The Space in Between (6 page)

Chapter Four

Christian

“I’m not feeling this. It doesn’t sound right.”

We’ve been sitting in the music room for a little over an hour, and every way we try to piece together music to go along with the lyrics that Emery wrote overnight, is not working.

“Hmmm,” she ponders. “Do you think that instead of it being slow the way I figured, we should change the tempo a bit?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I agree with you. The lyrics seem to fit a slower song, but what we’ve come up with so far doesn’t flow right. Show me what you mean, maybe?”

“Okay.” She agrees easily and begins playing the passage again, but this time with the speed picked up just the slightest bit, and just like in music class all week, I’m lost watching her the second her fingers touch the strings.

No matter how long I played with the guys back home, it never felt like this. I watched Eric and Mark play quite a bit, and never once did I watch for longer than a few seconds. With Emery, it’s almost impossible to look away.

At first, after a week of meeting up in the morning and attempting to put a song together, I couldn’t figure out what it was about her playing I was so drawn to, but I think I know now.

She immerses herself completely in the music when she plays. Everything she might be thinking and feeling or whatever crap she might be dealing with, the second her fingers touch the guitar, even just the slightest touch, it all drains away and all that’s left is her love of what she’s doing.

The same way I feel when I play. Why I started playing to begin with. Having everything fade into the background and being taken over by something infinitely more powerful, is intoxicating.

Just like her.

“How was that?” she asks and I bring myself back to the present, realizing the moment I hear her words that she stopped playing.

Damn. I zoned out on her again.

“How long was I out that time?”

“A minute, tops.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I am curious what’s got you spacing out like that all the time, though.”

Don’t say her.
I repeat to myself, and thankfully when I summon up the will to actually say something, I don’t say it out loud.

“He went out again last night.”

Three days ago, after my dad dropped me off in the morning, explaining to me before I got out of the car that he was going to head out for coffee after work, I dropped it on Emery.

Well, not exactly. More like I snapped at her and instead of calling me on my crap, she’d read into it and made me spill, and now it just pours out easily, like water from a tap.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Not really. He seems happy, it’s just happening a lot lately and with the way he is about work, kind of out of left field.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it? Maybe letting him know it bugs you and that if you had more info, you wouldn’t spaz out so much?”

“I don’t spaz.”

“Oh, Mikey, you so totally spaz. I mean you’re setting up to do it again now. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Whatever.” I respond, with what is my weak attempt at a brush off. “Can you play it again? I swear I’m paying attention this time.”

Doing as I ask, but not before huffing a bit under her breath, she plays the notes over again and this time, with my focus completely on her and what she’s playing, I can see that where we were tripping up before, it’s working now.

“It’s perfect.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I do agree that it’s better.”

“No, Em. You’re the one playing so you don’t hear it the way I do, but it’s perfect. There is something I wanna try and add though, if that’s cool.”

“Sure. Bring it on.”

What I want to bring to the table, it’s not something I can just tell her. This, it’s gonna have to come in the form of showing.

Making my way behind her, sitting on the piano bench and sliding my body as closely to hers as possible, I bring my arms around, resting them on the chords just below the ones she just played.

So, I lied. Maybe I could have just told her this, but I’m being selfish right now because I have this urge after listening to her play, to be closer to her. Touch her.

“You couldn’t just tell me that?”

“Nope, it’s easier to show than it is to tell.”

Turning her head slightly to the side, her hair brushes across my face, causing me to shiver from the faint touch and her to immediately push her body forward.

“Since—when?” She stammers, her voice visibly shaken.

“Since forever.” Ignoring the way it feels having her this close, and hating the slight pull away she did when she realized just how close we were, I pull her back into me, which the second I do, seems to make my heart steady back out to an even pace.

I’ve been trying to ignore the way it feels being around her for days now and I’m sick of it. Sure, I’m not gonna tell her that she affects me, but I’m done attempting to fight it, or worse, ignore it. Whatever it is, I like it, so until this assignment is over and we go our separate ways, I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.

My heart acting bi-polar, my breathing coming along for the ride, and the way I seem to almost crave this type of closeness after staying away from anything that remotely resembled it for years, I want all of it.

“Play it again. I wanna see if I’m right.”

Moving my hands with hers, the notes memorized in my head, the rhythm of the song and the lyrics that go along with it tattooed on my soul, I lose myself in how the two of us just made something even more perfect together.

As she strums the final note and moves her body away from mine, for once I tell her what I’m really thinking.

“Now it’s perfect.”

“What is with you and that word?” She questions, turning her body around on the seat and facing me down, her eyes reflecting her need to know the answer.

“Are you gonna sit there and tell me it’s not perfect?”

Obviously affected by the compliment, her cheeks begin to flush before she attempts to use her hands to block it, shaking her head in response.

“Thought so. I finally got you to admit defeat.”

“This isn’t the face of defeat, Mikey. This is me knowing how freaking awesome we are!”

Leaping across the small space between us, she throws her arms around me and pulls me into a tight hug. “We freaking did it! Yorke is going to lose his mind!”

While I’m right there with her in excitement over finally getting this done and having it turn out the way we both wanted it to in our heads, the way it feels having my chest pressed to hers and being this close, it’s invading and taking over.

Focus on the music, Cayne. You can’t let her see how into this you are.

“So, are you ready for your first A of the year?”

It’s lame, especially with the chuckle I tack on at the end, but I mean it. I gotta get her back on the music track before sitting here like this gives away more than just the fact that I like her. I can already start to feel my body responding and that definitely can’t happen.

I spend a lot of time embarrassing myself around this girl, I’m not in the mood to add more.

Pulling away from the embrace and situating herself further back on the bench, she grins.

“The first of many.”

My mind struggling with the need to ask if she means hugs like the one we just shared or grades, I swallow down the urge to blurt it out and instead force yet another laugh.

“I sure as hell hope so. The only question is, who’s going to play the music and who’s going to sing?”

“I’ll sing.” She answers quickly. “As long as you can handle the music end.”

“I got it.”

“Then I guess it’s settled. We’re officially done!”

Despite my happiness at hearing her squeal of delight over the assignment finally being completed, I can’t help feeling a stab of regret and loss at the same time.

When I got into this, I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I have, usually preferring to play on my own, but there’s no mistaking that I do like it and am going to miss it once tomorrow morning hits and it’s not there anymore.

Why does this have to be so hard?

It was just an assignment, and she’s just the girl I was doing it with. A girl who just also happens to be my first friend, not counting Jonah.

“Hey drifter, you okay?”

Nailed again.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“About your dad again?”

“Not this time.”

“Well you’re in luck. Now that we’re done with the music, Emery the fantastic listener and part time therapist is officially open for business. So what’s on your mind?”

Screw this.
I’m gonna tell her.
Meeting her, working and creating this friendship with her, it’s a sign, and if I turn away and ignore it, I’ll not only be screwing myself, but also the man that taught me to look out for them.

“I think…No—I know that when we walk out of here today, I’m going to miss this.”

“Miss what exactly?”

“This. Us. Making music together.”

With the admission out, I flinch and shut my eyes, afraid to hear or see whatever reaction she’s going to have. The fear of rejection so huge it’s making me want to kick myself for saying anything in the first place.

“Well, who says it has to end?”

Chapter Five

Emery

If this week has taught me anything, it’s that everybody needs somebody.

Now that person can be anyone. Family, friend, a pet, maybe even the lone flower that hides away from all of the others in a garden. Whoever or whatever it is, every single person needs just one of them in order to make it through the game of life.

For the longest time, it wasn’t like that for me. I didn’t believe in it. But after spending a week with the one guy that Monday after school I had been so adamant about avoiding, I’m starting to see things differently.

Totally going against my pact to stay away from Christian, I met him at seven on Tuesday morning, and even though it got off to a bit of a rocky start, by the end I couldn’t deny that when it came to music at least, we really did make a good team.

It was eye opening for me, always living life through the lens and all, but that day I realized that at least for the time being, I was becoming Christian’s somebody.

And maybe, just maybe, he was becoming mine.

*****

“This isn’t going to work.” I admit crankily, pinching my fingers over my nose and sighing. “You’re not doing it right.”

“I’m not doing it right? This coming from the girl that hears the entire song in her head and refuses to do anything but bark orders at me when I don’t pick it up immediately! Hilarious.”

“Yell a little louder there, Mikey. I’m not sure my mom heard you all the way across town.”

“Screw this.” He snaps and jumping up from his position in Yorke’s chair, starts heading for the door.

“Stop!” I call out in desperation. If he walks from the room because of my attitude, it’s not just me that’s going to pay for it when the time comes to present in a few days. He will too, and that’s something I’m not willing to let happen.

So kissing the extremely touchy bass player’s ass it is.

“Look, I think I know what’s going on here,” I attempt to explain, hoping it’s enough to make him stay. “I didn’t get coffee before I came and I’m a complete monster without it.”

Rubbing his hand across his face, he offers up a small nod of understanding and admits his own part in the whole disaster. “I’m used to getting up at seven, not being at school by then. I’m pretty sure this is on me.”

“Is that your way of apologizing?”

“Is that your way of accepting?”

“Maaybe. You tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Emery. I swear I’m not usually this hard to work with.”

Crisis now averted, I move over and pat the top of his head. “You probably are, but it’s the same for me. We’re used to doing this alone so this is new territory. Can I make a suggestion?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“We take a break, grab whatever garbage they’ve got in the vending machines, come back, relax and start again.”

“Sounds like a plan, but can I make one slight alteration?”

“Sure.”

“Before we start again, you explain to me in as much detail as you can how you hear the song in your head, and we start fresh and work from that.”

“Deal.” I agree, holding out my hand and preparing myself mentally for the surge that always seems to hit when we touch this way. A surge that doesn’t disappoint seconds later as his hand grips mine in a handshake.

Crossing the room to my backpack and rooting around inside while Christian starts walking to the door, I grab as much loose change as I can from the bottom and run to catch up, sliding through the door with just enough time for it to shut behind us.

“Pick your poison.” I point once we get to the machine. “We’ve got candy bars or chips.”

“Candy bar, definitely. Chips will make me worse, not better.”

“Same here.”

Sliding the change through one slow coin at a time, he makes his choice, grabbing it when it falls and leans back against the wall to wait for me to do the same thing with mine.

“Your lyrics are good.” He says softly, the sound of the machine dispensing my sugar fix almost blocking out his words entirely. “How did you do that in one night?”

“Not really sure. I just sat down and started thinking and it basically wrote itself.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”

“Depends on how personal you wanna get.”

“The song feels sad. What were you thinking about when you wrote it?”

He’s not far off the mark. The lyrics are a little on the depressing side, but only because at the time the words started flowing, I was thinking a lot about loss. What he told me about his mom dying and then in a way, my own loss by not having a father around.

“It’s not all sad, I mean there’s a bit of hopefulness toward the end, I think.”