Page 15 of Puck to the Heart
As the lights lowered, I glanced over at Ash, intending to ask what he thought about the first set, but the tense set of his pretty mouth made me pause. The part of me needing to erase that expression switched on, but I chided myself. No longer was I a pathological people pleaser. After my ex stamped out every other part of me but the oneshechose, what remained was a person who needed to keep him happy above all else. If I liked what he liked, did what he did, he’d keep me around.
In the end, it wasn’t enough.Iwasn’t enough.
All the broken pieces he’d snapped in half and made me bury slowly flickered back to life, and along with rejuvenation came a new resistance to compliance.
I knew what I wanted and who I was now, and I refused to lose sight of her again. And okay, maybe sometimes my words came out harsh or angry, but sometimesIwas harsh and angry, and I wasn’t filtering them out anymore.
Back then, I hadn’t known how broken I was.
Probably still was.
But I didn’t go to this concert to drift in the waves of past mistakes. Nope. We were going to have fun, damn it. Both of us.
The song ended, and the rotating spotlights illuminated Ash beside me, arms crossed across his chest, bobbing his head lightly to the music.
Something in me shifted and realigned with the pounding beat.
Too much time had passed since I did something purely because I wanted to. Because I loved it. And Ilovedthis. I didn’t show people the way I loved music and let it pull my body into its cresting sound waves. Someone taught me to burn enthusiasm, to kill it, cut it out with surgical precision. Liking—loving—things—and by extension people—too much gave them power over you. Vulnerability was something I avoided like the plague. But this enormous hockey player with whom I should have nothing in common was like me. And he showed me one of his scars, so I’d show him one of mine. I lied to the person who told me I was too much, to calm it down. I let him think he won, but I buried it. I hid it from him in a dusty box full of vinyl records older than both of us. And for the first time in a long time, I thought it might not be so bad to pull them out and blow off the dust of neglect. Besides, after this concert we didn’t have to see each other ever again. What would it hurt to let someone see this side of me? Just once.
“Dance with me!” I yelled, easing close enough to let his warm scent wrap around me again. He nodded, and I reached out and took his hand again, the way I did in Le Rêve. Guiding, not dragging, moving with the music. Bass thrummed in my bones, the melody sparking in my soul, for once letting go of the tight grip on myself and just…moving in our little bubble.
Exhilaration threaded my veins as we justmoved.
And God, I’d missed this. Sharing space without speaking, moving and reacting without worrying about what someone else thought. Ash’s body loosened up quickly, and sometimes I caught myself grinning at him, elation bubbling of its own volition.
This wasfun.
I scream sang to one of the best/worst songs in history—the eighties hair bands aren’t exactly known for being feminist—and when I met Ash’s gaze, we connected in the moment. A spark ignited inside me, or maybe it was the pyrotechnic show for the finale.
Heat blazed and golden sparks showered the stage, raining a safe distance from the aging rock band, and the moment wasperfect. Even when I realized his hand still engulfed mine.
I rode the high through the encore, finally sinking into my seat as the lights flashed back on, achingly bright after the softness of the stage lights and red-gold fire. Pleasant soreness enveloped my body from the hours of dancing. People began leaving, streaming from our row, and the aisle seat, which I’d appreciated before because it meant no one sat on my other side, meanteveryonesitting on the row passed me. Ash leaned back in his seat, checking his phone, moving enough out of the way for no one to trip on him but still enough of a hindrance they had to edge around him. As I guzzled water to ease the dry parch of my throat, I turned my knees sideways facing Ash without touching him. Better to be too close to him, someone I knew, than a stranger bumping or tripping over me. Finally finishing the bottle of water, I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
“What the fuck?” I muttered. Seventeen missed calls from a Raleigh number, a handful of texts, and a voicemail. The only person who ever called me was my dad, and he was a strict single caller. He texted on occasion, usually to ask me to call instead.
Curious dark eyes met mine as I looked up for answers.
“Sorry, I’m gonna—” I waved my phone vaguely, then opened the voicemail.
“This message is for Olivia Barnes. We have a Darren Barnes here at Duke Raleigh Hospital, and you’re listed as next of kin. He’s currently unconscious, and—” But I no longer heard her.
The arena, holding thousands of people suddenly grew too small; the sticky cold of panic moving faster than my blood.
Olivia became an entirelydifferent person as the first chords reached our ears. Without looking, she grabbed my wrist, tugging my arm and jumping up to sing.
Her hand on my wrist seemed almost involuntary, as though she needed to touch someone to share her excitement, and I just happened to be the closest one.
And it was so unlike anything I’d seen from her. All around us, the arena lights went blue, swinging wildly across the crowd, outlining Olivia’s body from all angles, only her shape visible. She pulled down the earmuffs she put on when we entered, surprising me since the volume of the crowd made her antsy before the music started.
The awkward, jerky dancing she did pulled me along with her, and I wondered when she’d realize she still had a death grip on me. Instead of being some immovable mountain, I let her move me, my focus more on her than the music.
During the concert, I only knew a few songs, so my eyes kept straying to Olivia. How long had it been since I had as much fun as she was having? Actually, I’m not sure I ever enjoyed anything as much as she enjoyed this questionable concert.
As the final notes sounded and the lights came on, I decided that even if dad rock wasn’t my style, the night hadn’t beenterrible.I might even go so far as to say fun, but only because of the woman beside me. People poured past us, already on their way to the exits, but we stayed in our seats.
A sharp pain shot through my hand, and I looked down to find a hand gripping mine, her phone in her other hand pressed to her ear. Her face, flushed from dancing not thirty seconds ago, went bone white.
“You good, Barnes?”
