Page 26 of Part of Forever
“No idea.” Tucker smiles. “I think I just got used to it.” He’s been living in this cramped room for over two years. “And I use noise-cancelling headphones,” he adds with a laugh.
“It’s kinda comforting, ya know, knowing you’re not ever alone.”
“Sometimes.” He laughs. “Sometimes being alone is needed.”
“Well, you’re always welcome at my house. Of course, my mom might kill you, but you’re still welcome, from me anyway.”
“Thanks,” he says, strumming his guitar and then tuning it. “Now, I’m going to sing before I chicken out.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. The words are on the tip of my tongue and I know that Nathan is right; I have to tell him that my cancer is back. I should tell him before he sings, but selfishly, I don’t want to ruin this moment.
“I’ve never had a girl on my bed before, or in my room,” he says as his hand hovers over the strings.
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve never been on a guy’s bed before,” I say. His cheeks go dark. We’re watching each other now; this is part of the dance. I just want him to come out and say how he actually feels, instead of all this skirting around. Even with our kiss, we haven’t actually talked about how we feel. I know he likes me—from what he’s said in the past—but I want him to actually say it again, so I can tell him I feel the same way.
Instead of sharing his feelings he says, “Well, I guess that makes me one lucky guy.” His eyes never leave mine. “I’m really going to sing now, because I’ve always been able to express myself better with music. This is another cover, the song I’ve been writing isn’t quite ready.”
I nod again, still not sure what to say. I want to ask what it means—why he’s writing me a song—and I’ve already heard him sing and I know I love his voice. But this time, it’s a show just for me.
He closes his eyes and starts to play, and it’s a song I know I’ve never heard before. I watch as his face relaxes as he loses himself in the music, just like I do when I’m dancing.
Then he starts singing.
I’m a puddle by the time he’s done.
Mush.
Fallen.
Fell.
Hard.
For him. His voice. His face. Everything.
I might even be in love.
I’m smiling and I’m crying.
He finally opens his eyes, and he takes me in when he sees my tears. I’m in his arms in an instant.
“I loved it,” I say, my tears falling silently onto his shirt.
“I, um”—he clears his throat—“I didn’t expect you to cry.”
“That’s not why I’m crying,” I tell him, leaning back. He brushes away a tear with his thumb.
“Why then?”
“Why did you choose that song?” I ask instead.
“Because it makes me think of you,” he says, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Why?” I ask. I know the answer; deep down, I really do. But I need him to say it. He needs to actually say it. He needs to say it before I tell him.
Please say it.I’m having a hard time breathing.
“I like you, Rosie, I like you a lot. You have to know that.”
