Sing For Me (7 page)

Amy’s color was similar to Josh’s.

“You’re not irritating me,” Chloe said. “And yes, I’ll be working on a song.” She hadn’t agreed to write any song for any singer, but there were a couple of songs in her file that she was ready to work on.

They continued their idle chat until all the food was gone.

Christopher glanced toward the window.

“I think I’d like to work on my song while staring out at the river.”

He immediately turned back to her, but paused for a moment before speaking. “You don’t have to do … this for me.”

“I want to.” She got up and cocked her head toward the door. “Shall we? Do you think the reporter will still be outside?”

He shrugged. “But we’ll take the car, just in case.”

When they drove out from the house, the reporter and cameraman were nowhere to be seen. They stopped by her house for less than five minutes. Since she hadn’t unpacked, she grabbed the few items she’d taken out and was ready to leave her parents’ place.

With Christopher’s help, she was all set up in her new home office in less than half an hour.

He’d gone back home so she could work in peace. She’d wanted him to stay so she could keep an eye on him, but he assured her that he was fine and left.

Christopher was the most sincere person she’d ever met. During the competition, each time before he stepped out on stage and after his performance, he’d thank the musicians and the backstage crew for their hard work. As a result, everyone worked harder for him.

When he wanted to sing her song for the finals, everyone worked to make it happen for him.

His good personality didn’t seem to have helped in the world after the competition, though, and she understood. She wasn’t a singer, but she roamed in the same industry. Often, the loudest, most arrogant and obnoxious people got noticed.

It was an industry that rewarded bad behavior.

Bad behavior was newsworthy, thereby bringing publicity. No one would be interested to read about a star going to a bookstore or heading home to have dinner with his mother.

She turned to her phone when it rang; an alarm reminding her of the appointment she had in a week.

She grabbed the phone and twirled it in her hand, hesitating.

There was nothing between her and Christopher. The kiss they shared was a remnant of their childhood crush, nothing more.

She pulled her laptop over and went to Youtube to play one of his competition performances. She propped her hand on the table, then closed her eyes and leaned against her arm.

She used to wish he was singing to her whenever he was on stage.

He wasn’t, of course, but her heart always melted whenever he sang.

That was eight years ago. There was nothing between them now.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she thought about what Christopher had said right before kissing her.

No.
She shook her head. She had to stop thinking about the kiss.

Picking up her phone, she cleared her throat and called Jason. The call went on ringing for the longest time, and she was about to end it when he picked it up.

“Hi, Darling,” he shouted.

She cringed at the explosion of blinding sparks from the loud thumping music in the background. She kept her eyes close and concentrated on breathing in and out. She had never stepped into a club, never even liked walking near one.

Such music never failed to knock the breath right out of her, and not in a good way.

The sudden bursts of lights always made her feel as if she were caught in a fireworks. She knew none of the sparks would hurt her, but they always caused such trepidations that resulted in shortness of breath.

“I’m busy now, Chloe. I’ll call you back later, all right?” The line went dead.

She sighed and opened her eyes, seeing black spots in her field of vision. She stared at her phone for a moment, then typed and sent Jason a text.
We need to talk.

The kiss between her and Christopher didn’t mean anything, but it was enough to let her know she couldn’t marry Jason. Maybe she should give the relationship between her and Jason some serious thought.

I’m sorry, Jason,
she thought.
I can’t marry you, and I think we should stop seeing each other.

Maybe she just wasn’t the marrying type. She couldn’t see herself marrying Jason, and if a marriage was what he wanted, maybe she shouldn’t be wasting his time.

Why would Jason want to get married anyway? She thought he was contented with what they had. He had always been someone who needed his space as well, which made the two of them perfect for each other.

She leaned back against her chair and imagined what life would be like without Jason.

Her mind went blank.

She imagined herself breaking up with him and waited to feel something. Her mind remained blank.

Though she’d never had an epic love story, like the ones she’d written in her songs, she’d seen the radiance of those in love and the contrasting poignancy of lost love.

She pushed her phone aside, went to her suitcase, and pulled out the black folder. She brought that folder wherever she went.

All the songs within were penned when the thoughts passed her by. She never bothered to fine-tune them. After all, they weren’t meant for anyone, not until she thought about Christopher.

He might not be able to sing right now, but he would someday.

Christopher watched as Chloe hummed the tune to her new song. Her eyes were closed as she swayed the pencil to the rhythm of the song she was working on.

She had such a sweet smile, a smile he couldn’t get his eyes off.

He remembered the last time he saw her working on a song, a song that went on to become his greatest hit. He remembered how surprised she was when he announced he’d be singing her song in the finals.

He had played the demo to his mentor, and his mentor made sure everyone who had a say in the workings of the show agreed.

He never got to sing the song to her, though.

When he was on stage, he searched the audience, but he couldn’t find her. He didn’t know it then, but she was already on a flight to London.

He ran through the lyrics of the song in his head, lyrics about how nothing on earth mattered as long as he fixed his eyes on the love of his life.

He’d been told that women all around the world fell in love with him, with the notion of being that girl for him.

Whenever he sang that song, there was only one person on his mind.

You’re too late, Chris.
He shook his head and turned away.

He looked over at the clock on the wall. It was already after three in the morning, and he bet she’d be looking for food soon.

You’re just not cut out to be a singer. You were a gimmick, a fad. Everything’s over now.

His hands twitched, and he felt a sudden agonizing thirst in his throat.

He strode into the kitchen, placed his hands on the counter, and bent forward, exhaling deeply. He hadn’t heard that accusing voice since he stopped drinking, and he thought he would never hear it again unless he went back to the bottle, which he would never allow himself to do.

Several times he was tempted, but he’d managed to stay sober—just barely.

If Chloe hadn’t come back, he couldn’t say for sure where he would be right now.

With another quiet sigh, he straightened and grabbed the bag of food he’d pilfered from his mom’s place.

He had to keep himself busy.

Though he’d assured Chloe that he was all right, though Chloe was absolutely right about not reading what the media was saying about him, he still went online to find out what Frank had said.

He was tempted to reply. He wasn’t drunk, hadn’t been for a while now.

His assistant, Rebecca, used to reply to such articles for him. She had an account with the fan club and was able to participate in various forums to let everyone know what was actually going on.

He was tempted to create an account now, but the whole idea seemed pointless. He figured it would be better to leave things alone and let the whole issue with Frank blow over.

He opened the bag and got to work on preparing the snack. While the egg rolled around in the pot of boiling water, he pulled out two slices of bread and cut away the edges.

Chloe never liked the sides. He never understood why, but she just didn’t like them.

He squeezed the Japanese mayonnaise into a small bowl before putting the bottle into the fridge.

Chloe entered the kitchen just as he cut the sandwich into small cubes.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Chloe said.

“Just in time.” He pushed the plate toward her.

“When did you get here?”

“Around half an hour ago. You … were working, so … I didn’t want to interrupt.”

She brought the cup she was holding over to the sink and turned on the tap. “How did you know I’d be looking for something to eat?”

“You used to send me texts in the middle of the night to complain about the lack of food in your house.” He never woke from the messages, but he always saw them the next morning.

She laughed softly, the corners of her eyes creasing. “Right.” She picked up one of the cubes and popped it into her mouth. “You used Japanese mayonnaise.”

“That’s the only … type you like.”

She watched him for a moment.

“What?”

“Is everything all right?”

“Is something wrong with my color?” He turned to the sink and washed up the utensils.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and left the kitchen.

While Chloe went upstairs, he took the plate and went into the living room.

“Here.” She handed him a set of sheet music when she got back to him. “What do you think?”

He couldn’t sing anymore, but he still knew how to read music.

He looked through the sheet music and heard himself singing the song in his head.

The song wasn’t for him, of course. It couldn’t be.

“Sounds like another … hit.”

“Sounds like something you’d like to sing?”

“If I can still sing,” he said.

“Last night I checked out some of your songs from your last few albums.” She took another cube and pushed the plate over to him. “Why did you sing those songs? I don’t believe you even like them.”

He wasn’t sure why he did. “I guess … I was swept up in everything. Everything … was arranged for me, and … I just did what I was told.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did, in the beginning. At first it … was just a couple … of those songs in my … album, then the … recording label was deciding … everything.” He shook his head. “There was just so … much unhappiness in the production of … the albums that I … couldn’t care much.”

Her focus shifted from him to the air around him. “And that’s where you lost your heart to sing.”

“You don’t think it has … anything to do with my … my drinking?”

She continued to stare at his surroundings.

People used to think Chloe was weird because she couldn’t maintain eye contact. She didn’t do it as much as before, not that it ever mattered to him. Her habit was part of who she was, and he’d always accepted it, just as she accepted his stuttering.

There was something more in her gaze, though. She seemed to be observing the colors instead of getting distracted by them.

“No,” she said and finally looked back at him. “I saw the video of your last performance. You were drunk, and maybe alcohol did affect your voice a little, but I don’t believe you can lose your voice completely due to your drinking.”

He didn’t want to disappoint Chloe, but he wasn’t sure if she was right.

“You know, I’ve never asked what you love about singing.”

“I like … that I don’t … stutter when I sing.”

“Is that all?”

He gazed right at her. “I like the way you look at me when I sing.”

“I’m sure everyone looks at you the way I do when you sing.”

“I don’t care about everyone else.”

She fell silent, but continued looking at him.

There it was again, the invisible pull he felt when he saw her working on her song. He cleared his throat and turned his face away.

Neither said anything while Chloe reached for another piece of sandwich.

“Are you trying to sweet-talk me into giving you this song?” she asked, breaking the silence.

He laughed.

“Because you don’t have to,” she said and took another piece of sandwich. “It’s yours. It isn’t completed yet, but when it is, it’s yours.”

“You spent hours working … on a song … for someone who can … no longer sing.”

“Do you still want to sing?” She propped her elbow against the back of the couch and twisted over to look at him. “Not if you can, but if you want.”

He hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know.”

She pulled her legs up onto the couch as she nodded, then shrugged. “Well, you have time to figure things out.”

Christopher looked at the empty plate. “Do you want another one?”

“No, I’m good.”

He nodded and watched her for a minute. Time seemed to have frozen for Chloe. Years hadn’t left a hint on her skin; her skin was as fair and radiant as he remembered.

Even the chillness in her skin hadn’t changed. Even in summer, her skin was always cool to the touch

His fingers twitched; he wanted so much to run them down her cheek and arm and leave a trail of warmth.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He had to stop thinking about her like this. “Will your boyfriend be visiting soon?” He almost cringed at the thought of her boyfriend staying in the house he built for her.

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “He proposed.”

He looked at her ring finger.

“I didn’t say yes.”

He hoped his grin wasn’t too broad. “Why not?”

“I need to get back to this.” She reached over for the sheet music, but he pulled it back.

“Work on this tomorrow … You should get some sleep.”

She hesitated for a moment, then stretched her arms and sighed. “All right. I’m rather tired anyway.”

Christopher jumped when he stepped into the kitchen and saw Josh. “I thought … you’re staying at the hotel … with your friends.”