Page 41 of Echoes of Him

More strumming. Soft and slow.

Hypnotic.

The sound floats around the small room, and I somehow feel both lost and found in the moment.

My mind shifts through the enormous mountain of songs I’ve learned over the years. Most of them I know by heart, some I just know the chorus, or the first couple of verses, but that’s the amazing thing about muscle memory. I can recall ranges, notes and chords, melodies and tempos easily, having the ability to play most of them without needing to read the sheet music.

Almost immediately, my head clears, and the song I settle on is one of my all-time favorites.

I love this song. I truly do. It says so much about me. It’s like it was purposefully written for me. It’s hauntingly beautiful, and yet weirdly left of center at the same time.

I hope Sienna loves it as much as I do.

Sienna

Kael starts playing, andholy cow, I can’t believe it, because he starts singing, too, and his voice is absolutely breathtaking.

It’s so smooth. So sensual.

His eyes flutter shut as he fingers the strings, his lips moving over the words, and I exhale softly, startled by the intensity in his voice.

He’s so talented that my stomach drops and swirls, and seeing him up close and personal like this—watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, my very own private performance—somehow amplifies the feelings building inside me.

And there are feelings alright.

There’s no point denying them.

So much has changed over the past few weeks. Lots and lots. The bulk of which I’m still trying to figure out in my head.

My heart, though, that’s something else altogether.

The first verse soon gives way to the chorus, and the sound is so stunningly beautiful that I feel my toes curl up and goose bumps break out across my skin. It’s the kind of music that fills you with emotion, awakens something, and gives you chills.

A few moments pass, and then it hits me.

The song. I didn’t even recognize it at first, but the words, the chorus. Unmistakable. It’s a stripped-back version of “Creep” by Radiohead, but the way Kael plays this song is so different, so unique, and it touches me in ways I can’t even begin to explain.

My heart skips a beat as my eyes glide over his thick forearms, his strong, veined hands moving effortlessly over the strings. His head is tilted down slightly as he plays, and I can’t take my eyes off him, this paradox of a man with his bad-ass attitude and filthy mouth creating this delicate, soul-touching music. It’s perfectly sedate and unhurried, so relaxed that it doesn’t even sound like the same song.

But I know it is.

Kael sings about being a freak and a weirdo, and it takes everything I have inside me not to burst into tears.

No. You’re not Kael. Not even close.

Watching him play is like watching a man’s soul come to life or watching the sun rise and set, natural, unforced. It’s something that comes so easily to him. He loves this. He lives for this, and I’m beginning to understand him a little bit better the longer he plays.

When the song eventually finishes, he places the guitar down gently on the floor beside him. “So, there you go,” he says, blowing out a huge breath.

His usual tight scowl is noticeably absent, and in its place is a look of complete and utter peace.

“That was incredible,” I whisper in total awe.

“Thanks.” He cracks his neck with an audible pop and then bends his knee under his other leg, making himself more comfortable. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“How old were you when you first started playing?”

“About fifteen.”

---