Page 57 of Keeping Skylar
He offers a bashful smile. “Thanks. I enjoy playing their songs. They’re one of my favourite Aussie bands.”
“They’re mine too!” I say a little too enthusiastically.
“Yeah? What’s your favourite song?”
“I love most of their songs from the first album, but whenDear Melodycame out, it instantly became my all-time favourite.”
When I heard the song for the first time, I was on my way home from work—and I practically sprinted through the door just to play it another five hundred times. Safe to say, that was the beginning of my obsession with the local band.
The song was inspired by the turbulent love story of lead singer Zane and his wife, Melody—a gifted concert violinist. It’s set in the aftermath of Zane’s painful and highly public breakup with his long-term girlfriend, who had an affair with his father—the band’s manager. The lyrics follow their emotional journey towards healing, with Melody becoming Zane’s steady anchor. Through her unwavering strength and compassion, she mends his fractured heart and helps him rediscover what it means to trust and love again.
“How did I know you were going to say that particular song?” Heath says, his lips curling into an amused smirk.
“It’s just such a beautiful song. Not the cheating part, obviously—but the love story behind it. It’s about compassion, rediscovery, hope, and learning to love again after betrayal.” I pause, giving a small shrug before adding, “I guess it resonates with me more now than it used to. It was my favourite song to sing in front of people.”
Heath’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—you sing?” he says in disbelief.
I nod. “Used to. Not anymore. I haven’t felt inspired to sing in front of anyone lately.” It’s been almost seven years since I sang in front of an audience. I used to love performing for family and friends, even taking requests to sing at weddings and birthdays. But after I married Kaden, something shifted—my passion for singing faded. And to this day, I still haven’t been able to find my voice.
Heath’s gaze lingers longer than necessary, as if he’s almost too enthralled to look away. “What would it take for me to hear you sing?”
Caught off guard, I quickly shake my head, feeling heat rise in my neck and face.
“Oh, Heath, I don’t know. It’s been such a long time. I’ll probably sound like a broken record,” I say with a nervous chuckle.
He doesn’t laugh; instead, he narrows his eyes at me. “If I playDear Melodyon the guitar, will you sing it for me?”
I glance around the room, desperately searching for a way out of this, but come up empty. “Umm ...” I shrug, unsure of what to say.
He picks up on my nervousness and readjusts the guitar on his lap. Then, without saying a word or waiting for my cue, he starts playing the intro.Oh crap!
I sit anxiously as he works the strings with practiced ease, grateful that his eyes stay focused on the guitar and not onme. My gaze drops to my hands in my lap, fingers curling and uncurling as I try to summon the courage to sing. The intro loops again, seamless and steady—his quiet way of telling me he’s in no rush, that he’ll wait as long as I need.
After his fifth attempt, my eyes close instinctively, and I finally find the courage to open my mouth and sing.
And I sing.
With every fibre of my being.
I pour my heart and soul into each note, weaving the heartache and pain I’ve endured in the past five and a half months into the lyrics of the song. My voice cracks with the raw desperation of heartbreak, steadies with the cautious steps of rediscovery, and gradually rises—strong and sure—with the blossoming strength of hope.
A few minutes later, as the final notes of the song dissolve into silence, something stirs inside me—a flicker of a spark I haven’t felt in years. When I finally open my eyes, they’re met with Heath’s deep and intense ones. It’s as if he’s unable to look away ... like he’s seeing the real me for the very first time.
We’re locked in each other’s gaze, neither of us daring to move or speak. A silent charge passes between us—desire, electricity, or perhaps something more?
Before I can even utter another word, Heath crashes his lips hard against mine. The shock hits me for a brief moment, but I quickly regain my composure, matching his intensity with my own. With his lips still pressed against mine, he tosses his guitar aside and gently lowers me to the floor. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck as he settles his body over mine.
Our kiss deepens, growing more urgent and desperate. Our tongues tangle, eagerly exploring and devouring as we swallow each other’s moans. I part my legs, and he gently eases himself between them, feeling the unmistakable sensation of his hard cock as he slowly moves his hips against my core.
My hands tug at his hair as he slowly kisses and licks his way down my jaw and neck.
“Heath.” I moan, desperately seeking more friction.
He begins to grind harder, making me soak through my lacey underwear.
Desperate to feel his bare skin on mine, I grab the hem of his shirt, and in one swift motion, it’s off and tossed on the carpet.
He feels warm and solid beneath my palms, his muscles flexing with every subtle movement. The way his mouth and hands explore me—gentle and unrushed—makes me feel worshipped and adored, like I’m something sacred in his arms.
