Page 83 of Unbound

Why can’t you see me unbound?

Can’t there be another way?

I’m surrounded, I’m forever stranded in May

I’m lost, baby, I don’t know how we got here

I just want you near

My heart thuds in my ears, so loud it nearly drowns out his words. The painful ones where he finally displays his pain is in every word he’s singing for us to hear, finally unbound.

My eyes sting, tears swallowed instead of released. I want to cry and plead, beg him for the things I don’t completely understand, like these lyrics and the way he can pour himself into this, but can’t to me personally. But I know this is him.This iswhy he’s the musician he is.

Rawley’s got problems deeper than anyone will ever realize, but that’s what makes him so special. He once told me he was infected, but in that imbalance comes a passion most will never begin to touch on in their lives. I think it’s what makes him an artist though.

As much as I want him to let go of Mexico, I need to let go of the man I think he is, because it’s clear, the Rawley I used to know isn’t him any longer.

I feel our heartache in my stomach, pulsing through me just like his words. I cry, because I can’t help it, brushing tears away as soon as they fall.

The music drops, everything quiet and my eyes snap to his as he sings in pin dropping silence, his voice breaking, “I stand here now, bleeding words, can you forgive me like I forgive you?”

For so long Rawley tested my vulnerabilities and weakened my ability to stand on my own two feet, but I let him. And then I stood up for myself, but I never forgot why we were on that tedious path we’d chosen together. It’s when you finally listen, when you finally hear the heartache, that’s how you forgive.

IT’S NEARING MIDNIGHT when the band finally turns on the radio, the party still in full swing. With a smile on his face, Rawley sets his guitar down and jumps down from the stage. Drawing in a deep breath, he looks over at me sitting at the table with Lyric asleep in my arms but he doesn’t come toward us yet.

Dylan and Beck are talking to him but he seems indifferent to what they’re saying. Or is he? He frowns as his hands find their place in his pockets, his eyes flashing with something I can’t quite catch in them as he waits by the stage. Is he disappointed?

Mia approaches me first, a tender smile, hand rubbing my back lightly. “Awe, he’s out, huh?”

“Yeah, he fell asleep a while ago.” I didn’t want to move because I didn’t want to miss a single moment of Rawley singing.

“I can lay him down if you want. I’m gonna head inside for a while.”

I give him over to her when she reaches for him. When Mia passes by Rawley, she says something in his ear. He leans in and kisses Lyric’s forehead, winking at his mom.

I know the moment he’s near, at least my body does. My heart beats so hard, his hands moving from my arms to my hands. I breathe in, his chest meeting my back before I release its hold.

Carefully, as though he’s not sure of what my reaction will be, his nose brushes the side of my neck. Like I’ve been shocked, my body trembles because I know words are about to follow and the possibility of what he might say. As though I’m anticipating them, I hold onto that feeling for a moment, cherish it even until he finally says, “You’re so beautiful tonight. It really wasn’t fair to Lenny.” His lips pause at my ear, waiting on my reaction. Instinctively, my fingers tightening around his wanting to make the moment last forever.

As we stand there, flashes of last night surface behind my closed lids, his heavy breathing, the way he moved… it’s enough that my breathing falters and I wonder if he too remembers.

My smile tugs at my lips, my gaze meeting the black sky, caught up in the way the twinkle lights make it look like stars. “You’re biased though.”

His rough breath... his hesitation... his… “I guess maybe a little.” His face dips, his mouth parting at the curve of my neck.

“Turn around,” he says softly, my body surrendering to his even when my heart still holds on to what we’re not saying.

When I turn around, he’s a lot closer than I’m expecting, his hands now tucked in his pockets.

I want his eyes. I want to see his expression so I take a step back.

He smiles with wandering eyes, only he doesn’t move when I do. Instead, he watches me, waiting to see what my reaction might be to our closeness.

Following his lead, I pay close attention to his own appearance now that I can see him up close. The top few buttons are undone and his tie-knot loose at the collar—his suit jacket long since discarded.

Pulling in a deep inhale, his chest expands, his smile remaining as if he’s holding onto a secret.

It’s this side of him that makes me want to touch him, my palms itching to remember the feeling of his skin.

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