Page 3 of For Puck's Sake

Let’s rewrite our story, reach for the sky.

Don’t let fear hold us down,

We can turn this love around.

Give into me, take my hand,

Together we’ll make this stand.

For a second chance, we’ll see,

If you’ll give in to me.

My lips part as the next verse flows from my mouth. My heart clenching at the achingly intimate lines I wrote as I got lost at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey after seeing him with someone else for the first time. I knew it would happen, but it still nearly killed me because he was mine, damn it. Mine. With every picture, social media post, video, and gossip blog, the sight of him with another woman taking pieces of him that don’t belong to her still hurts the parts of me that will never let him go.

We’ve both made mistakes,

Let’s not let them seal our fate.

There’s still a spark, a flame,

Burning brighter than we can name.

So, let’s throw caution to the wind,

Start this journey again.

Even as I sing the words, I regret my song choice. The heavy weight of what I’m singing, not intentionally meant for anyone in this room, but he’s right there, the one who inspired it, these words are for him. The meaning behind it all lost with every day, week, month, and year that passed. There will never be anus again, so I guess it’s fitting to finally sing this song with him in the room with me. The final nail in our coffin, once and for all, the final goodbye to what we once were. It’s bittersweet, but we’ve both moved on. Forever is not always forever after all. But . . . the little voice reminds me maliciously, he begged me to let him fix it.

I listen to the room singing along, my lyrics, my long-drawn-out heartbreak sliding easily off their tongues. They nod their heads and hold their lovers tight as they find their own meanings.

I know it won’t be easy,

But love’s worth fighting for.

Let’s leave behind the past,

And open up that door.

I let the song finish and instantly go into another, then another, hoping to shake the unsettling feelings of the opening song, refusing to let it dampen my mood. I sing my heart out, keeping my eyes off Ridley and on Bessie, until the room erupts in applause for the last time. I waste no time, feeling too much, I need to make a quick exit. For the first time in months the old hurt returns. I refuse to blame myself for the outcome of our ending, after all, we both failed to keep the promises we made to each other. Ridley has made me face my decision every day with a new puck bunny, his nightly conquests hanging proudly on his arm for the world to see. I’m surprised he doesn’t have one clinging to him tonight.

“Happy Birthday, Lia. Thank you for having me.” I stand, placing my guitar down as I blow Lia a kiss and bow my head. The room is going crazy with Lia cheering the loudest, the same blue eyes as her brother’s shining proudly back at me. I give her one more smile, noticing Ridley’s movement out of my periphery as he steps forward then stops himself. Turning quickly, I can feel Ridley’s eyes boring into me, but I won’t engage him, I can’t.I think he and I have said all we’ve needed to say to one another. I came for Lia and now I want to leave without any unnecessary drama, especially with?—

“You went a little heavy on the short set list, baby. You okay?”

I turn, catching Dean’s bright, sly smile, dimple popping in the middle of his right cheek. Damn him and that dimple. The dimples God blessed him with are his superpower, with just a quirk of his lips. It’s my weakness, almost making me forget my sour mood. Almost. Tall and lean with caramel brown skin, dark brown eyes like two pools of swirling chocolate, he is handsome and clean cut. The kind of man you’d write home to your momma about. Well, in my case, he still doesn’t measure up in my mother’s eyes, purely because he is in the music industry as well, and of course, doesn’t have a future worthy of her attention. Her words, not mine.Not that she gives me her attention, even after all my recent success. I’m still not the daughter she wants or expects me to be.

Ignoring the onlookers who’ve turned their attention back to the party around them, Dean leans in and kisses my lips unexpectedly. I tense, or more accurately, I flinch. So, I shat where I ate, and now I’m paying for it. One lonely drunken night after a small gig in downtown Seattle had me falling into bed with my road manager, and I couldn’t stop. I thought maybe he and I would work . . . but a month ago, that drunken phone call changed everything. It changed me and my budding feelings. I never told Dean why he found me sobbing into Bessie that night, and I have been pulling away from him ever since.

Dean groans as he licks my bottom lip with his tongue, his subtle way of wanting me to open up for him, but I don’t give in. This isn’t the time or the place for the PDA, and he knows it. One: we don’t do PDA, and two: I wouldn’t call what we do behind closed doors long-term relationship goals. In conclusion,I don’t have a boyfriend, although Dean would argue up and down that I just need time to come around.

What really burns my bread in this moment is he knows exactly where we are and who’s watching. Yes, he’s staking his claim, or attempting to piss on me in front of Ridley. I pull away and purse my lips. Honestly, I shouldn’t care about Ridley’s feelings. It’s not like I don’t see his exploits plastered everywhere I turn, but Dean is asking for a public confrontation he isn’t ready for. We are in a room full of big ass hockey players. Ridley’s teammates are his ride or dies. The last thing Lia needs on her birthday is a massive team brawl that would likely send Dean to an early grave.

I quickly glance up and catch Tor’s big hazel eyes narrowing on me from across the room. I can almost hear his thoughts from here. I don’t need to see the disappointment on his face either. Looking away, I nudge Dean and put a little distance between us.

“Really, Dean. Did you really need to kiss me? That was unnecessary.” I tsk in annoyance. Turning I reach for the mic stand, perching on the stool, I dissemble the pieces, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible.

Dean leans over me and grabs my guitar, my case already in his hands. I catch his nonchalant shrug. “I don’t know, B. You open your set with the song you wrote for him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Don’t think I didn’t notice the slight break in your playing when you looked out at him. He clearly has a distracting effect on you. He needs to know you have moved on and that you belong?—”

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