Chapter 4

 

Lilly

I waited anxiously for the theatre doors to open. I couldn’t believe I was going to see Colton Keyes live. It had been a long time since I’d done anything fun, just for me, especially something of this magnitude.  

My life revolved around my chosen profession of dance. I didn’t have many friends, except my fellow dancers, and they were more like colleagues. It wasn’t that we weren’t friendly, but it was difficult to form those kinds of relationships when we were in constant competition with each other. I’d chosen a cutthroat occupation. The dance program here was so small that opportunities were scarce compared to a larger school. We armed ourselves with barriers that made normal experiences impossible. Tonight was the exception, though. Not only would I see Colton Keyes perform, I’d have the best seat in the house.

The heavy wood doors finally opened. I kept up with the stampede of people. It didn’t matter because this was a small venue with assigned seats. Colton Keyes was an Indie artist on the edge of fame, but not quite there yet. I felt privileged to see him in this intimate setting before his stardom skyrocketed.

I headed straight for the front, checking my stub for the hundredth time, not believing it actually said A18. I ignored the ushers assisting people. I knew exactly where my seat was. After all, I’d performed at this very venue many times during the last four years.

Although I was familiar with the layout, I’d never been on this side of the stage. I gasped, seeing how close the platform was to the front row. I’d hear every riff coming from Colton’s amped guitar, inhale every note of his raspy voice as it drifted in my direction, and even see the sweat as it rolled down his beautiful face. I tried to avoid crushing on guys, but I’d made an exception for Colton when I’d heard his songs.  

I walked past the rows of empty velvet seats, counting them down in anticipation until I reached mine. I would have jumped into it, except for one problem.

It was occupied.

“I believe you’re in my seat,” I said to the man with a Tiger’s baseball cap pulled low over his face.

He straightened up and slipped the cap off. He wore a black crewneck sweater, dark blue jeans, and a pair of Converse on his enormous feet. Even in the dim light of the auditorium, I could make out his thick dirty-blond hair, dark brown eyes, broad shoulders, and a smile that stretched from smoldering to sinful in two seconds flat.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart, and yes, you are in my seat.” I shoved my ticket stub in his face.

He glanced at it, reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and pulled out his ticket. “Look for yourself.”

I stared at the cardboard replica he’d given me, trying to make sense of it. Technology had passed the theatre dept. We had old-fashion perforated paper tickets.

“Give me mine back,” I said, holding out my palm. He placed it against my flattened hand, caressing my wrist in the process. I almost dropped it, surprised by the contact.

I compared the two slips side-by-side only to find no differences—same date, same venue, same time, same seat number. What?

“Is there a problem here, miss?” an usher asked, aiming his flashlight over the tickets in my hand.

“There seems to be.” I handed him the stubs. Mr. Seat Stealer’s grin widened. I gave him a steely look in return. Did he think I would give up my seat because he was the blond version of Channing Tatum a la Magic Mike? Yeah yeah, I’d watched it...for my career. I appreciated good dancing in every form.  

“How strange. I’ll be right back,” the usher said, disappearing with our ticket stubs.

“I have a simple solution,” Seat Stealer offered.

“What’s that?”

He patted his left knee. “You can sit on my lap.”

“Is that your idea of a come on?” I placed my damp hands on my hip. Why were they damp?

Even though I was the one standing, he seemed to exude more power than me with his long legs kicked out in front of him casually. No doubt, he spent a great deal of time working on his body.

“No ma’am, it’s my idea of a solution.”

Did he call me ma’am? It didn’t fit with his confident, cocky smile and the fact he’d called me “sweetheart” a moment ago.

“This is my seat. You could just be a gentleman and let me sit in it.”

“But I wouldn’t get to have you in my lap then.”

I jabbed my finger into the air in his general direction. “Let’s get something straight. I will never sit on your lap. This place could be on fire, that seat made of ice and I still wouldn’t share it with you.”

My pulse raced with anger. How dare this jerk screw up my carefully made plans?

He chuckled, sitting higher in the chair. “You have an interesting way of putting things.”

“I’ve followed Colton’s career you know.”

“Me, too,” he replied. I wasn’t expecting that. Colton had some rocking songs, but was more about the love ballad. His music wasn’t something I expected Mr. Seat Stealer to enjoy.

“I waited in line at the student union for three hours to get this ticket.”

“I didn’t buy my ticket, but you best believe I went through a lot to be here, too.”

“I love Colton Keyes,” I said in desperation.

It was just a brief second, but his fingers tightened against the armrest. “So do I.”

I sighed, irritated by this conversation and the stubborn boy who stood, or rather sat, between my seat and me. Luckily, the usher came back. He’d straighten this out for sure, except the small man had a deep frown on his face. “I’m sorry, miss. We aren’t sure how this happened, but it appears we printed two identical tickets.”

I crossed my arms. “Get this man another seat then.”

“I’m afraid this is a sold-out show.”

“This looking any better to you, sweetheart?” Mr. Seat Stealer asked, patting his leg.

Damn him! “I’d rather sit on the floor.”

“I’m afraid that’s against fire code, miss,” the usher said as if I was serious.

Ushers…the most unhelpful people.

 “How do you intend to resolve this, sir?”

The usher looked over at Mr. Seat Stealer and back at me. For a ridiculous moment, I thought he was going to make the same suggestion. “I am not sitting in a stranger’s lap!” I screamed, drawing curious glances.

“Well, I think it might be uncomfortable if I sat on your lap,” Seat Stealer replied. “By the way, I’m James Hutchinson. Everyone calls me Hutch. Now, at least, we’ve fixed that.”

“Fixed what?”

“I’m not a stranger anymore.”

I bit my lower lip, trying to keep calm. Tonight was supposed to be my one time to let loose and enjoy myself. This man put a major dent in my plans. “Hi, I’m Lilly Franklin. Everyone calls me Lilly, and until you relinquish that seat, I’ll be referring to you as Seat Stealer.”

“Although I admire your modern day usage of the word ‘relinquish,’ I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

 “No need to get upset, miss,” the usher said, reminding me he was still there. “I’ve spoken to my manager. You can share the seat, alternating. Most people stand during the shows anyway.” The small man scurried off before I could release my rage.

I turned to Hutch, who smirked at me in the most infuriating way. Okay, maybe I can appeal to his sense of guilt. “Do you know how hard I work? How long I’ve been looking forward to this night?”

“Probably as much as me, which is why we should both enjoy it.” His words carried weight to them as if it was a difficult thing for him to admit. Maybe he realized that too because he cleared his throat and lightened his tone. “I’ll even let you have the first shift.”

“First shift?”

“In the seat.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“I’ll sit on your lap,” a pretty blonde chirped next to him. I should have encouraged that, but instead, I just watched him. He returned my stare, his intense chocolate eyes locked on me. We both ignored her.

He had a scar that traveled from his ear to his chin, jaggedly marking his right cheek. It should have created a sense of danger with his brooding looks and built body, but it didn’t. Instead, the mark made him more vulnerable…boyish in a way. He turned his head downward. I shouldn’t have stared. How was it that I was now feeling guilty?

 All the seats filled up. The house lights dimmed. I took a deep breath and turned away from him toward the stage.

“There’s an opening band, and the concert’s going to be a long one. Those shoes don’t look comfortable. You can’t stand the whole time.” His voice, deep with hints of gravel, gave birth to a flock of butterflies in my belly. I shook my head, trying to remember why I disliked him. The lines of reason began to blur.

I swung around and fixed my eyes on his. “I’m a dancer. I assure you I can stand the whole time.”

He leaned back against the seat, crossing his arms behind his head. “Go for it. As far as I’m concerned this is a really nice view.” It took a second to sink in that he was talking about my ass. I wouldn’t give him the benefit of a response. I would wait it out, keeping my dignity in the process.

Twenty minutes later, my dignity had diminished, as did my capacity to stand for hours. I should have known better than to try out new heels. Then again, I thought I’d be sitting. The shoes were shrink-wrapping themselves around my tendons, cutting off my circulation. It didn’t help that a few people had yelled for me to sit down or get out of the way. The usher was wrong. No one was standing but me.

“Will you fucking sit down already!” A man, a few rows back, yelled.

“Shut the hell up,” I heard Hutch say.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make sure your jaw won’t move right for weeks, and you won’t have a choice,” he threatened.

I swallowed, not wanting to be the cause of a fight, but when I looked back, the yeller was staring at Hutch, who now stood. The yeller’s face had transformed from pissed off to freaked out in an instant. I couldn’t blame him. Hutch’s frame radiated strength with the perfect combination of tall, powerful, muscular, and sleek. I turned before he saw me fan myself.

He stood less than an inch away from me. If I stepped back, I could lean against his chest. I almost took that step. Who the hell was I right now? I wondered for a second what kind of magic he possessed to put me under this spell.

“Please take the seat,” he said in a much softer voice, barely above a whisper. The warmth of his voice traveled down my spine, connecting all the cells in my body for one brief instance.

I crossed my arms in a sad attempt at indifference. “Then they’ll yell at you to sit, and you’re taller than me.”

“Then sit on my lap. Is it really such a horrible thing?”

Was it? It sounded very appealing right now. I went rigid as I felt the hard press of his hand against my lower back. His long fingers splayed. God help me, I liked his touch too much. I nodded, and I moved me back with him. He sat first then reached out his hand for mine. He smelled of cedar, mint, and man.

As the opening band played, I sat as far from his body as I could without falling. To his credit, he didn’t try anything.

“Do you go to school here?” I asked in the interlude between sets, an awkward attempt at conversation. After all, that was the polite thing to do when sitting in someone’s lap.

“Yes.”

“Are you a senior?”

“A freshman.”

I gaped at him. He was young but definitely older than eighteen. Plus he had that wise-beyond-his-years look in his dark brown eyes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” he said.

“Isn’t that old for a freshman?”

I thought the comment might cause a snarky reaction, but he released that wickedly boyish smile instead. “My mother always said ‘It’s never too late to start something as long as you intend to finish it.’”

“That’s good advice.”

My mom had an expression too: Sometimes you find trouble, and sometimes you find troubled. It took a smart woman to know the difference. Clearly, in James Hutchinson, I had found both.

“The best.” We stared at each other for a while. It should have been uncomfortable, and it was, but it wasn’t at the same time.

“What’s your major?” I asked.

He shifted his right leg father out, tapping it nervously. It’s a good thing we had the front row, or he’d be cramped.

“English Lit.”

“Who’s your favorite author?”

“Dr. Seuss.”

I laughed, pressing my hand against his chest. The hard muscles beneath his shirt caused the casual laugh to sound strained.

“I’m serious. No one can beat Dr. Seuss. But after that, I’d say Charles Dickens.”

“Those are some interesting choices. I’m an admirer myself.”

“Of Dickens?”

“Seuss, actually.”

“Well then, besides our admiration for Colton Keyes, it sounds like we have something else in common.”

“I suppose we do.”

“Did you say you’re a dancer?”

“Yes, I just finished the dance program here.”

“What kind of dance?”

“Modern.”

“Why did you pick that?”

I shrugged. “Just like it.”

“I don’t buy that. You picked it for a reason.” He was quiet, waiting for me to expand. Usually, people said it was an interesting choice and moved on. But he seemed interested.

 

“The truth is I can’t make up my mind. With modern dance, I get a little bit of everything—ballet, hip hop, tap. Last week, I did a Bollywood-type number on this very stage.”

“No kidding.” I’ve heard that saying, I’ve captured your attention, but I’d never captured anyone’s attention, not like this anyway. The way he looked at me was new and scary and exciting as if I was the only person in the entire room. “Tell me what inspired that dance.”

“My dad’s mother was born in India, and my mother was a dancer. It was sort of an ode to my parents. My way of saying I love you.”

“They must be proud.”

We were dipping our toes into the deep end of what I first thought would be a shallow conversation. I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve auditioned for a spot with an international company. If I get in, I’ll be dancing professionally in Europe.”

He looked away from me, and turned his gaze downward to the floor. “I wish you the best of luck, Lilly.”

The way he said my name made me wish for a longer name with more syllables.

“It’s a long shot.”

“If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth doing, right?”

“Right.”

I turned away when they announced Colton Keyes. We’d practically missed the entire opening act.

“Excited?”

“I’ve been a fan since I heard his first song.”

“Do you have a crush on him?” The question had an edge to it.

I shrugged. “He’s cute.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said dryly. I shifted, teetering close to falling off his lap.

Colton started in on a song right away. It was one of the few faster songs on his list. The screaming girls beside us all rushed toward the stage. The reset of the audience stood too. Finally, everyone was standing as the usher predicted. Everyone except us. People cocooned us on all sides. It felt surreal. People surrounded us, yet we were all alone. “Why don’t you lean back, Lilly?”

“I’m fine,” I said, even as I started leaning back.

“Hey, do you smell something burning?” he asked, sniffing.

I sniffed too. “No, why?”

“Because I believe you said you’d only sit on my lap if this place burned down and the chair made of ice.”

I laughed nervously, torn between the unfamiliar feelings he caused and the need to be closer to him. “That’s not quite right. I said I wouldn’t sit here even if that happened.”

“Got it.” After another song had passed, I felt him shift a bit.

“Am I too heavy for you?”

“You’re light as a feather, but you’re sitting so rigid that my spine is having sympathy pains for yours. You can’t be comfortable like that.”

“I’m as comfortable as someone can be while being humiliated.”

 Hutch went stiff with my words, and in his face, I saw a gamut of expressions from disappointment to hurt. I immediately regretted what I’d said. The sentence had tumbled out of my mouth without the consent of my head. I’d never been a social person, hence the reason I attended the concert alone, but I wasn’t hurtful either. It was a defense mechanism against whatever powerful magnetism he possessed.

“You can get up, Lilly.”

“Why? I want to sit.”

“And you should.”

“I’m fine, Hutch, really I am.”

He clasped my hips and moved me off the chair. “I’m not.”

I stood and turned to him. Hutch smiled, but it was the saddest smile I’d ever seen. He leaned in close to my ear, his warm breath stimulating all the butterflies. “I never meant to humiliate you. It seems I’ve forgotten my manners somewhere. I should go find them. It was a pleasure meeting you, and I sincerely apologize for my lack of honor.” He gestured to the seat. “The seat belongs to you. Goodbye, Lilly.”

I watched him take the steps toward the exit. “Hutch?” I called, but the music drowned me out.

The seat felt surprisingly cold and empty. It took about fifty seconds before I stood up and rounded the steps myself. Breathless by the time I caught up to him, I screamed his name. He paused, standing halfway between the lobby and the exit doors.

“Hutch,” I whispered this time, silently pleading with him to stop.

He slowly turned back toward me. My steps were brisk, my footing more sure than my feelings. I paused a few feet from him, hoping he’d close that gap between us. “We can share the seat. You don’t have to leave.”

His steps back were cautiously measured as if a sinkhole might suddenly appear between us. We could hear the music floating out from the auditorium. The guitar riff was very familiar. The first notes of Finding My Way Home surrounded us.  

“This is my favorite song,” he said, removing his hat. His fingers raked through his thick mane.

“Me too.”

He tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “Lilly, would you do me the honor of a dance?”

I looked around. The vendors were set up, and a few people loitered in the lobby, but once more, we were invisible…or maybe only visible to each other.

I put my arms over his broad shoulders and stood on my tiptoes. “The honor is mine.”

“I’m not a professional, but I promise not to step on your feet.”

I laughed, laying my head against his rock-hard chest, surprised how comfortable I was. “I trust you,” I said, realizing the words were completely honest even if they weren’t exactly logical. Whatever spell he cast, I wanted it to last.

As a tall girl with a larger-than-normal build for a dancer, it was difficult to find partners. Hutch and I fit well though. We moved to the song, silent except for the beating of our hearts, which created their own melody.

“Thank you,” he whispered so softly I thought I imagined it.

“For what?”

“For this.”

I caressed the back of his neck until I felt the chain tucked into his shirt. I traced it, pulling it from his shirt. My eyes widened seeing the dog tags with his name. “You’re in the military?”

“A Marine. My contract’s over though.”

The guilt invaded me like a tidal wave. He said he’d been through a lot to get to this concert, too, and here I acted like a child, throwing a tantrum about the seating arrangement. “If I had known, I would have given you the seat.”

“Exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Everyone who finds out wants to do something for me. I’ve had people offer to fix my car or buy my meal. It’s nice, it really is, but I signed up for it. No one forced me.”

“I think people just want to show support wherever they can, Hutch.”

“There are charities for that. I am not a charity.” It was evident he was a very proud man. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m honored to have served, but I just want to live my life now.”

A tear stung my eye. How did he make me do that? He tilted my chin. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m a lucky man.”

“You are?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t crack.

“I’m dancing with a beautiful girl, aren’t I?”

I laughed, patting his chest. “I know what that’s like in a way.”

“You’ve danced with a very beautiful girl? Tell me more and spare no details.”

 “Very funny, I meant about how you feel. I don’t usually tell people this, at least not right after I meet them, but my parents died in a car accident right after I turned fifteen.”

“I’m sorry, Lilly.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“Where did you live after that?”

“With my grandma until she passed away. Then there was no one, and I went into foster care until I aged out of the system.”

He frowned, his hold on me tightening. “Foster care? Did they treat you well?”

“Yes, I mean they were decent, but I wasn’t kidding myself. They liked the paycheck more than me. But the reason I’m telling you this is so when I tell you I get it you know it’s true. People had a constant need to make me smile or help me get over the loss of my parents, but they didn’t understand that I just needed time. I didn’t want to get over it. I wanted to be sad for a long time. I needed to be. I had to mourn in my own way.”

“That’s exactly right. Everyone wants to call it PTSD or depression. Can’t a man just be sad without it being a disease?”

“I think so.”

The last note sounded. Colton’s next song was much faster, but we still swayed against each other. I never talked about my parent’s death, especially not to strangers, but somehow Hutch didn’t seem like a stranger. Not anymore.

“They would be very proud of you…your parents.”

“I hope so.”

“I have no doubt.”

“My mother danced with the New York Ballet company, but she had to give it up.”

“Why?”

“Her partner dropped her, and she injured her femur. My dad was her physical therapist. That’s how they met. She never danced again. I guess their story was a romantic tragedy if there ever was one.” What was I doing? It was as if he’d broken a damn inside of me. I didn’t admit these things to people. I carried a façade that I regularly checked for chips and cracks.

“I’m a realist not a romantic, but even I think that’s more romantic than tragic.”

“I suppose.”

I leaned my head against his chest. There was something so emotionally pure about being in his arms that I couldn’t pinpoint when our feet stilled. We simply embraced each other. I stood on my tippy toes and kissed his cheek. His hands tangled through my hair. I trailed kisses until I found his mouth. When he kissed me back, my knees weakened. He tightened his grip on me. His kiss, soft and tender had an urgency to it as if he needed the connection. I lost myself in the moment. For the first time in my life, I didn’t mind the idea of being lost.

The press of something hard against my waist stilled me. He pulled back immediately and shot me an apologetic look. He put his hat back on and turned the bill low, covering his eyes.

“I should go,” he said, bowing slightly. “Thank you for the dance and your company, Miss Franklin.”

Go? No. No. No! I didn’t want this night to end. I had come here for a concert, but whatever craziness was happening between us wasn’t something I’d give up. In fact, I wanted to surrender to it.

I clasped his arm. “Don’t leave.”

“There’s only one seat, and it belongs to you.”

“I’m willing to share. Please sit with me, Hutch.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t resist when I took his hand in mine and led him back inside.

I took my place on his lap, and this time I did lean back. He put his arms around me. Colton finished one of the few fast-paced songs he had. I shifted, moving to the music. “Stop that, Lilly,” Hutch said in a commanding voice.

“Why?” I turned, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Because of this.” He jutted his hips, grinding his erection into me. In the diminished light, I could see the vibrancy of his eyes and the wicked smirk on his lips that bordered a space between sexy and menacing.

“What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll have to retaliate,” he said, moving my hair to the side and kissing my neck. It caused an electric spark to travel down my spine. His lips were the perfect combination of soft and firm against my bare skin. “I don’t want to get arrested for public indecency. I’m a weak man in your presence, Lilly Franklin.”

I was about to say something when Colton Keyes got on the microphone, stealing my attention from Hutch’s dark brown eyes. I sigh, frustrated by the interruption.

“I wanted to thank y’all for coming out tonight. I especially want to express gratitude to my big brother, Hutch, who’s just returned from Iraq.”

I spun around so fast, my hair whipped Hutch’s face. He gives me a sideways smile, almost nervous. His heart beat so hard, I felt it over his shirt.

“He always tells me how proud he is of me, but the truth is I’m honored to be his brother,” Colton continues. “I owe whatever success I have to him. He saved my life more than once. He actually helped me write Making My Way Home, too. He always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.” His voice chokes. “Especially then.”

Hutch looked uncomfortable as the whole audience applauded.

“And I have to admit, I’m a little jealous since you’ve had this beautiful girl in your lap for most of the show.” Colton continued his speech, and everyone cheered and laughed, but I drowned it out.

“Colton Keyes is your brother?”

Hutch nodded. “Guilty.”

“Is Keyes a stage name?”

“No, legally we’re half-brothers…different fathers. But he’s my bro in every way.”

“You could have watched from backstage.”

Hutch smiled, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger. “It gets crowded back there, so I prefer it out here. Besides, I wouldn’t have gotten to sit with you. I definitely had the best seat in the house.”

I turned around and focused my attention on Colton’s next song. My stomach churned processing every little detail of this evening and the enigmatic boy I met. We don’t speak, but I’m still on his lap, the contact almost too much…and yet, too little at the same time. Colton finished with an encore of Making My Way Home.

“You wrote this song with him?” I asked, keeping my eyes locked on the stage.

“Not exactly. He took lines from the letters I wrote home during my tour. He added his own stuff to make it sound better and wrote the song that way.”

“I danced to this song at my recital. I choreographed the steps and chose the music.”

“Why do you like it?”

I swallowed and turned in his direction. “When my parents died, I lost a lot of hope. And then after my grandmother...well, I thought I had no real home.”

His eyes darkened. “That had to be difficult.”

“It was. I kept thinking if I just had a little more hope, I could make it through each day. I prayed for it.”

“Me too, Lilly. I know how you feel, but who needs hope when they have strength? You have plenty of that.”

It was hard to believe how easily I shared the most intimate details of my life with him. I suppose pain recognizes pain. It was like two turbulent waves crashing and quieting.

“I’ve always wondered what the meaning of the Tin Man was in the song. You know, when he says A Tin Man in disguise, ruled by bad decisions and lousy ambitions.”

“That’s Colton’s nickname for me.”

“Why?”

Hutch took a deep breath. “I have a few ideas, but he won’t tell me for sure.”

“What is your idea?”

“Maybe it’s cause I’m really rusty with my game.”

“Your game?”

He smiles a boyish smile. “Yeah, my swagger is stiff. See that right there? That was a weird sentence.”

I cupped my mouth, trying not to laugh.

“It’s okay, you can laugh.”

“You mean this isn’t the way you usually pick up girls, getting them to sit on your lap?”

“No. I swear I’m no creepy Santa Claus.”

“That’s a relief.”

The song finished. Everyone clapped and gave a standing ovation. Colton deserved one, but Hutch and I continued to sit, staring at each other. A chant for another encore stared. I prayed Colton would. I wasn’t ready to leave. But he didn’t. The auditorium started to clear out.

“Want to meet Colton?” he asked.

If he asked before the concert, I would have squealed like a pig, but now I just nodded. I did want to meet Colton Keyes, but more so, I didn’t want to say goodbye to James Hutchinson.