Page 29 of Yearn

“Not an idiot. Just a human being who deserves to be loved by her father.”

The simple words soothed the rawness. Somehow, it stripped my expectations and reminded me it was okay to expect certain things. There was no pity or sad hugs or empty platitudes. Only acceptance for a shitty situation.

We drank in brief silence. The television over the bar had the Mets game on. I watched a guy steal second base and make it. The crowd roared.

“My mom left when I was young, too. Dad beat her so she saved herself. She never tried to come back and get me, but I think she was using and addicts can’t think about anything else but getting the next hit.” Adam ordered another beer. He didn’t speak until he got it and had taken a sip. “The first time I wrote a song and played it, he beat me. Said I was too full of myself and I’d never be a musician.”

I winced. My situation sucked but I had no experience with brutality. Like him, I kept quiet and listened.

“My mom liked to sing. Write poetry. It was something we shared together. The one thing I remember before she took off was her reading to me. And we’d make up songs to sing together, trying to build lyrics off of the other. It was pretty cool. Dad hated it. Called me a pussy.”

“How did you manage to push through? Did you ever want to run off like your mom? Or hurt your dad back” I asked gently.

“Hell, yes. I stayed because I wasn’t ready to give up a roof over my head. I got strong enough where he couldn’t beat me anymore. I finished high school and then left. And every time I write a song, it’s a big fuck you to him.”

I reached out automatically, running my thumb over the musical notes tattooed over his fingers. His arms were covered in a scroll of beautiful ink, but I’d never asked what they meant. “So, you’ll never forget,” I murmured. I knew Adam had scars. I imagined the belt and fists hurting him, and wondered if that was why he was able to write beautiful songs.

“That’s right.” I dropped my hand. My fingers tingled from the touch of his skin. “You never answered my question.”

I knew the question but pretended I forgot. “About?”

“How did my song make you feel?”

I stared into my wine glass. If he was intent on pushing, I’d push right back. “Pissed off because you plagiarized me.”

“What are you talking about?”

I looked up. My voice was tight as I regarded him in the shadows. “Don’t pretend not to know. That night outside the bar? I confessed about how I woke up at night, afraid of not being enough. I was drunk and it was a moment of weakness. Why am I surprised you turned it into a song to entertain your groupies?”

Surprise flickered across his face. “Landon, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t write the damn song to make fun of you. It was the complete opposite.”

“Sure.”

He blew out a breath in irritation. “I mean it. I kept thinking about what you said over and over. It was the most honest, raw thing I ever heard. I spent a lot of time working through the layers of that, writing down a bunch of lyrics, trying to nail the exact emotion I felt when you said it. You were the inspiration—not the joke.”

My jaw almost unhinged. He’d never spoken to me in this way. Direct. Honest. Admiring. My head spun. “Oh.”

“That’s why I asked you the question. I wanted to know if I did my job.”

His dark eyes searched mine and inside, locked up in the dark place, a ray of light pierced through. Emotion tangled up in knots as I stared back, fighting this invisible pull between us. How could you hate and want someone in the same breath? How can you love another person yet feel magnetized by another? “Yeah, Adam. You did your job.”

I pushed my glass away and stumbled off the stool. “I-I gotta go.” I heard him say my name but I ignored him, rushing down the hall toward the restroom. I needed a minute to set my head right. Something had changed between us but I wasn’t sure what, or how to handle it. The hate was easy. It was the deeper stuff that fucked with my head.

I washed my hands and steadied myself. Fixed my hair. Took a deep breath. Then walked out and straight into Adam.

Chapter Thirteen

Landon

Listen to Love Remains the Same

by Gavin Rossdale

He gripped my upper arms and steered me into the dark corner, hidden from the bar. “What are you doing?” I hissed.

“Refusing to play your game anymore.”

I gasped in outrage. “I think you’re the one playing games! Do you get off on cornering women outside of rest rooms, asshole?”

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