Page 26 of Echoes of a Muted Song

“Behave, and tell me more,” Draven growled, nipping the pressure point in my shoulder again.

“Only if you tell me where you learned that,” I moaned, rocking my head against the pillow.

“Dated a massage therapist for a few months,” he replied before kissing his way to the other shoulder and gently biting that one.

I shuddered, eyes rolling back a little as he gripped and let go, gripped, held, dug his teeth ina little deeper, then released me again.

“Just, I had the best childhood once I went to live with my aunt and uncle,” I admitted. “It was amazing. Someone constantly gifted me with costumes they came across at a season ending sale or in a thrift store, and I’d get all dressed up in it to perform at clam broils and birthday parties. I took dance classes at the community center and created little skits with my cousins. All the ones in the house were way younger than me but I had older cousins that lived up the block and we were always in and out of one another’s houses. My older cousins constantly showed me the latest steps and dance routines, hell, my aunt used to dance in the kitchen while she cooked and she never minded if I joined in. I was just a silly little kid and no one cared if I was being goofy or flapping my arms around like an injured gull. They just cared that I was happy. Singing around the campfire was a family activity. My Uncle Nelson and my oldest cousin, Pam, played guitar, but I never got the hang of an instrument. I’ve tried several, too, even the harmonica, but my voice is the only talented thing about me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Draven said “You’ve got a talented tongue and a sinfully wicked way of moving that draws everyone’s attention.”

“Don’t want everyone’s attention, unless I’m performing. The only attention I care about is yours.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ve been told I’ve got ajealous streak,” Draven murmured. “Been called possessive a few times, too, which I can admit was warranted.”

“I don’t mind possessive, but I draw the line at letting you brand me with anything. A tattoo, on the other hand, might be something you can tempt me with. Somewhere along the line, anyway.”

He punctuated the lazy kisses up the back of my neck by gently squeezing my thigh and nudging it up, until I got with the program and bent my knee, giving him access to stroke fingertips along the other one.

“The closest I ever came to figuring out an instrument was this old lyre my aunt had picked up at a thrift store,” I admitted. “And by figuring out, I mean that I could pluck the strings, but not in any sort of pattern that resembled a song.”

“And here I was worried that you’d say the xylophone.”

“I had one of those, when I was a kid. The one with all the colors that was supposed to make it easier to figure out. Hell, it even had the letters etched into the bottom of every plate, but my dyslexic ass would rearrange the order of the notes I was supposed to play, until even ‘Three Blind Mice’ was a challenge,” I admitted, too relaxed to keep the bitterness I usually felt from creeping through in my voice.

“I didn’t know you were dyslexic.”

“Most people don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s none of their business,” I said. “And I hide it well. Spell check and auto correct are not my friends, though. I can never tell if the word that’s been corrected is the one I meant, or one that looks close, but means something completely different.”

“Does your band know?”

“Dude, you’ve seen their handwriting,” I pointed out. “My spelling isn’t even the worst in the bunch. If we can’t figure out what someone wrote, we ask, usually while giving them shit for whatever atrociousness is on the page.”

“I saw, when I was helping Sully go through the forms everyone filled out,” Draven murmured, his voice finally beginning to grow difficult to hear.

I’d have to talk more just to keep him from trying to say too much. Bet he knew that, too. I couldn’t even blame him for using his condition to his advantage in this instance. Not when it felt so completely amazing to be wrapped up with him like this.

“I always envied the way Rebel could learn a song just by listening to it over and over, strumming and picking at the strings; fiddling with the chords until he got it right. I could never get it right when I tried learning that way. The only part that ever clicked was the singer’s voice. How it rose and fell, the notes they drew out, and how two people could harmonize so perfectlythey didn’t even need accompaniment,” I said, pausing to nuzzle the hand he pressed to my cheek.

“Did Jagger tell you that we were in chorus together, back in high school?” I asked, though I was certain I already knew the answer.

“Jagger doesn’t like to talk about his past, either,” Draven said.

“Yeah. Well, we were,” I said. “We even did show choir and spent a semester doing a chorus elective specifically focused on barbershop quartets. Talk about setting ourselves up to be made fun of, especially during the spring performance. Well, that’s not exactly the truth, either. I set myself up to be made fun of, Jagger just came along for the ride and kicked their asses if they gave me too much shit.”

“Jagger?”

“Dude, be lucky no one has pissed him off yet,” I said, chuckling at the image that popped in my head. “I didn’t hit my final growth spurt until junior year and even then, I only gained a couple inches. I was this small, geeky little thing trying to act tough to keep the bullies from seeing how much they got to me. Jagger was a legitimate badass in pint-sized packaging. He was never afraid to go home with skinned and bloodied knuckles. The only thing I’ve ever known to terrify him was a fuckin’ dog and well, you saw how long it took him to get over it.”

“Yeah, and look at him with Beast andBeethoven now,” Draven pointed out. “He’s the first one to grab a leash when it’s time to walk them.”

“Because he’s fallen in love with them,” I said, reminded of the sight I’d stepped into when I’d gone to speak to Jagger about our sets that morning.

Robbie had been reading in the easy chair, while Keegan clung to the edge of the bed, one arm around Beast to keep from being shoved off, while the massive Saint Bernard and his equally massive brother had Jagger tucked between them on the bed. Their tongue-lolling doggy grins had given the impression that they were quite pleased with themselves. When Beast stretched and let out a woof of greeting while Keegan lost his precarious position and slid onto the floor with an oof and a thud, I swore their grins got bigger.

---