Page 65 of To Bring You Back
He withdrew his arm and stood. Bruce lifted his head, watching, as Gannon crossed the room and kneeled before the guitar case. The latches snapped up, and he lifted the instrument.
Her pulse roared. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you play in person.”
“Just don’t tell Drew.”
“He’s not a bad guy. He probably honestly didn’t want the kids distracted.” The words tumbled out, nervous chatter. She closed her mouth lest something else pop out—something about the mosh pit of excitement that had broken out in her when he’d picked up the guitar.
“There’s no way they weren’t distracted.” He returned to the couch and pulled the guitar close. “When I’m in a room with another human being, my job is in play. There are very few exceptions. John, my mom, and you.”
“I make the shortlist?”
He already held a pick, though she hadn’t noticed him find one. In high school, he’d usually had one in his pocket. Maybe some habits didn’t change.
The first notes rose as he adjusted the tuning. “Do you have your bass?”
Bruce nestled his head back down into the fleece of his bed, settling in as Adeline’s breath, already shallow, caught. She swallowed. “My upright, not the electric bass guitar anymore.”
“Let’s make a deal.” He adjusted a peg. Even before starting a song, he was in his element, coming alive in ways he didn’t any other time.
“Sure.” As if she could say anything else to him right now.
“I’ll play something for you, and then we’re going to get the bass out, and you’re going to play too.”
“With you?” Her voice rose an octave. She remembered the fingerings, didn’t she? But she’d never be able to feel her way through a song as she’d done back when she’d practiced hours every day. Did she even remember the music they’d played at gigs? He’d be as disappointed with her skill as he’d been with her confession that she no longer prayed.
“With me. Alone. Whatever you want. But you have to play.” He ran the pick across the strings one more time. Apparently satisfied with the sound, he fixed his gaze on her. “Deal?”
The last chord he’d strummed faded from the room. Her heart beat such a fast tempo, she might never find a sense of rhythm tonight. Was that at the prospect of listening to him or at the prospect of having to play?
Both, and then some.
To get him to put his fingers back on those strings, to hear his voice in person after all these years—singing just for her, no less—she’d agree to almost anything. She nodded.
Gannon returned his attention to the guitar. The strings responded to his touch the way her nerves had, singing. The air filled with music. She breathed it in as she tried to commit the moment to memory, the sound, the shifting muscles in his arm, the way his shoulder blade moved under his shirt, his eyes slanted toward the guitar as if it were a partner and not a tool.
Then his chest rose with a breath, and his voice came in strong, like when she’d listened to “Yours,” only now she could watch the way he winced at painful words. And the song was painful, a breakup song from the perspective of a man whose failure had cost him the woman he loved. The lyrics pleaded with the woman’s new lover to do for her all the romantic things the singer thought she deserved.
But this was Gannon, who wrote his own songs and only from a place of deep feeling. The lyrics weren’t some random man’s perspective. They were his. And he’d chosen this song for her. For tonight.
The meaning fell into place.
This was his version of what happened after that night, and it was entirely different than hers. He’d written this song to commit her to God’s care.
The chorus circled one more time. Gannon really thought God would hold her each night as she fell asleep? And that God would always greet her with a smile? That He’d sing for her, and He’d protect her heart? That He would love her like no one else ever could?
No uncertainty dimmed the delivery, but what he described wasn’t at all what she had experienced. How long had he been singing this? Did everyone know this like they knew “Yours”? More importantly, was he wrong about God, or had she shut out the greatest lover she could’ve had?
Gannon letthe last note fade before glancing to gauge Adeline’s reaction. Her eyes were wide, but her gaze pointed away, toward the painting. She started to open her mouth, then bit her lip. When she raised her hand to scratch her neck, her fingers trembled.
She couldn’t keep up her end of the deal shaking like that, but she’d understood the song, and that was enough. He picked the strings in a quieter melody.
“Should I know that song?” Her voice sounded wet, as if she’d fished it out of the lake to use it.
“No. I’d like it on the next album, but I wanted you to know about it first.” He focused on the guitar because that was easier. “I’ve always kept the music about you to myself.”
“How many songs are there?”
“Enough.”
