Page 69 of Thorns That Bloom
Dad turns back to me, petting my cheek. “You sweet thing. No, it’s not too much. The song isn’t sexual or pushy in any way. It’s no Gushing Holes.”
Pop makes a disgusted grimace behind him. “How I hate that damn song. Revolting.”
“Thatwould probably get you a restraining order. Not thePrickles of Your Love Blooming Under My Skin. It’s one of the greatest, most touching love songs ever made, if you ask me.”
I let out a controlled breath. Besides all the endless worries, I’m giddy. I’m so damn excited to perform for him properly, but the critical voice in my head won’t shut up.
“Now, how about you stop torturing yourself with it and give your vocal cords a chance to function later, hm? You’re going to make yourself, and Martin, hate the song. With how fussy he is, he must be bitching at you about it already.”
I smirk at Pop. “He threatened to tape my mouth shut last night.”
They both laugh.
Seeing them together, supporting me, finally eases the worst of my anxiety. They’re right. There’s nothing more I can do. I sing the same way I always do, and that’s all I can give Sam. I just hope it’s enough to see that smile of his again. To make him happy. And maybe, just maybe, get a taste of that delightful, flirty side of him.
If only he’d let me.
If only that were what he wanted…
Later that evening, after a text from Sam confirming he’s still coming, I finally step foot in The Butterfly Den.
Everything feels strangely unfamiliar. I haven’t been in so long, considering my injury and…well, Sam walking into my life. I’ve been so focused on him and everything around him that I’ve sort of neglected this part of myself.
Not that I didn’t have a reason to go less frequently before. With my relationship with Emily slowly breaking down for months, I’d definitely been finding more and more excuses notto go even pre-Sam. After all, Emily would never miss a single performance. She would never let me have one or two just for myself. In her mind, I was trying to push her away or to hide something. So I stopped altogether, stopped grabbing the available spots, stopped listening to the pull inside me to share myself…
I’m glad Max called me about this one, though. With him recovering from a throat infection and me recovering from nearly slicing my finger in half, we turned out to be a perfect match.
“What’s up, dude?” He greets me with a funky handshake and a quick hug. His bleached blond dreadlocks are shorter than the last time I saw him.
“Damn, you do sound awful,” I say with a grin that hopefully portrays how sorry I am for him. His usually smooth and deep, booming voice is now all weak and crackly. In a very weird way, it suits his thin frame much more. Max has always been one of those people who open their mouths and make everyone gasp in shock at the sound that comes out.
He chuckles painfully. “Thanks. You gonna be able to play again soon, right?” He points at my hand.
“Oh, yeah. Already played when I prepared for today, it just doesn’t sound as good as I’d like and makes my finger ache after a bit. You’ll get better soon too, won’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s the worst. Taking too long.”
“I get it. It sucks.”
“Anyway.Prickles of Your Love Blooming Under My Skin… I knew you were a romantic, obviously, butdamn. Is there gonna be someone in the audience you wanna impress?” he asks, flashing his brows curiously.
I try to hide the stupid smile that comes out right away. “Maybe.”
“Ha!” Max exclaims, and gets momentarily stuck in a short, painful-sounding fit of coughing. He waves his hand at me, indicating he’s fine. “I better not mess up or forget my notes, huh?”
“You better not.” I give him a threatening glare, still smiling.
“Okay, Mr. Heartthrob. Let’s get set up. We’ve got this.”
By the time we’re done setting up and testing, more people fill the cozy room. Some faces I recognize; regulars who come here often to enjoy music of all kinds. I used to be one of them, which is how I first got the opportunity.
Dee, the always-cheerful omega bartender, waves at me from the bar as I run my eyes across the room. Unfortunately, there’s only one person I hope to see, and she isn’t him.
I mutter the words of the song under my breath as if I’m going to forget it otherwise.
When I look at Max, who keeps tuning his guitar, I’m paralyzed by the irrational worry over the possibility that he’ll suddenly lose control of his limbs or get a coughing fit and ruin the performance.
Then I quickly shake my head, telling myself how hysterical I’m being for no reason.
