Epilogue
Claire’s heart was pounding as the lights dimmed. Next to her, Maya reached out and held her hand. It was Ryan’s first performance promoting his new album, Bedroom Songs, and she still felt that same rush of nerves and adrenaline as she had the very first time she heard him play at Mackenzie’s.
Only this time, she was front and center. And when the lights came on to a gorgeous, grinning Ryan on stage, she was the one cheering the loudest, outdone only by a six-year-old who was almost as excited at being allowed to stay up way past her bedtime as she was to see her dad perform.
Ryan picked up his guitar and lifted the strap over his shoulder. As he was getting everything set up, he waved to Maya, giving her a wink. His eye caught Claire’s, and every time he looked up and scanned the crowd, it went back to her. She felt their connection, solid and real. They could survive apart from one another—but life was so much better when they weren’t.
When he rolled up his sleeves to play, there were his familiar tattoos. But there weren’t two rings anymore. There were three.
It had been dark that first night when he arrived back from Chicago, and she hadn’t noticed. But in the morning, Maya was the first to recognize that something about Ryan was different. Over pancakes and juice, she pointed straight to his forearm, where the skin was still red and sore.
“You got another tattoo?” Claire had said, surprised.
And then he explained what he’d never told her, how the rings had been for him and for Claire. They were a symbol of what she’d still meant to him in all the years they were apart, and a sign of all he’d worked so hard for since then.
Only it wasn’t just the two of them in Ryan’s heart anymore. He had three people, and so there were three rings, a matching line for Maya tattooed underneath the other two.
“It’s not because I’m afraid of forgetting,” he told her. “It’s because I want to remember, every second, that you’re a part of me forever.”
Now he played the first few chords, his forearms flexing as his hands moved across the guitar, and Claire felt the surge of love for him all over again. Because when the light caught him on stage, it didn’t just show his large hands, his muscled forearms, and the lines of his tattoos. It also caught the gold band on his finger…the band that was a larger version of the one wrapped around hers.
“Not ink,” he’d said on the night he got down on one knee. “But something even more permanent.”
For a moment it was almost strange to hear the audience singing along with him, as though she’d forgotten that this album was public and the rest of the town—or more like the entire country!—knew every word. It felt like Bedroom Songs was private—even though now, released out into the world, it had taken on a life of its own.
But this was the life she’d signed up for when she fell in love with a musician. It was what she wanted for him: all the success in the world.
Eddie had loved Bedroom Songs so much, he insisted they didn’t change a thing. He barely even cleaned up the production, releasing it with the same raw sound and even the background noises that Claire had heard that first night when she pressed play on the CD and sank to the floor.
It was an instant hit. Anyone who might have thought Ryan should have gotten back together with Little White Lie, or started another band in Seattle, only had to listen to the first few songs to know that he was onto something. In a band, he was strong. On his own, he was even better. With just him and his guitar, the raw honesty of his voice powered through, proving that, sometimes, less was a hell of a lot more.
Like his new tour. It was going to be shorter than his previous one, so he wouldn’t be away for as long. And most of the shows were on the west coast, so he could pop home for part of the week. Claire didn’t want him to feel like he was being stifled, but Ryan was the one who’d insisted. He didn’t want to be on the road for too long.
“I miss you too much when I’m away,” he’d said as he made blueberry pancakes as part of their usual Sunday morning routine. “Besides, promoting a more limited tour wound up being even better for ticket sales.”
It was true—he’d sold out everywhere, and his booking agent had to seek out larger venues to accommodate demand. Bedroom Songs was a departure for Ryan, but it was a welcomed one. He was already working on another solo album, and Claire knew from the tidbits she’d heard him working on that even though it wouldn’t involve as much heartache, it was going to be just as good.
She was happy to have him staying close. Not only did it mean fewer nights sleeping alone, but having someone else there just made life easier. Better. Fuller than it was when she was alone.
Plus, it made for a lot less trouble when she traveled to Portland for a week to finish the classes she needed for her license. She’d been nervous about leaving…until she realized that the fluttering in her stomach was because she’d never been away from Maya for that long—not because she was afraid something might happen.
Not that she hadn’t enjoyed having an entire hotel room to spread out in and no one to hog the covers. Nope, she hadn’t minded that part one bit.
But this was her family. They were the ones she wanted to be with.
“This next song is for Maya,” Ryan said with a grin, and Maya hopped up and down in her seat, clapping her hands. But the song was pensive, and as stillness settled over the crowd, Claire felt tears pricking her eyes.
This was the love of her life, pouring his heart out, promising to the world that he was never going to let her down.
“Always,” she told him afterward, when she found him backstage and answered the question his last song asked. She never got tired of saying it, just as she never got tired of feeling him take her in his arms.
“I’ll always be here, and I’ll always be yours.”
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