Page 11 of Rock and a Hard Place

He flipped his mop of hair out of his face. “We get a couple days to go home to San Antonio here and there, but we’re booked solid for the next ten weeks. Then, if everything falls into place, we might be going to Europe for a couple months.”

This amazing guy lived his life bigger than her wildest dreams. Maybe she could have thought about travel and making huge plans in the past, but life had delivered a left hook and knocked her off her feet. She wrapped her arms around her knees and held tight.

“Now what’s that look for?” he asked, confused, as to what he’d said wrong.

“Nothing. I just didn’t know you were such a big deal.” Her lips tightened into a thin line. “I must look really boring to you.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Honestly, why was he wasting his time with her?

“I didn’t tell you all that to brag, but I figure you should know we’re not just another folk group singing on Sundays. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just not who we are.”

He leaned forward, caught her eye, and refused to look away. “And you’re not boring—totally the opposite. It’s just that we’re always on the go, one rehearsal, taping, or interview after another. All day, every day. We never stop. My dad and Garrett are always plotting and planning the nextstep of our career.” Peter mindlessly rolled a small pebble between his thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t you like it?” She searched his eyes trying to understand him.

“Yes, I love it! Are you kidding?” He tossed the pebble to the water below. “I’m living my greatest fantasy. Every day I wake up amazed all this is happening. But it gets exhausting, and sometimes I just want privacy, time to be alone.”

He gazed at her. “But times like this, where I’m doing what I want, like sitting with you . . .” He bumped shoulders with her again. “They’re the best.”

Libby nudged him back. “See, not every minute of your day is planned.”

He took her hand and gave it a warm squeeze. She rewarded him with a shy smile. “So what’s your favorite part of the band?”

“The best part is performing. I could sing onstage all night. There’s such a connection to the music and the audience. It’s total euphoria.”

They sat atop the giant rock engulfed in the misty, cool beauty of the glen. They relaxed, content in each other’s company. Peter ran his thumb over her fingers. Suddenly, he paused and turned her hand over.

“What’s this?” he asked innocently.

“Nothing.” She snatched her hand away, embarrassed.

“No, give it back.” He pulled her handback into his two and examined the violent bumps. “What are all these marks?”

Her face heated at his question. “It’s nothing.” She tried to brush it off, but dread crept in.

“It’s not nothing. It looks like cuts.” He held tight to her hand as he examined it. “You’re not a cutter, are you?” He looked her straight in the eye.

“No! Now let go.” She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t release her. Libby’s happiness spiraled down, the joy of the day gone.

“Well, what happened?”

She understood why he asked. She might ask the same thing. Peter’s expression was honest concern, nothing more. “They’re scars. From a car accident.” She bit her lip, not wanting to reveal any more.

“Oh God, that’s terrible.” He continued to study her permanently marred fingers and palm. “It must have been a really bad accident.”

“Yeah, it was,” she whispered as the image of the crumpled car and glow of ambulance lights flashed in her mind. He peeked up at her, past the heavy chunk of hair that covered his eyes. “You know, they look like little starbursts.”

“Whatever you say,” she replied, staring at her hands and not seeing it.

“Give me the other one,” he commanded. For some reason, she obeyed and extended her other hand. He examined both palms, lightly trailing his thumb and fingers overthe surface of her skin. Delicate shivers ran up her arms.

“No, they’re not starbursts.” He continued to touch each mark. “They’re angel kisses. It’s like angels kissed your hands all over.” His eyes rose to meet hers. They were filled with kindness and compassion. Something she had felt little of the past year.

Only Peter could turn the violent scars from a devastating accident into something beautiful. He was the sweetest person she’d ever met.

Without another word, he lifted first one hand and then the other and softly kissed each little mark on her tender, scarred hands.

Libby’s mouth opened in wonder. His warm breath tickled her skin as his lips gently moved. Goose bumps danced up her arms. Never in her life had she felt this way, and she never wanted this moment to end.

Peter looked up, her hands cradled in his, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do. His eyes, a deep pool of blue, melted into hers. Libby’s breath slowed. Today her world was perfect. This beautiful boy held her captive. His expression confirmed he felt the same. They leaned their heads closer, just inches apart.

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