Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
It’s going to be a long-ass drive home.
Maybe I deserve it.
My hand is resting on the push-bar of the exit when Chase Holt sings his first note.
And I stop.
Struck by it.
I’m struck for some reason I can’t yet make sense out of.
I listen to his voice—and the lyrics.
“Quicksand, quicksand …”
“You know the danger, quicksand …”
I barely notice the flash of lightning and the rolling boom of thunder that follows. My complete attention is locked into Chase Holt and his lyrics.
“Haven’t given into him yet, have you?”
“But I know, I know, I know you want to.”
“Wanna toss yourself into his eyes, ‘cause he pleads the right way …”
“Yeah, he pleads the right way, don’t he …”
My hand drops from the push-bar as I continue to listen.
“You know the danger, quicksand, yet still you dip your toe …”
“Trusting dreams and nightmares can’t touch you, ‘cause they ain’t touched you before …”
It’s edged in pain, his voice. Angrier than the song I heard out in the rain at the Horseshoe. Grittier than the song I let play in my room that one night not so long ago. But that voice in the flesh …
That voice and those words.
“You know the danger, quicksand …”
“But you’ve only dipped a toe.”
“‘Til your toe talks your leg into it. ‘Til your leg talks your dick into it. Then your racing heart and your whole damned mind, ‘til it’s all you know. Yeah your whole damned mind, where those dreams come from …”
“And the nightmares.”
I turn away from the door. The unrelenting music pulls me in, not once letting go, as I slowly return to the concert hall.
“You don’t realize how deep he’s got you sinkin’ …”
“‘Til all you taste is sand …”
“And him, yeah, and him, yeah, and him, and him, and him …”
A staccato note and smash of drums, then silence.
“Then you sink some more.”
Music crashes back in like thunder.
The moment he’s in view, he’s a blur of colors and lights. His face, shadowed under the brim of a cowboy hat. People all around me, screaming, throwing hands. I cut through them like I’m not even there, like I’m a ghost.
“Is it better, tell me, is it better to sidestep the danger of you?”
“Why does it hurt, I’m beggin’ you, why does it hurt?”
“And I sink some more …”
Then I’m right there in the heart of the crowd. Chase Holt on the stage, attacking that guitar with all his heart, with all his soul, the light catching a glint of bright teeth as he bares them, anguish fueling his song.
“You know the danger, quicksand, but I can’t fall, I can’t fall …”
“I can’t fall, I can’t fall …”
The last chord strikes, drums crash to an end, bass line hangs in the air as Chase Holt holds that last note, then finishes:
“I can’t fall … for you.”
A breath of awe-filled silence.
Then the crowd roars around me.
Chase Holt lifts his head, shadow of his hat slipping off his face like a veil of dark silk, revealing his eyes—just as they land on mine, the only face in a sea of screaming adoration standing still.
Chapter 12.
Chase
Ian once said I’d face impossible challenges in my career.
I’m not sure this is one either of us imagined.
The fireworks of clapping, cheering, and screaming are gone. The crowd isn’t there. In the space where they’re supposed to be stands a single person. He’s staring at me, only me, and he sees me with such clarity, I may as well be naked on this stage, exposed to the world, exposed by that single set of pretty eyes.
I should’ve seen this coming, but somehow didn’t. I thought he would understand somehow, give up this conquest, and return to his life in Spruce. But that isn’t Timothy. He doesn’t give up.
Of course he’d come looking for me at one of the shows.
I just don’t think he was expecting to find me on the stage.
Especially judging from the look on his face right now.
A look that terrifies me.
Is he amazed? Angry? Betrayed? He’s looking at me the way you look at a spot in the night sky and being unsure if what you’re looking at is an airplane, twinkling star, or extraterrestrial entity.
Before I know it, the drums rush into the next song at full speed. Wily slaps his bass, threading in the deep, playful G notes. Fiona hangs back as she’s supposed to, waiting until the chorus to start her chords.
But to get to a chorus, you gotta sing the first verse.
And when it comes time for the first lyric, I’m not even there. I’m with Timothy in the middle of an audience I can’t see. And he’s with me. Is he seriously staying for the show? Am I supposed to keep on singing like this isn’t happening?
I hear Wily loop around seamlessly into the beginning again, though this time his eyes are on me, concerned. I pull my eyes off of Timothy to glance back at Raj and Fiona—both of whom are also looking at me, Raj with curiosity, Fiona with her brow furrowed.