Page 52 of Love Me Steadfast
She pulls to the side but forgets to engage the clutch as she tries to put it in neutral, sending a horrible grinding up through the floor. The truck lurches to a stop.
We’re both panting, and when I start to laugh, so does she.
“I think I’m done for the day,” she says, leaning back.
My heart kicks against my ribs. I rack my brain for some excuse to keep her here because I don’t want this lesson to end. Having her here in my truck feels too good. Laughing with her feels too good. Touching her feels too good.
But she’s dating someone else. And even if she wasn’t, I can’tmake a move on my best friend’s little sister. Theo has been the best friend I could ask for. He trusts me, and I’m not about to fuck that up. Add that he’s a talented receiver and together on the field, it’s like we share the same brain. Even Coach James admitted that we’re unstoppable.
“I’ll take you home,” I say, the words thick on my tongue.
Chapter Sixteen
CHARLOTTE (AGE 15)
“Hey, lemme play something for you,”Dad says on our way to my violin lesson. I should be the one driving, for practice, but I need another few sessions with Will before I’m ready for Dad’s “ultimate driving machine.”
“Sure,” I say from the passenger seat, though I’m liking the playlist I queued up just fine. I pick up his phone and scroll to the download folder where he stores his demos. “Which one?”
“Nicholas Salazar.” He accelerates toward town.
I find the folder. Inside are three songs. “Candle,” “Full Circle,” and “Roll the Dice.”
“Play the first one,” Dad says, like he can read my mind.
I tap it, and the car fills with a man’s “One, two…” then a bright chord from an electric guitar, followed by some catchy finger-picking. The bass and drums join in, then a rhythm guitar stitches it all together. When the man’s voice returns, singing about a dark night and a quiet street, and a doomed love that burns like a forgotten candle, a cool flush rolls over my skin. There’s something edgy in the lead guy’s voice, and powerful, though he knows when to temper it back and when to indulge.
Dad raises a sandy blond eyebrow and studies my face for a split second before returning his attention to the road. “You like it.”
The percussion has an off-rhythm that underlies a kind of urgency, like a clock ticking down. “Yeah, I do,” I say, unable to keep my thumb from tapping my thigh. “Nicholas is the lead?”
“Yep. He actually studied violin growing up, then turned to guitar and vocals.”
“Where’s he from?”
Dad turns left, down main street. “Mountain Home.”
“Seriously?” Mountain Home is mostly known for its small air force base and its shopping center. Definitely not music.
“His dad was in the air force.”
I don’t miss the past tense. The next song starts. This one’s a little more upbeat, and catchy, with rich vocals that test the edge of harmony. A tiny coil of heat starts to glow inside me.
“Should I book him?” Dad prompts.
“Yeah,” I say with a nod.
“I got a cancellation in November. Maybe he can fill it.” He flashes me a genuine, warm smile. “Any chance you and Morgan want to open for him?”
I rear back like he’s sprouted another head. “Um, what?”
“I’ve gotten dozens of calls about that duet you and Morgan did at Hazel Creek.”
I roll my eyes. “From whom?”
“Your fans,” he says in a teasing lilt, his eyes lighting up.
I scoff. “You’re ridiculous.”
