up on the screen, I held up a finger to Stephen who’d been yammering on about something or other, avoiding work for the past ten minutes, as usual.

“I have to take this.”

Leaving my desk and heading toward the nurse’s lounge, I accepted the call as I put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Elaine from St. Helen’s nursing home. Is this Ireland Hayes?”

“It is. Is everything okay?” My heart skipped and skin prickled.

It was rare for the home to call unless they were having problems with my mother. They understood I struggled with visits, yet I was the sole contact and held a responsibility for her care. As of the previous year, I’d been made her substitute decision-maker since her Alzheimer’s had escalated to a point she couldn’t understand or make reasonable decisions on her own.

“Nothing emergent, Mr. Hayes. Dr. York was out to see her yesterday for the swallowing assessment we agreed on a couple of weeks ago. He’d like to set up a meeting to go over the results and discuss options at your earliest convenience.”

“Oh, right, sure.” I threaded fingers through my hair, officially destroying the gelled style I’d carefully created that morning. “When was he thinking?”

“Does tomorrow work for you? He was hoping around three in the afternoon after his rounds.”

Tomorrow. Wednesday. It didn’t necessarily mean I was obligated to visit my mother while I was there. I could go to a meeting and leave. Sadly, she’d be none the wiser. But I’d know, and I’d carry the guilt around every day for a month, or until I caved and visited her anyhow.

It wasn’t like I’d made a shit ton of progress over the past month. And seeing her didn’t guarantee a setback—although the likelihood had proven high. How far back could I fall if I was nearly at square one anyway?

“Ah, tomorrow at three? Yeah, I can probably swing it. If there is a problem, I’ll let you know.”

It would mean leaving work early, but I knew a lot of nurses in my department were looking for extra hours, so having one come in a few hours before their shift was always an option.

We hung up, and I dropped onto an uncomfortable plastic chair in the corner of the lounge. My insides were shaken to the point of nausea at the prospect of going to the home again so soon. Reality was a bitch. I’d known for years my mother’s health was declining, but I didn’t have a clue how badly I’d be affected. It was selfish to stay away from her in her time of need.

Checking the time on my phone, I decided to take an early lunch and see if Erin was around. I let my staff know I was leaving and took the elevator to the second floor before strolling the empty, bleak hallways to her office.

The door was closed over, and I considered walking away and looking for Sarah in the emergency room instead. Just as I was about to walk away, noises arose from within, and the door handle turned. A young guy wearing slacks and a pin-striped dress shirt came out. His thick brown hair was a little unruly. When he saw me hovering, he pushed his dark-rimmed glasses up his nose and smiled.

Instinctively stepping aside, giving him a wide berth, I politely smiled back as he walked away.

“Hey, stranger.” Erin had followed him out and leaned a shoulder against the wall by her office door. “You on lunch?”

“Yeah, um… you busy?”

“Not at all. Cafeteria?”

“Gardens? It’s nice out today.”

“Sounds good. Let me grab my lunch bag and lock up.”

If my therapist had been one of those people dead set on maintaining boundaries, I didn’t know what I’d do. Over the years, our friendship had become a key part of my life. Erin was a pillar of strength and a voice of reason when nothing else made sense and people gave up on me.

The gardens were a small, central location in the hospital with tables, benches, and paths accessible to staff, visiting families, or patients who were allowed to wander from their rooms. The spring bloom was well underway, and tulips and other more robust plants already decorated the planters giving the area a sense of tranquility you couldn’t find anywhere else on hospital grounds. In the good weather, I ate there a lot.

Ordinarily, if we met outside of appointment times, Erin insisted we keep our chats friendly, but she also recognized when I needed to talk. That day, as we shared a bench, she didn’t initially allow me to venture down that road. That was okay. Her support at my side was often enough to help the jumbled thoughts eating my mind.

“I met someone,” I said after a few minutes of silence. “A guy. We’ve been running together every morning. He’s a singer in this band called Stone Angel. I’m going to watch him practice tonight at his place.”

Erin smiled the same way Sarah had when I’d told her about Raven. As much as I knew the psychiatrist in her would have asked about our progress in the hands-on department, she refrained.

“A friend or a friend?”

“The first one.” I ducked my head and picked at the crust on my bread, ignoring the simmering warmth in my belly.

“What kind of music do they play?”

“Classic rock covers. They’re good, too. Or, what I’ve seen of them. I watched their warm-up at Bottoms Up a while back.”

Erin shifted on the bench to face me, her eyes lit with unhidden joy. “Ireland Hayes, did you go to a bar?”

I smirked and shrugged. “My therapist told me to go out and be social,” I teased. “She’s a hard-ass and doesn’t like to see me lock myself away. But don’t get too excited. It was early evening, and the bar was mostly empty.” When she continued to smile and stare, I shook my head. “I do listen to you, you know?”

“I’m proud of you.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I’m not a hard-ass.”

My smile lingered then faded as the food I ate sat heavily in my belly, and uncomfortable thoughts crept in. I opened my sandwich bag and shoved the remainder I didn’t eat inside. “I like him,” I admitted, knowing I could never lie to Erin.

It was enough honesty to cause Erin to waver on the line of therapist and friend. I saw the change in her body language and the way concern creased her brow. I’d known the possibility of launching us in that direction before I said it, but I had to get it off my chest. The reality of that confession was terrifying.

Before I could pull back and apologize, she put her lunch away and dug through her bag for a minute. She pulled out three items and placed them on the bench between us: a long loop of yarn like the one I had in my pocket, a tiny rubber ball that was swirled with colors throughout, and a stack of alphabet cards.

“Choose,” she said, nodding to the options.

I breathed evenly a few times as I counted inside my head, using unconscious meditative techniques Erin had taught me long ago. They came in handy before I approached challenging situations.

“You don’t have to do this. I know we aren’t having a session right now.”

“Nonsense. I want you to talk about him, but I don’t want you to think too hard about your answers. I could feel your blood pressure rise from here when you admitted your feelings. So, pick one you are the most comfortable with right now, but don’t take the easy way out either.”

I understood. At the moment, Cat’s Cradle would be an easy way out with Erin. My comfort level with her was steadier than with most people. The rubber ball wasn’t technically any harder, except I knew Erin pushed limits more when we used it. The cards were direct and could be used on two levels.

“Cards, but I draw.”

“Okay. Deal… for now.” Her smile as she repacked the other items gave me hope. She didn’t have to come out and tell me she was proud of my willingness to take that step, I saw it all over her face, shining out her green eyes.

The cards each contained a single letter of the alphabet. The idea was, I picked a card at random and drew the corresponding letter onto Erin’s palm, then she guessed what letter I drew. Easier if I initiated, harder if I allowed her to be the one to do the drawing. Touch or be touched. Because she didn’t like me focusing too intently on the actions, all games were required to be played while actively holding a conversation. My focus was elsewhere and not on the potential anxiety. So, in essence, our friendly lunch date had become therapy. Erin would argue that I should be taking these steps with all my close friends. To practice. It was a barrier that was harder to cross. More times than not, I felt stupid having to use childish games to break habits—even if I knew they helped.

I shuffled the cards and picked one, not allowing her to see it. The letter R.

“So, what’s this singer’s name?” Erin asked as I worked up the confidence to begin.

She’d extended her hand, resting it palm up on the bench between us. All I needed to do was trace the letter with my fingertip.

“His name is Raven. I guess his band guys all call him Stone. Not sure how that came about, I haven’t asked him yet.”

Fighting the tremors holding me back, I allowed my index finger to form the letter on Erin’s palm with a feather-light touch.

“What’s he look like?”

“Dark hair. Nearly black and longish. To his chin.” Erin shook her head when I finished drawing, indicating I needed to do it again because she didn’t know. Blowing out a breath, I remade the letter while I focused on describing Raven. “It curls, too, especially after our runs. He’s a bit taller than me. Broad shoulders. Amazing smile. Blue, blue eyes. His voice though… even when he talks. Deep, rumbly when he laughs. Um…”

I scrunched my brow and peeked at Erin once I’d made the letter again. “Hun, I can barely feel you. Try again.”

I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut before beginning again, working to apply more pressure.

“Is there an attraction to this man?”

“Yeah. I didn’t really know it until this past weekend. I guess I was too busy being freaked out about hanging out with a stranger to notice.”

“R,” she said when I’d completed drawing on her for the third time. “And now that you recognize your feelings, what will you do?”

I picked another card from the pile, laughing at the notion. “Nothing. You’re the rock in my life and look at me right now. I can barely apply enough pressure with a single finger. How the hell can I commit to starting a relationship? And with a guy. It’s not possible.”

Erin stayed quiet as I drew the next letter with more confidence on her palm. “Q. You are working through a setback. Nothing is impossible unless you make it impossible, Ireland. You and Julia made amazing progress.”

“And Julia is a woman.”

I tossed the second card aside, taking a third from the top.

“Just because your brain is triggered more frequently by men doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Have you been allowing yourself to reach out and try things this week?”

I pursed my lips and drew the third letter on her palm. “At work some. With Sarah. Not with Raven. But I did have a moment when I thought it might be possible to try Cat’s Cradle. I even asked him if he knew it.”

“That’s a huge step. B.”

She waved for me to hand over the cards and a trickle of tension flittered up my spine and rose the hairs on my nape. Reluctantly, I surrendered them—hand to hand—and situated my hand in the middle of the bench as she’d done.

“I always feel so childish asking people if they know these games.”

She peeked at a card and set it aside. “And did he laugh at you?”

“No.”

Erin met my eyes. “Are you ready?”

I blew out a tight breath and nodded. Erin didn’t allow any more than the tip of her finger to come in contact with my hand, and the initial touch had me tensing all my muscles. My mind was everywhere, racing, and forgetting to focus on the letter she was drawing.

“Never let anyone touch you! Do you hear me, Ireland? Never. NEVER!”

I swallowed a hard lump and shivered as I resisted the urge to yank my hand away. Erin was done and had withdrawn by the time I regained any senses, and I shook my head vigorously, indicating I hadn’t a clue what she’d drawn.

“Breathe,” she reminded me. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes. Always.”

“Close your eyes and listen to my voice, not your mother’s.”

With every bit of self-control I could muster, I kept my hand steady and closed my eyes, breathing and pushing away the echoes that screamed in my mind. Erin would never restrain my hand. It was up to me to keep it in place. Nor would she touch me without permission.

“I want you to clear your head and find your calm spot. Nod when you’re ready.”

Pushing all my anxious thoughts away, I reminded myself of all the truths Erin had taught me over the years. Touch is not always painful. Touch can be gentle and soothing. Touch is a form of intimacy.

I nodded.

“I’m going to touch you now.”

Always a warning. Her finger glided over my palm, slowly, deliberately. I focused on its warmth, on its tender glide, and pushed away all screaming reminders that it was wrong.

“You’re doing great. Tell me how it feels.”

“It tickles,” I said truthfully.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Can you escape if you want?”

“Yes.”

“What letter am I drawing?”

“E.”

“Good. I’m going to lay my hand on yours, Ireland. Palm to palm, and if you can, I want you to count to fifty.”

“Okay.”

“At twenty-five, open your eyes. I want you present with me.”

When the weight of her hand rested against mine, I dove head first into Erin’s mantra of reassurances she’d chanted endlessly over the years. Over the past two weeks, I’d initiated contact on very few occasions, but this was different. This was allowing someone else to touch me.

When the threat of losing count became a real possibility due to my active mind, I counted out loud. Erin joined me, ensuring I didn’t race. At twenty-five, I opened my eyes and clung to the assurance radiating off the woman across from me. Steady, green eyes that knew how to keep me grounded. She was calm and in control. I strived for the same. I knew it was possible because I’d done it before.

By the time I reached forty-five, my heart no longer raced, and the tension in my muscles released. We were still connected, but my mind was settling and understanding what I was trying to tell it. There was no threat. We weren’t in danger. No, touch didn’t hurt me.

At fifty, when I could have jerked my hand back, I didn’t. Erin’s smile was a reward in itself. She gave me a tiny, almost imperceptible squeeze.

“You did amazing.” She could read me inside and out, and leaned closer, bringing her mouth near my ear. The distance separating us was scarce, and I stilled, knowing she wouldn’t touch me without warning. Then, she spoke by my ear in a soft tone that wrapped me up like a warm hug was supposed to. “Nothing is impossible, Ireland. You are strong and determined. This battle can and will be won. Take a chance with Raven. Baby steps. You can’t know if a person will be supportive and understanding unless you give them a chance. What if he’s the best thing to ever happen to you and you let it go because you’re scared?”

Slowly, intentionally, I rested my forehead against Erin’s shoulder and let out a deep sigh, expelling all of the tension and stress I’d been carrying around for what felt like thirty years. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all anyone can ask. I believe in you.”

 

* * *

 

I pulled into a long driveway leading up to an old farmhouse at just after six. In the distance, a few hundred yards behind the house, was a sturdy red barn, just as Raven had explained. It was picturesque and depicted exactly as every illustrated drawing I’d seen in childhood books. Red wooden siding, white trim, and an angular roof that ended in a gentle peak. Old McDonald would be proud to own such a building.

I followed the driveway around the old farmhouse—which was in obvious disrepair—and parked out front of the barn, killing the engine just as Raven came out of a smaller door beside the wide barn door I assumed would be used for heavy machinery.

I climbed out, scanning the property as I shielded my eyes against the late afternoon sun hanging low in the sky. There were fields all around, dense trees in the north past the property line marking the start of a wooded area, birds, and silence. The field on my right was bursting with early corn stalks standing just three feet tall in neat rows. On my left, was a fenced in pasture, but there were no animals as far as I could see.

“You made it.”

Raven approached wearing faded blue jeans, a worn, plaid button-up, and cowboy boots, giving him the appearance of a country boy, just like I’d imagined. All he needed was a hat and a piece of straw sticking out the side of his mouth. His hair blew across his face, forcing him to pin it back with a hand, and he wore a radiant smile.

“You’re a farmer disguised as a hardworking city boy, aren’t you?”

He laughed, a deep rumbling in his chest that brought a smile to my own lips. “Nah. My parents were farmers. These are all our fields, yes, but we rent them out now. No more cows, no more crops. Just a lot of land and fresh air. Someone else does the hard work.”

“You are in the middle of nowhere. It took twenty minutes to get here. Do you seriously drive this every morning just to run with me?”

“Multiple times a day. You get used to it.”

Spinning, I took in the secluded landscape and the sounds of nature. No droning traffic, no horns, shouts, or pesky sirens. It was so far outside of Dewhurst that the rotten river smell was non-existent. Nothing but fresh air like he’d said. Inhaling, I found a greater sense of peace than I ever expected to find in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s really nice.”

“Thanks. Come on, I’ll show you around. The guys won’t drag their asses here until at least seven-thirty, so we have time.”

Raven moved toward the main house and waved for me to follow.

“My sister and her kids live in the main house. It used to belong to my parents, but when they moved into the retirement living community, Ebony moved in with the kids. Both were just babies at the time.”

“No husband?”

“Not anymore, the guy’s a douche, we don’t want to talk about him.”

The look on Raven’s face spoke for itself. I didn’t ask.

“I’ve always been a little unsettled,” Raven went on. “The house was too much space for me, so I didn’t kick up a fuss when my parents offered it to Ebony instead. I was living in town at the time. Then, I ended up dating this guy a few years after that. Lived with him for a time, but things went south, and Ebony let me crash here until I could sort myself out. I stay in the loft of the barn—my choosing. She offered me a room inside, but I prefer the little bit of privacy. There isn’t running water out there, so I use the house for the bathroom and to cook and do laundry and such. It’s temporary. I’m sure she’d let me stay forever if I wanted to, but it’s not ideal. Especially in the winter.”

I glanced back at the barn. It seemed modern and well built, but I had to wonder how a loft would be adequate housing in the deep of winter.

“Is it heated?”

“Space heaters. There is electricity. But still, if I gotta piss in the middle of the night, I either traipse through snow to the house and bathroom, or risk freezing my nads off pissing on a tree.”

“Shit, that sucks.”

He chuckled and climbed the steps up to a porch and a side door. We entered into a big kitchen with cupboards that went all the way up to the high ceilings, wide-slatted hardwood floors, and a solid oak table showing years of wear and tear. It was gorgeous, in a rustic, falling apart sort of way. It felt homey and loved.

A thread of tension coiled in my gut as Raven called out to his sister. I shoved my hands deep in my pockets and hung back near the door. Meeting new people was difficult. People, in general, were unpredictable, and it was hard to stay hyper-aware of all their actions while carrying on a conversation.

A thundering of feet rolled toward the kitchen. My eyes widened, and I retreated instinctively, cramming my back against the wall by the door. Two children barreled into the room with matching curly black hair and the same blue eyes I saw when I looked at Raven. The girl—who appeared younger—dove into Raven’s awaiting arms, wrapping herself snug around him as he swung her onto his hip. She was old enough and tall enough, her legs hung to almost his knees, but he didn’t seem to mind.

He planted a wet kiss on her cheek and spun to face me as she nuzzled against his neck with an edge of shyness.

“Lavender Lou, this is my friend Ireland. This is Louise and Cody, my niece and nephew,” Raven explained, nodding to the boy who hung back a few feet.

“You’re Raven’s friend?” the girl asked.

My head buzzed with growing apprehension, but I shook it off and worked an answer up my throat.

“I am. I came to see his band practice tonight.”

“Uncle Raven’s band is awesome,” the boy, Cody, commented. He smiled showing big teeth he had yet to grow into. “I seen them play sometimes.”

“Yeah, they are,” I agreed. “I heard them play a few weeks ago.”

The girl in Raven’s arms tilted her head to the side and tapped a finger over her puckered lips. “Are you the friend who likes the string game?”

I dashed a glance between Raven and Louise, unsure how she knew about Cat’s Cradle. Before I could respond, she continued talking.

“Uncle Raven said it’s your medicine cuz your head is sick.”

I winced, at the same instance as Raven snapped, “Lou!”

Before he could go on, a beautiful woman who looked strikingly like her brother—only smaller, daintier, and definitely more feminine—entered the kitchen.

“Louise Ellen, that is rude. Go finish cleaning up your puzzles like I asked. And Cody, homework.” Her raised brow boded no argument.

Raven dropped Louise to the ground, and she ran off while I shifted my gaze between brother and sister, feeling about as out of place as ever.

Deciding not to draw attention to the girl’s comment, Raven scrubbed a hand over his face and waved toward his sister, his face strained into an almost-smile that really wasn’t working for him.

“Ireland, this is my sister, Ebony. Ebony, this is Ireland.”

“Nice to meet you.” I didn’t offer a hand to shake and pressed harder against the wall at my back, hoping she wouldn’t advance.

“It’s good to meet you finally. Raven talks about you endlessly.”

Apparently.

Raven pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Ebony countered with a grin and a wink in my direction. What did that mean?

“Anyhow,” Raven enunciated. “I was just showing Ireland around before the guys all got here. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Don’t let the kids be in your way.”

We took a short tour of the house after that, dodging the living room where the kids were set up with toys and homework. Before things got more awkward, Raven encouraged me back out the kitchen door.

“I’m sorry,” he said as we crossed toward the barn again. “Louise is inquisitive. I asked her to teach me how to play Cat’s Cradle the other day when you asked me if I knew how. She was curious why a grown up played that game, and I told her it was your therapy. I shouldn’t have said anything to her.”

“It is part of my therapy.”

“But it’s not her business. She didn’t know what therapy was, so I had to explain. Obviously, I didn’t explain very well.”

Fact was fact, and I couldn’t exactly be mad. Rather than make him feel worse about something that he viewed as hurtful, I drew the focus elsewhere. “You asked her to teach you Cat’s Cradle?”

If his cheeks weren’t permanently stubbled, the faint blush that bloomed over them would have been more obvious.

“I did.”

“And how’d that go?”

“It was a lot harder than I thought, but I think I figured it out.”

Huh. He’d taken it upon himself to learn something he knew helped me. My blood warmed as I swallowed a lump of regret. Raven had no idea how much that gesture meant. I wanted to believe Erin when she said nothing was impossible between Raven and me, but I just didn’t see it. As drawn to him as I was, it had been proven time and time again that men were an obstacle unlike any other. Wishing that to change wouldn’t make it happen. If I could wish my problems away, I would have long ago.

He guided me into the barn and showed me where the band rehearsed. There were old animal stalls and farm equipment along the back section of the wide-open floor space. Tools hung on the walls, two four-wheelers sat off to one side, and a riding lawnmower had been parked behind them. The front half of the barn was open and empty. Someone had taken pains to clean it up, and there was a large area rug thrown down where it was obvious the band rehearsed.

A drum set sat in the back corner of the rug along with guitars on stands, a keyboard, a mic stand, and amplifiers. Cords ran haphazardly among the setup and ended at an electrical panel on the wall. There was a bar fridge in the corner, and a ratty old couch along with a few mismatched chairs surrounded the area rug as well.

“This is where it all takes place, huh?” I asked, standing back and taking it all in.

“Yup. Couple times a week. This is probably the best location we’ve had for practices. The acoustics aren’t great, but no neighbors around to complain about our noise if we play too late.”

“Bonus.”

“Come on, I’ll show you the loft. We can grab a drink or something and hang out up there until people show up. It’s cozier than this.”

He crossed the huge open space to a ladder by the far wall, one I hadn’t noticed when we’d first come in. It was made to resemble stairs in a way, but the angle was sharper, and the planks thinner. Above was a small opening that disappeared into the upper level of the barn.

Raven ascended first, and I climbed behind him, leaving a generous amount of space between us.

“Yeah, I can see not wanting to do this in the middle of the night in the winter. I’d break my neck,” I commented as my head became level with the upper section. “Holy shit! This is freaking huge. I had no idea.”

I climbed the rest of the way up and spun, taking in the loft that ran the entire length of the barn. It had been transformed into an impressive apartment. The ceiling was peaked and came down on two sides low enough a tall person would have to duck so they wouldn’t hit their head. It was a completely open floor space, decorated with black and gray area-rugs over slatted, wooden barn flooring. It was far more functional and liveable than I’d envisioned. And way nicer than my shithole apartment.

His king size bed took up the far wall with black dressers on either side and framed photos of many different bands, all signed by at least one member. There was an area sectioned off with furniture to form a makeshift living room with a couch, table, small TV, and an entertainment unit filled to bursting with CDs. In another corner was a keyboard, similar to the one I’d seen downstairs, an acoustic guitar, and stands filled with books and sheet music. There was a bar fridge, a dinette set, and a microwave. The only windows were on either end of the loft, and the heavy black curtains were drawn back with cords, letting in the late afternoon sun.

“It’s pretty nice for a loft, huh? Give me running water, and I’d stay forever.”

“This is better than the shithole I’m living in. You’ve seen it. Holy shit this is nice. Wow.”

Raven chuckled and moved to the bar fridge. “Beer?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“Put some music on.” He waved a hand to the entertainment unit and the scores of CDs lining the shelves underneath. “Whatever suits you. I have a bit of everything. Not much I don’t like.”

“You still do CDs?” I teased, as I knelt in front of the cabinet and flipped through the hundreds of various albums in his collection.

“I can’t keep up with the changing technology. CDs work for me.”

“You have some great stuff here.” I pulled out a handful of albums at random and shuffled through them. ZZ Top, The Police, Rush, Def Leopard, Journey, Pearl Jam, Lenny Kravitz, and so forth. “You know, with your cowboy boots, plaid shirt, and barn living, I’m surprised you aren’t singing country.”

He laughed out loud, the throaty rumble I enjoyed sending tingling shivers up and down my spine.

“Not a chance. I don’t do country at all. Over two hundred CDs there, and I swear you won’t find a single country artist. Not one.”

“I’m glad. It’s not my thing either.”

Choosing a Queensrÿche album I hadn’t heard in years, I fiddled until I managed to load it into the player before studying the overwhelming number of nobs and buttons when no sound came out.

Raven dropped to the ground beside me, closer than I expected, and I flinched away almost spilling the full beer he’d left beside me in the process as he skillfully worked a few levers making the music blare out the speakers which were set up around the room. Only once he got things going did he note my sudden panic and the fact that I hovered over five feet away by his couch, hugging my bottle of beer close to my chest.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” His eyes widened, and he held his hands up, placating me as though I was a frightened puppy.

“No, I’m sorry.” The thunderous slam of my heart washed out the synthesized opening chords of the first song. “It’s nothing.”

My efforts to cover up my panic failed, and Raven threaded fingers through his hair as he settled into a cross-legged position on the floor by the stereo.

“I should know better,” he mumbled. “I hope you know, I would never purposefully touch you.”

“I know.” And I did. As much as it generally took a long time to build that kind of trust with new people, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, Raven meant it. “I didn’t mean to react like that. It’s… instinct.”

He nodded and sipped his beer. “So, Queensrÿche, huh? These guys are amazing.”

“Yeah, love them.”

I settled on the couch as Raven went through his albums, pulling ones out at random to see if I’d heard of the artist. We talked about bands, music, and the countless concerts he’d attended for the better part of an hour. It was easy and worked wonders to calm me again. He’d met a few musical legends in his twenties and shared all kinds of crazy stories from his drunken mosh pit days.”

When the album ended, and Raven scanned for another to put on, I asked, “So, do you play any Queensrÿche with the band?”

“Nah, it doesn’t do as well on stage when people are looking for those more recognizable songs they can dance to. Oh, but…” He jumped up, leaving the task of album searching and approached his acoustic guitar on the other side of the room. “I can fumble my way through ‘Silent Lucidity.’ Wanna hear?”

“Hell yeah.” I relocated to sit on the edge of his bed since it was closer and watched as he took a second to adjust his tuning and plucked a few random strings. His hair fell over his eyes, and his shoulders encased the instrument with grace, almost lovingly.

“Forgive me if I massacre this. It’s been a while, and I’m not used to an audience when I’m just dicking around.”

“Says the man who performs on stage. I’m sure it will be fine.”

My cheeky response earned me an equally cheeky grin. He pushed his hair back then ducked his head making it all fall forward again. His focus turned inward as he strummed the recognizable opening tune to the song. It was light and distant, almost melancholy and sad. But that was exactly the mood of the song.

When he sang, I had to put my drink down. The resonance in his tone vibrated through me and rose the hairs along my body. His deep voice seeped through my veins and held me in its clutches in an almost physical sense—only I wasn’t afraid and soaked it up for what it was; a warm hug I might never achieve. I held my breath and listened to every word as they passed through his lips. He closed his eyes, and as he sang, his body swayed with the rhythm. Every emotion was exhibited across his face as though it came directly from his heart.

It was beautiful and hypnotic.

In an oddly twisted way, the words started speaking to me and unveiling meaning where they’d never had any before. Wasn’t that the way it was with lyrics? They became adaptable and meaningful to your life if you allowed them. Songwriters gave us a foundation, but the interpretation was left up to the listener. And one’s interpretation was only as restricted as one’s imagination.

I thumbed the loop of string in my pocket as Raven continued to sing, and I wondered if the walls I’d built within could come tumbling down as well. And if they did, if I was successful, could a new world truly begin? Could my soul be set free? Could I too be safe from all the pain I’d built in my heart?

The song ended, and Raven smiled freely and openly from over the top of his guitar. Rendered speechless and in a state of heavy self-contemplation, all I could do was smile back. I twisted the loop of string around my finger in my pocket and fought the fear that held me prisoner before pulling it out.

Raven’s gaze fell to my hand and the yarn before returning to my face. His features softened, and the blues of his irises warmed.

“I know it’s stupid,” I started.

“It’s not.”

I pressed my lips together tight, biting down on the metal loop in my lip before pushing forward. “Can we try?”

Just as Raven nodded, a clatter sounded from below us followed by rowdy voices talking loudly and laughing. His gaze shot to the opening in the floor where the ladder went down to the lower barn.

“Stone!” someone called. “Let’s get this party started.”

Moments later the sound of an amp hummed to life, a squealing rang through the air before dying off, and someone strummed an electric guitar, stealing our moment.

Raven’s gaze returned to mine. His brow creased, and regret filled his face. Breaking eye contact, I ducked my gaze to my lap and shoved the string back in my pocket. The notion felt even more stupid now than it did two minutes ago, and my body flooded with hot shame.

“Stone!”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

Raven replaced his guitar on its stand and moved to the bed. I initially stiffened, but when he sat he left a generous gap, and I allowed my body permission to relax.

“Stick around after?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

I wanted to leave already, humiliation and self-hatred were trying to drown me, and I wasn’t sure I could make it through a rehearsal and pretend to be a normal guy.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone. They’ll be too busy playing to be in your face. I promise. And if they try to be, then I’ll deal with them.”

Great, so now Raven thought I needed a protector. Just when I didn’t think I could feel worse about myself, I did.