Page 30 of Sing For Me

She smiles, but it doesn’t hold. She’s too miserable. “You ever dump a drink on a patron’s lap?”

I shrug. “I don’t work in a restaurant with easy access to mimosas.”

This time, the little laugh she lets out sounds genuine. Then she meets my eye. “When’s the last time you let your temper get the best of you, Eli?”

“This morning, when I burned my tongue on my coffee.”

Reese’s smile lingers a moment, then fades.

“Okay, the last time was at tween batting practice.”

Reese furrows her brow. “At what?”

“The coaching thing Kelly was talking about,” I explain. “When it’s not little league season I volunteer down at the…never mind, it’s not important. A few weeks ago there was this dad—he stood right outside the cage while his kid was trying to hit balls, picking apart every little thing Alvin was doing. So I told him there were no parents allowed next to the cages on Saturdays. Before he went off to ‘have a word’ with the community center staff I asked him to catch a bag of bats.”

Reese’s lips twist with a smile.

“It may have been heavier than it looked. There were a few sandbags in there. And I may have given him a bit of the family arm. The one Jude got rich on. Anyway, he turned a terrific shade of purple while he tried to catch his breath again.”

“I would have liked to see that,” she says.

But Reese’s eyes dart back to the table the couple was sitting at. Her gaze seems to lose focus. “That guy…he has everything. He’s in a beautiful restaurant in a gorgeous resort, with a kind and patient woman. On holiday, probably. Someone who puts up with his bullshit. But nothing’s good enough for guys like that. He just sat there, not even caring who heard, while he laid all his fucking insecurities on her.”

She looks down, trying to hide an expression that clearly walks the line between anger and pain.

“She was trying her best to exist; hell, maybe she was thriving. And he couldn’t take it. It’s impossible not to internalize that.”

I don’t think she’s talking about the couple in the restaurant anymore. I don’t know much about Reese’s history—we hadn’t exactly been together long enough to get into that stuff—but I know she was in a long-term relationship before me. It was the whole reason both of us thought we could date casually—neither of us was looking for anything. She was looking for fun, and I was looking to numb the pain.

Both of us failed.

All I want to do is go to her, to brush that strand of hair back and tell her that her ex was a fucking asshole for hurting her. The urge is so strong I have to bite my cheek to remind myself to keep my distance. Because I’m self-aware enough to know I’m an ex who hurt her too. I fold my arms across my chest, forcing myself to give her space. Feeling like a shit even though I know this doesn’t have anything to do with me.

“You stood up for her,” I say. “You did the right thing, Reese. I’ll tell Cass that myself.”

“I should have done more,” Reese whispers, her hand fluttering to her neck, up to that errant strand of hair. “I should have taken her away. I should have told him he doesn’t have to have power over her—” Her voice cracks and a tear falls down her cheek then. She sucks in a breath, reaching up to brush it away. “He’ll break her.”

Take a breath, Eli. My dad’s voice echoes through my brain.It’s not your pain.

Fuck that.

I take a step toward her. “You’re not broken, Reese.”

She looks up as if found out. Another tear falls, tracing a trail down her freckled skin.

It was him, I realize. Whoever this dick ex was. He made her stop singing. I’m suddenly sure of it.

I see the anger; I feel it. But I tuck it away. Reese doesn’t need that. She needs someone to show her she’s not alone. That she’s whole and perfect, just as much as she thinks she isn’t.

I tell myself to back off, but her shoulders begin to shake, and I say it again.

Fuck that.

Then I pull Reese Franco into my arms.

For a moment, my stomach clenches with an old pain; a familiar twang trying to pull me back, warning me I’m not supposed to be doing this. That I’m worse at holding myself back from falling than I am at stopping myself from exploding.

But she fits against me like she belongs there, like her edges match their counterparts in mine.

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