Page 602 of Rock Me All Night
"I'm crying."
"So?" The pad of his thumb presses against my cheek. "Was it hard for you, telling me this?"
"You know it was."
He nods. "That's strength, not weakness. Most people spend their lives running from intimacy."
Intimacy. It's a beautiful word.
"Most people run from all the ugliness in their lives."
"How did you get so perceptive?"
"Emo music." He smiles.
"Are you kidding?"
He nods. "It was metal."
I laugh. "That's not funny."
"Okay, you got me. It was hip-hop."
I swat him playfully. Another laugh rises to my throat. It helps dissolve the pain.
I look back into his eyes. I run my hands through his hair. "Tell me the truth."
"I tried running from my feelings. For a long time. First, my dad, the way he took out all his misery on me. Then some of my particularly bad foster homes. Then everything with Ophelia."
"The cancer?"
He nods. "She was sick when I was in high school. Breast cancer. It tore me up here—" He places his hand over his chest. "But I managed to keep calm, for her, to be strong for her. That's something I'm good at."
"Is that why you're lying to your family about us being together?"
"Guess I'm a hypocrite, lying to protect my family but telling you that you shouldn't." He brushes my hair behind my ears. "It was more than that. I needed space to think. Been touring since I was a teenager. This is the first time I've been alone in forever."
I let my body sink into his. It feels good getting all this off my chest. It feels honest. Intimate.
I've never wanted to share my feelings with anyone but Madison. Even with Nathan… there was always this space between us. Something missing.
I slide my arm around his neck, soaking in the softness of his skin. "So where do your feelings go?"
He nods to his bass in the corner. "And if that's not enough, I've got a keyboard and a guitar in Drew's old room.”
All the tension in my body eases as I pull back and stare into his eyes. "Does it really work?"
"Yeah. Try it." He takes my hands and pulls me to my feet.
"I can't sing or play an instrument."
"I'll teach you." He grabs his bass with one hand. The other slides around my waist. He sits on the bed, pulls me onto his lap, then positions my hands on the bass guitar.
His touch is gentle as he shows me how to pluck and how to fret. The strings are thick and heavy. I'll have callouses tomorrow.
"I have no musical talent," I whisper.
"That's okay." He slides his hands over mine. "You have a great teacher."
