Page 90 of Unbound

He doesn’t move at first, his lips part and my pulse quickens. He’s examining my face, eyes wandering with a dark intensity I haven’t seen in a while. He gives a dismissive shrug but maintains steady eye contact. He’s closer than I expected and his hands are in his pockets. I smile. He looks good like this, relaxed.

“What are you doing here?”

A pang of disappointment hits me.Did he not want me here?

He inhales deeply, his chest expanding. God, he looks so much like the old Rawley I just want to jump in his arms and live in this moment before anything else is said.

And then he moves, a step closer and his palm cups my left cheek, coaxing me in. And I willingly go because it’s the only place I ever want to be, next to him.

“Raven convinced me to come,” I blurt out, warmth flooding my cheeks as I blink heavy lashes. “She thought it would be a nice surprise.”

He makes a humming sound, as if this is something he wanted to hear, my apprehension fading with the noise. “It is a nice surprise. I definitely want you here, I do,” he murmurs, his lips pausing at my ear, his fingers tightening around my waist. Dropping his face lower, his parted mouth meets the curve of my neck, lips moving with his words, “Take a walk with me?”

I thought you’d never ask.

Rawley’s bumped from behind and our bodies come together. “Hey, Rawley, can I get your autograph?”

I can see it written on his face, the annoyance for the interruption. He turns to look over his shoulder at the timid girl to his left asking for his autograph. He nods to her but keeps his left hand on mine as he signs the cover of his CD she hands him.

Even in the low lighting, I can see he’s made her night, and the five girls surrounding her when he winks at them. I know that feeling the girl has right now. I know because I’ve been in her shoes with him before, just to have him glance my way, lean into me, acknowledge my presence in a room filled with others. Like I’ve said before, Rawley’s a star in many ways, long before the world knew it,weknew.

I’m not worried though, not this time, because with the way he doesn’t let go of me, I know for sure everything has changed.

The moment he turns back to me, he’s asked again for his autograph.

He signs for them but we start making our way to the back door of the bar.

“Maybe we can talk out here,” he says, eyes on the door as he pushes it open.

“Or freeze,” I tease, attempting to prepare myself for the cooler temperature.

“I definitely won’t let you freeze.” I smile up at him when his arm is around me, shielding me from the cold when we’re outside the bar.

When I’d arrived, it hadn’t been snowing, just cold as hell. Now puffy white flakes float through the air, moving with the breeze.

As it falls around us, the city seems almost imprisoned in a glaring-white silence. There’s no sound, nothing stirring, no words necessary, just a sense of serenity surrounding us. It’s then I realize I left Tyler’s truck parked in the parking garage near the bar.

“I parked back that way.” I point over my shoulder up the street.

He shrugs, his attention on the pavement. “It’ll be okay. We’re not going far.”

I take his hand, big fat flakes falling like tiny white shreds of paper in my eyes. Every step we take leaves a fresh footprint in the snow, as if we’re the only people in the city. Snowflakes fall gently from the sky and I’m tempted to stick out my tongue like I did when I was little, but I’m strangely focused on the footprints in the snow. There’s something beautiful about the moment we’re in, two people finding their way back to love, like these steps are a fresh start somehow, a way for us to finally let go of our mistakes.

“The boys and I talked about what it means moving back to Lebanon,” he finally says when we’re two blocks from the bar.

Grief squeezes my lungs and stiffens my throat. Light snow continues to fall, tiny flakes swirling at our feet. “I know music is where your heart is….” I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this.

A frown settles on his lips. “I never said that.”

My eyes find comfort on the frost covered ground. “You didn’t have to. I saw you up there tonight. I know what it means to you. I don’t want you to give it up for us.”

“I’m not giving it up. Dylan’s gonna be our manager and well”—he smiles—“I’m going to be playing at Murphy’s again every Friday and Saturday night, and then twice a month up here at Bailey’s.”

Before I realize where we are, we’re on Pier 50. The buildings and their history, each one conveying its own story written in the cracked and broken windows, they’re in a part of town that’s fallen victim to crime and frequent drug use.

We continue to walk along the pier, the water flowing south, crashing down against the blackened wood holding us high above the freezing waters beneath our feet.

“Can this work?” I ask, drawing in a cool, deep breath, keeping my hand laced in his.

---