Page 80 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

Rafael reaches down and clasps Dawson’s hand, hoisting him up. But Dawson looks ready to fly. He takes the spare guitar from the stand near Jared and slings the woven strap over his neck. Jared and Dawson share a quick tune, and then Rafael taps the side of his guitar in a firm, measured beat.

Dawson starts to strum, his fingers fluid across the fretboard. He closes his eyes, as if savoring the moment, then leans in to Jared’s mic. His voice rings out rich and strong like a spear of liquid heat straight to my heart.

I cover my mouth to keep from screaming.

Jared plays a steady backup rhythm while Rafael taps the percussion with his heel and his thumb against his guitar.

Dawson’s words echo through me like a rowdy, edgy symphony, igniting my longing and a sweet, desperate delight, like my very cells are supercharged.

He reaches the chorus, his eyes closing as he loses himself to words only he knows how to sing.

And you are as you came, reckless and blamed…

“Like a fuse…waiting for fire,” I sing along with him, swaying.

The crowd starts clapping along with the beat. We’re a sea of bodies, moving, clapping, sharing something pure and fleeting, like a flame in the wind.

Dawson’s eyes find mine and his gaze softens. With his fingers galloping across the strings, he sings his heart out, the gravelly low tones contrasting with the higher, smooth notes. He sings like he’s not afraid of what he wants. A tender warmth pulses through me, giving me hope that he’ll believe in his dreams again.

“It’s a high wire,” Dawson croons, drawing out the final note.

For a split second, the air is completely still. Then the crowd erupts, cheering and whistling.

“Dawson James!” Rafael says into the mic, extending a hand in Dawson’s direction.

Dawson takes a small bow. He slips the guitar strap from his shoulder and turns to replace it on the stand when a chant from the crowd grows stronger.

“More! More! More!”

Rafael raises an eyebrow at Dawson, who smiles and shakes his head.

“How about one more?” Jared says into the mic.

Dawson gazes at me, and I’m smiling so big my face is going to crack. “More!” I shout.

In the stage lights, his eyes shine. He consults with Jared, who nods once in acknowledgement.

“Okay,” Dawson says into the mic. “One more.”

The crowd cheers, making so much noise my head throbs. I jump up and down, unable to contain my glee.

Dawson slings the guitar back across his shoulders and steps up to the mic. “This is a song I wrote recently. It’s called Crooked Waters.”

He nods at Jared, then picks the opening before strumming a catchy riff. Jared joins in and the two guitars layered create harmony and depth before Dawson adds his voice.

The crowd is moving to the music in flashes of color and smiling faces. Quinn slides behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. I pull him closer and together we sway to Dawson’s words.

It’s the song I overheard him play just yesterday. Then, in the clear morning air, the words were easier to catch, but I was too busy savoring the moment to pay attention to the meaning.

I catch phrases and the chorus, but it’s the way the melody strikes my heartstrings that I’ll remember. The longing and desire unlocking from inside him to tangle with mine. By the time he strums the final chord, tears are pricking my eyes. Rafael makes another tribute to Dawson over the crowd’s cheering. He takes a bow, then replaces Jared’s spare guitar. Jared pulls him into a brief hug, then Dawson shakes Rafael and Isaiah’s hands before waving one last time to the crowd. He hops down and the audience crowds around him, offering him high fives and praise. I wipe the tears from my eyes as he works his way to me.

Without a word, he lowers his lips to mine and kisses me.

It’s a fervent, aggressive kiss, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. The crowd goes crazy. It’s like being caught in a whirlpool.

“I need you,” Dawson says in my ear as he grips me to him.

“I want it too,” I whisper back, arching my hips to his. “But what about—"

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