Chapter One
Ellie
I play because I love it, it’s in my blood. It’s why I’m here today. Risking it all to do the one thing that saves me from myself. Music.
My own personal therapy. My only escape from the reality that surrounds me.
I need it more than I need air to breathe. Without it, I’m lifeless. A shell of the person I know I am meant to be.
Why can’t they see that?
“Hey, El.” The voice behind me saves me from the thoughts that have been consuming my time. The anticipation of “what-if’s” has my nerves on high alert.
Turning, I see Jen, the barista at the local coffee shop Java Talk, holding out my beverage of choice: hot ginger tea with two teaspoons of honey. “Looks like you’re closing out tonight.”
“Thanks.” I take the cup, my trembling hand showing what is hiding behind the walls I’m carefully trying to construct before he comes and tries to knock them down again. Destroying everything I’m trying to become. Everything I have always wanted to be. Just me.
“Whoa! What’s with that?” She nods at the cup as I bring it toward my lips, giving it a quick blow. “No need, room temp.” Jen
smiles. “Wouldn’t want you to burn those pretty pipes.”
“Thanks.” I take a quick sip, appreciating the warmth of the tea as it helps loosen my vocal cords.
“Is that the only word you know tonight?” Jen leans against the counter, crossing her arms.
“What?” I take a step back and lean against the half wall that separates the counter from the front door. The farther I get from her, maybe the less she will notice.
This moment, right now—tonight, it’s more than just getting up in front of a crowd. No, that I can do. This is about independence and my lack of it. This is me standing tall, making a stand and fighting back. A declaration of the war I’m about to fight.
“Girl, every word out of your mouth has been ‘thanks.’ Which is cool and all, you know, because I’m all about manners and stuff, but that trembling hand.” She moves forward, placing both hands on the counter that divides us. “You got the shakes bad and I’m willing to bet it has less to do with our makeshift stage over there,” she throws her thumb over her shoulder, “and more about something else.” She narrows her eyes, waiting for me to spill it.
“I just have a lot on my mind,” I say evasively.
I should have known Jen would notice something was wrong. We’ve become close the past few months when I sneak home once a month to play Java Talk’s Coffee Shop Acoustic Sessions.
“Well, it’s a good thing you are here then. Baristas, we are a lot like bartenders.” Jen’s lips are pursed, eyes wide, as she nods, her suggestive salesman training in full effect. “Wanna tell me about it?”
That does it. Something breaks and I bend over in laughter. The
look on her face and her trying to sell me therapy like she is selling the featured pastry of the month is too much.
Throwing her hands up she asks, “What? What’s so freakin’ funny?”
“It’s just…” I try to catch my breath. “You.” I push myself off the wall, exhaling out the laughter. “You’re just funny. That’s all.” I walk past her, shaking my finger. “I needed that. Thank you.”
She follows me from behind the counter. “I don’t get it.”
“Make that face again and look in a mirror.” I gesture toward the reflective window behind her. “You looked so damn serious.”
“I was serious.” Jen turns around and makes the exact same face. Her eyes wide, she turns back around.
I chuckle. “You get it now?”
She picks up a towel and throws it in my direction. “Whatever. See if I ever try to help you again.”
“You helped me more than you realize.” I pick up the towel and hand it back to her.
Grabbing it out of my hands she dips it in the sanitizer and begins to wipe off the counter. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Ohhhh come on now, don’t be mad. It was a cute face.”
Jen stops mid-cleaning and looks up. “It looked like I was constipated, trying to take a dump!”
“That too.”
“Thanks for the boost of confidence. I’d rather have cute than…”
The bells over the front door, announcing the crowd that is about to come through. It’s my cue to let the master get to work. Who am I to come between a customer and their coffee?
“Looks like you are getting ready to get hit. I think I’m just going to hang out here until my turn. That okay?”
“Yup.” She braces herself for the rush of people.
Pulling out a stool, I settle in and wait for my turn, losing myself in the lyrics of the soft melody of the artist currently on stage.
“Is this seat taken?” The low rumble of a voice startles me from my music-induced trance.
Looking down the row of empty stools, I reply, “That is a piss poor excuse for a pickup—” I whip around in the stool and right into the chest of the most gorgeous guy I have ever seen. Tall, dark and hair slicked back like he just got out of the shower.
Don’t go there.
I beg myself to fight the urge to lean toward him and breath in his scent. I’m pretty sure he will smell of all kinds of yummy.
“Rest assured, that wasn’t a line.” He seems a little amused. “If it was, I would say my game was way off.”
“I’m the only one sitting here.” I wave around to all the empty seats at the bar. Even though it’s a special night, most of the patrons sit at the tables closer to the entertainment. “So, forgive me for thinking otherwise.”
“I’m just waiting for my coffee. Wanted to stick close to the front without blocking the counter.” He pulls out the seat. “So, may I?”
“Um, sure?”
“Are you?” He looks around. “Because I’m getting the feeling someone is occupying this seat.”
“Yeah. I mean, no one is sitting there.” I quickly turn back around, mouth agape from just making an ass out of myself.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re making the other girls look bad.” His voice a seductive whisper, tickling all my senses.
Turning around once again, I come face-to-face with this beautiful stranger. His lips, so close to mine, turn up into a grin.
“What?” His proximity steals my breath away.
“That is a pickup line.”
“Come again?”
“Pickup line.” He leans back in his seat. “If I were to use one, I would have said that. Not ‘is this seat taken?’”
“Lame.” I somehow manage to break the spell.
“How do you figure? I had you. Hook, line and sinker.” He winks.
“Dude, you are so wrong!” I hop up, grabbing my tea. “That ranks up there with ‘Are you a time traveler? Cause I can see you in my future.’”
“Oh come on. It wasn’t that bad.”
“What’s bad?” Jen slides his order down the bar, then stands there waiting for one of us to answer.
“Uhh…”
“Well…” he begins to explain. “I was just…”
“Oh my God! Grab a booth.” She waves over to one that is being cleaned off. “Your secretive conversation is distracting me.”
“You are a mess.” I turn and head to the booth. As I slide in I notice hot guy is still sitting at the bar. “Are you coming or not?” I call to him.
Slowly standing, hot guy grabs his drink and walks right past me.
Seriously?
Turning in the booth I see him change direction and come back,
stopping right in front of me.
“Excuse me, miss. When I was walking by, I noticed you staring, so what’s up?” He stands there looking all delicious, hands in his pockets.
“I wasn’t staring…” The light bulb goes off. “Please tell me you don’t really use that line?”
“Of course I do.” He winks, taking a seat across from me.
“Whatever happened to just a simple introduction?”
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” He reaches across the booth, holding out his hand. He nods. “This is where you take it and I introduce myself.”
“Huh?” I can’t help but mess with him.
“See. Clearly my point. It doesn’t work.” He starts to pull back, but the urge to reach out and touch him overpowers my need to be a smart-ass.
“Ahhh, or maybe it does?” He gives my hand a little squeeze and shake. “I’m Lee Scott, construction worker.”
Interesting. Explains the rough hands.
“I’m Ellie.” I pause for a moment before I let the words tumble out of my mouth. “Ellie Thorne.”
“Well, Ellie, Ellie Thorne. What’s your story?” He retracts his hand, grabs the steaming cup of joe and leans across the table, seemingly interested in my every word.
“I’m actually quite boring.” Which is true, for the moment.
“Oh, come on.” Lee tilts his head to the side, daring me to tell him more. “Pretty young woman like yourself, there has to be more.”
“I’m just a typical twenty-three-year-old college student who still
doesn’t know what she wants in life. I’ve dropped out of college at least two times only to be forced to go back by my overbearing parents.” I bring my now cold tea to my lips, watching Lee from over my cup as I take a drink.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out what we want in life, until we get to experience it a little.” Lee speaks with confidence. “It will come with time.”
“See…” I set the cup back down and this time I’m the one finding myself entranced, leaning into his words. “That’s the thing. How do you experience it? I have no idea what I want to do or what I’m allowed to do.”
“What’s your major?”
“Business law.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have figured you for the type.” He leans back, examining me. “I mean, you do seem a little feisty.” He winks. “But attorneys are brutal and you seem like the opposite.”
“You’re very observant, Mr. Scott.”
“Very much so, Miss Thorne.”
I wince.
“What’s that look for?”
I could tell him the truth, but tonight is about living. Tonight is about my escape and Lee is just that for me, but there is something about him that makes me want to unravel it all.
“It’s just so formal. That’s all.”
So much for unraveling.
“Ellie, let’s lose the formality.” He takes our cups and signals for Jen to bring us another round. “I came in here to grab a cup of coffee
before I met a few friends for drinks.” He glances at the time. “Which I’m late for and you know what?”
“What?”
“I don’t care.” Lee reaches for his cell and fires off a text as he continues. “I’d rather be here,” he slides the phone back into his pocket, “with you. So, tell me everything or nothing. Either way, I’m not going anywhere.”
Is it that simple?
“You go first,” I counter.
“All right, I’m twenty-four, have a stable job with great benefits. My mom left when I was younger and I was raised by my grandparents, whom I like to think did a fantastic job. My grandfather had a passion for woodworking and taught me everything he knew.”
“School?”
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have the opportunity. My grandfather passed away when I was seventeen and I promised I would take care of my grandmother. So, I went to work.”
“Do you regret it?” I question, needing the answer. Because regret consumes me daily. If I follow my dreams, I have regret. If I don’t, then I have regret.
What I did today? I feel relief. But will regret soon follow once I suffer the repercussions?
“Sometimes, but it’s not what you think. I always knew I wanted to work with my hands. So, regretting working in construction?” He pauses before continuing, “No. But wishing I could have taken a few courses in business, so one day I could start my own company? Yep. Every day.”
“It’s not too late. They offer online classes.”
“I’ve thought about it, but right now, life is a little complicated.” He reaches for his phone. “Speaking of which…” He scrolls through his messages and smiles.
Complicated.
A simple word that means so much.
“Girlfriend?” I blurt.
“Grandmother,” Lee responds, flipping his phone, to show me a picture of an older woman holding up her pill box, with the lid off, all the contents emptied into her open mouth, her middle finger more visible than the rest. “She sometimes forgets to take her meds. I guess the talk I gave her yesterday worked.”
“Now, she seems like a feisty one.”
“That is an understatement.” He throws his head back in a fit of laughter before he brings his eyes back down to meet mine. “So, about you?”
“I have two parents who have always controlled my every move. I’ve never had a real job. I love music. I’m addicted to vanilla-flavored ChapStick and all things lemon.” I pause to gauge his reaction.
He confessed he had to work to support his grandmother and I basically tell him I freeload off my parents.
“Go on.” He reaches across the table, covering the fist I didn’t know I was making with the palm of his hand. As he slowly pries it open, the tension is freed from my body.
He smiles and removes his hand.
I smile and wish he’d put it back.
“Well, there is one thing that I love. It’s actually why I’m here
tonight—”
“Here you go.” Jen hands Lee a refill then turns to me. “I know you don’t like more than one cup before you go on and, well… you’re up.” She pats me on the shoulder before walking off.
“I’ll be right back. I just have to do this one thing.” I get up, pulling my ChapStick from my back pocket, applying it as I always do before I hit the stage. “It’s only a couple songs.”
“Songs?”
“I’ll be back in about ten minutes.” I turn around and head toward the coffee bar where Jen is waiting with my guitar.
“Looks like word traveled fast.” She points at the doors. “I may have tweeted it.”
“Jen!” I didn’t want an audience tonight. The last thing I need is for my parents to find out I’m back in town.
“They are your fans, El. Don’t try to hide from them.”
Rolling my eyes, I grab the guitar and head to the stage, but not before looking back to see Lee standing, leaning against the wall.
Opening the worn leather case, I wrap my hand around the neck of the guitar and carefully lift it out while I take a seat on the stool.
Glancing up, I give Lee a quick wave, which he returns, before I speak into the microphone. “Testing, one, two, three.” I slide the strap over my head, strum the strings and begin to belt out a crowd favorite.
Everyone is singing along and clapping their hands. The tempo is a little too upbeat for the atmosphere, but I love it.
I crave it.
This is who I was born to be. I can feel it, and even though they deny it, they know it too.
I decide that since I’m closing out and the audience is liking where this is going, I’m going to end it on a high note.
Adjusting the mic, I bring it closer and say, “A certain someone asked me what I wanted out of life.” I scan the crowd to see him closer to the door now. “Ah, there he is.” I flash him a smile. “Anywho, I may not know what I want out of life, but I do know what I want tonight…” I begin to play the few chords to Elvis Presley’s “Trouble.” “That’s right. Trouble. Lee?” I settle in, strumming a few more chords. “What do you say? You wanna get into some trouble?” His face suddenly drops.
I must have embarrassed him.
“It’s okay.” I mouth before I start the song, one of my mom’s favorites. Except Lee looks anything other than fine. Bouncing from foot to foot, I can tell, even from here, he’s uneasy. That putting him in the spotlight was the wrong move because he does the one thing I didn’t expect. He lowers his head, turns and walks out the door.
Plastering on a smile, I let the crowd carry me through the last note then swing my guitar over my back and run after him to apologize.
“Lee! Wait!” I push my way through the crowd, hoping I can catch up to Lee and convince him to stay. “Lee!” I’m almost to the door, but someone steps around the corner and damn near knocks me backward.
“Trouble? Seems fitting enough.” He catches me by the arm a little too tightly.
This is what I didn’t want to happen.
This is why I didn’t announce I was back home.
This is why I have no choice but to do what I have to do.
“Father.”
“Time to go home.” He begins to pull me out the door.
“I have to get my case.” I jerk back.
Reaching over my shoulder, he lifts the guitar over my head and hands it to someone behind me. “You’re done! Do you hear me?”
“Don’t you even think about it. That’s mine,” I hear Jen say as my dad pulls me out the door.
“I have my car.” I break free and head toward my Mercedes, a high school graduation present from my parents, and climb in.
“Straight home, Eloise!” My dad walks by, tapping my hood.
This is where I want to shout back that I’m twenty-three years old. I’m an adult who can make my own decisions, but we both know that’s a lie. I tried to live my life for me and when I did, he followed and always brought me back home.
Slamming the door, I tilt my head back and scream. “I can’t do this!” I pound my fist against the steering wheel. I’m so caught up I’m unsure if I just laid on the horn or if my screams were that loud. Either way, I have onlookers.
Tonight felt good.
Tonight, he made me believe I could be anyone. Someone other than the person I pretend to be.