Sing For Me by Rachel Schurig

Eva

We order Thai food and it eat in cross-legged on my living room floor. When I worry out loud about spilling on my light dress, Will heads into the kitchen and finds two dishtowels. He tucks one in his own shirt and hands me the other. He would probably look silly but I’m way too preoccupied by the way his fingers move as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt.

He totally notices me watching, too, because there’s a smirk on his face when I finally look up. “I like your forearms,” I say, attempting boldness even as I cross my fingers that I’m not blushing too hard. “Sue me.”

His smirk grows. “I’ll have to remember to wear short sleeves next time.”

I shake my head, holding his gaze. “There’s something about you rolling up long sleeves that really does it for me.”

He studies me over his carton of Khao Pad. “Girls are weird.”

I laugh, grabbing my own curry, which smells amazing.

“Should we have ordered for Marissa?” he asks, looking towards the stairs.

“Nah, she probably already ate.”

“Does she always work so late?”

“Oh, she’s not working,” I explain. “Not really. All she has to do once I’m in for the night is answer the gate as needed.”

“Does she have an office down there or something?”

I snort. “The first floor is a separate apartment—she lives down there. I don’t keep her trapped in an office all night, Will. She’s like, my best friend.”

“What’s that like? I mean, she’s your best friend but she’s your employee too, right?”

I shrug. “She never lets it get weird. I mean, for all intents and purposes, she’s the boss, not me.” I chew for a moment, unsure of how much to say. I feel like I’ve already dropped enough drama talk on him for one night.

“We hit it off right away when she came to work for me. She’s a few years older and she’s been in the business for a while. I think she kind of felt maternal towards me. But then we had so much in common and the more time we spent together the more we just felt like friends.” I swallow hard. “And then, after the fire, she was amazing. She just…handled everything. Took care of me, took care of Kat, who was freaking out. She’s been…I don’t know how to describe it. She’s been a godsend.”

He reaches over and squeezes my knee. “I’m really glad you have her.”

I nod, keeping my head tilted down so he won’t see the sudden sheen of wetness in my eyes. “She’s the best.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he grunts a little but ignores it. “And your other friends? The ones who came into the shop with you. You’ve known them a while?”

“We all met working in New York,” I explain. “Luke is a composer and he cast me and Caleb in his show. It was my first paying gig and Luke’s first produced show—we were all such babies. Geoff is a friend from high school so I’ve actually known him the longest. And then Sosie is a kick-ass makeup artist we all worked with a bunch.”

His gaze focuses on something over my shoulder. “Is that them?”

I turn to see what he’s looking at. There’s a framed photo of the six of us at Luke’s house, taken a few years ago. An alarm bell goes off in my head. “Um—” But he’s already up on his feet, heading to the bookshelf. “Will,” I yelp.

“I thought you didn’t know how to play poker,” he asks while I debate between going over to pry the picture away from him or melting into the carpet. “Wait, those aren’t playing cards—”

He turns to face me, eyes sparkling with amusement. “What game are you playing, Eva?”

I gather as much of my dignity as possible and stand. “It’s called Imperius. It’s a strategy game and it’s very fun.”

He’s grinning now. “Lyric and Nix play this game. It’s like, wizards and stuff? Right?”

I grit my teeth. “It’s fantasy based, but—”

Will looks positively gleeful. “Eva, are you a nerd?”

“Okay, that’s enough from you.” I grab the picture from him and place it back on the shelf. “Go eat your dinner.”

“No way.” His lips are twitching with barely contained laughter. “I need details.”

“Well you’re out of luck because I’m not a nerd.”

“So you have no problem with me…” he edges back to the book shelf, fingers trailing over a stack of leather bound albums there. “…looking at this photo album?” he asks innocently. Shit. I grab for it but he’s too fast, and way too tall, because he holds it up over his head while I jump to grab it.

“Give it!”

He’s chuckling now. “You realize your reaction makes me even more determined to look, right?”

I sigh. “You know what, fine. I’m not ashamed. Go ahead and look at my photos.”

He grins. “Oh, I plan on it.” Then he takes the photo album back to our picnic spot and sits down with it in his lap. “First of all, who the hell prints out photos anymore?”

“I like keeping physical photos around,” I tell him grudgingly, sitting across from him again. “My mom always did, and that’s been so nice for me and Katherine since she’s been gone, having those to look at.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Do you think talking about your mom is going to make me feel sorry for you so I don’t look at these?”

I snort. “Is it working?”

He smirks. “Not in the slightest.” Then he opens the album and starts flipping through the pages. “Oh, Eva,” he murmurs, voice shaking with amusement. “This is worse than I thought. Cosplay?”

“Cosplay is fun.”

He snorts. “Oh my God, tell me this isn’t you guys playing Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Dungeons and Dragons is fun.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” He flips through a few more pages, the grin on his face so gorgeous I’m almost able to forget that he’s teasing me. Then he looks up and his face is much softer than I would have expected. “You look happy in these.”

I shrug, feeling even more self-conscious than when he was teasing. “What can I say, I’m a nerd who looks happy when doing nerdy things.”

He shakes his head, watching me. “No. It’s the same thing I noticed before, when you were telling me about them.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about and he must read it on my face because he smiles. “You light up,” he murmurs. “When you talk about them. Your whole face changes.”

I shrug, feeling exposed. “They’re my family.”

Will’s phone vibrates for about the tenth time since we sat down and his smile tightens. “Speaking of family.”

“You can check it,” I tell him. “I don’t mind.”

“It will probably be a whole bunch of bullshit,” he grumbles. “They’ve been texting non-stop since I left the house. That’s why I turned off the ringer.”

“Why have they been texting so much?”

He rolls his eyes. “They’re very interested in this date.”

“Really? Is it that unusual for you to go out with a woman?” I can’t imagine that it is. Women must hang all over him, with his body and the tattoos and that face.

“I never date,” he says shortly, his tone clipped enough that I snap my mouth shut.

He’s got that working against him, I suppose. The way he seems to shut down sometimes. The coldness that takes over his features when he’s annoyed or upset. But maybe for some women that’s part of the charm—the broody bad boy.

His phone vibrates again. “Seriously, Will. I don’t mind.”

He pulls it out, expression still tight, but everything softens again when he looks at the screen. “Idiots,” he mumbles, lips twitching up. Then he holds the phone out so I can see the photo—a half dozen girls with blue face masks on and, in the middle, a blond guy I’m pretty sure is River.

“He was supposed to go out,” Will says, clearly amused. “But I guess the lure of facials and chick flicks was too strong for him.”

“Come here,” I say, gesturing him to slide next to me. He raises his eyebrows but complies and when he’s close to me, I tilt my head onto his shoulder, handing him the phone. “Your arms are longer.”

“What are we doing?”

“Taking a selfie, duh. They showed us their party, we can show them ours.”

He shakes his head but his lips are still twitching, his jaw relaxed. “You have no idea the absolute furor this is going to cause.” But he rests his cheek against the top of my head and smiles for the picture, angling the phone to get our spread of Thai food and wine in the shot.

When he’s done, he shows me the screen and the image makes my breath catch. We look good together. Comfortable. We look happy.

“Send it.”

“You asked for it.” He clicks send. “That’s the group chat,” he warns. “Which means—” Immediately his phone starts buzzing as the texts come pouring in.

Presley:OMG.

Cade:Nice.

Santana:She’s so pretty! Omg! I want to be her. Please bring her over here, Will. PLEASE.

Silas:You look good, bro. Happy.

Everly:I’ll start planning the wedding immediately.

He rolls his eyes. “Told you they’re insane.”

“What’s this?” I ask, pointing at the screen where Vega’s response has just appeared.

Vega:Can you convince her to be on the show with us? The ratings would be INSANE.

Will’s expression turns sheepish. “Vega, um, has a YouTube channel. She makes cooking videos. Well, baking, mostly.”

But he won’t meet my eyes and he definitely looks a little shady. Probably similar to the way I looked when I realized he was going to see my cosplay photos. Like he’s embarrassed.

“She said with us.”

“Hmm?” he murmurs, like he has no idea what I’m talking about, moving to stash his phone in his pocket. I put my hand over it.

“She said with us. She didn’t say her show. She said us.”

He closes his eyes. “Fine. I may, occasionally, help her with the videos.”

I study his face. He looks way too uncomfortable for merely helping his little cousin. “Show me.”

His eyes widen. “What? No. Let’s clean up our dinner and—”

“No way. I want to see her channel. Pull it up.” He gives me a pleading look. “You had plenty of fun teasing me about my D&D pics,” I remind him. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Fine.” The petulant voice sounds so incongruous to the big, bearded man sitting next to me that I have to giggle. The giggle turns to a shriek of delight when he pushes the phone into my hand.

Will is standing in a kitchen, scowling, next to a little girl with the same jet-black curls I saw on his cousins Everly and Santana at the party. The kitchen is bright pink—pink cabinets, pink countertops. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even better? Will is wearing a bright pink polka-dotted apron. With ruffles.

“This is amazing,” I tell him, unable to stop laughing. “You look adorable. Pink is really your color. Goes well with the beard and the tats.”

“It’s Vega’s show,” he insists. “I don’t really have any choice

I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t she like, thirteen?”

“She’s a little dictator,” he insists, eyes-wide. “It’s impossible to say no to her.”

On the screen, Will is showing Vega how to separate egg whites. She squeals about how slimy they are and Will laughs.

“You like it,” I realize. “You like helping her.”

He shrugs. “I’ve always liked to cook. We didn’t have many home cooked meals when we were touring with our dads so it always felt like a special treat to me. And Vega is really good. She makes this cinnamon crunch bread that I would seriously commit minor crimes to get ahold of.”

“So you do this regularly?”

“I help out once or twice a month. She uploads videos at least twice a week, but most of them are solo. Or she ropes one of the other cousins into it.” He smirks. “Or her dad. Those are the most fun to watch.”

I picture Reed Ransome in the frilly pink apron Will is wearing on screen and have to laugh.

“Is that kitchen for real? Pink countertops?”

Will snorts. “My Uncle had it installed in their basement for her last birthday present. Takes up half the space and he had to look for like, three months to find that granite. Like I said—girl’s a dictator. Impossible to say no.”

“Or maybe all the men in her life are just giant softies.”

“Probably,” he says with a chuckle. There’s a distinct note of pride in his voice when he continues. “She’s actually really good at it. The baking and the video stuff, too. She’s a natural on camera. That girl’s gonna have her own cooking show someday, I guarantee it.” He gives me a sheepish smile that has my heart melting. “So I guess wearing a frilly pink apron isn’t the worst thing in the world if it helps her get there.”

God, this man. He’s such a study in contrasts. The intimidating, closed-off tattoo artist and the doting family guy willing to embarrass himself because it makes his little cousin happy. He’s still gazing down at his phone, whatever he’s doing on the video making Vega laugh, his expression soft. It’s so obvious that he loves his family. He wears that love all over his face and his features warm with it.

I realize I want to be close to that softness, that warmth. That love. I want to be a part of it. Want his face to look that way when he talks about me, too.

“Will.” He glances up from the still buzzing phone and I don’t hesitate. I reach for his face, bringing my lips right to his.

He’s still for a moment, surprised, but it doesn’t last long. The phone hits the carpet with a soft thud and both his hands are on me, one behind my neck, the other around my waist, pulling me close. He moves like a man who knows exactly what he wants, confident and sure of himself. And right now, it’s clear that what he wants is me.

I feel weak with the knowledge of it, the realization heady. Will Ransome wants me. This beautiful man who never dates wants me.

I let him pull me in, practically on his lap, his lips moving insistently against mine. I relax into him even as my heart wants to fly out of my chest, excitement and happiness rushing through me like a tsunami wave.

And it’s at that moment, when everything seems so perfect, that I feel a flash of fear. It comes and goes quickly, a little flicker at the back of my mind. Fleeting enough that I can tell myself it was a fluke, that it doesn’t have to ruin this.

But then Will’s hand flexes on my lower back, drawing me even closer to him. The possessive, strong movement that just a few minutes ago was making my knees weak, suddenly takes on a new shape in my mind.

He’s so much bigger than me.

I slide my hands from around his neck down to his chest, thinking that if I can create just a little bit of space between us, if I stop pulling his face in so close, it will be enough. Instead I’m overwhelmed by the feel of the strong, broad muscles under my hands. My hands that suddenly feel very small and very, very ineffective.

Someone is pulling me, dragging me backwards into the crowd, into the chaos. A man’s face, eyes wide and panicked, completely out of his mind with fear. His strong hands yanking on me, holding me back, using my smaller body to pull himself up to safety and—

I gasp, jerking out of Will’s embrace, tumbling backwards onto my ass. His concerned face takes up my whole field of vision as he leans down, his mouth moving with words I can’t hear. I push his chest, push him away, and he lets me, gives me space.

Listen to the waves outside, I tell my spinning brain. Feel the soft carpet under your legs. You’re home. You’re fine. It’s not a full-blown flashback. Everything is fine. I take short breaths and hold them, calming my racing heart. Everything is fine.

“Eva?” Will finally asks, and I close my eyes, entire body seeming to crumple in on itself in defeat. Because everything isn’t fine. Will just saw me freak the fuck out over a kiss.

And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is knowing that it’s going to happen again. If I let him get close to me, at some point my brain will go back to that day, remember what it felt like to be too small and too weak to fight back. Even if I manage to get through a kiss without a flashback, what happens if things go further? What happens if I try to be intimate with him, if he lays on top of me—

“I can’t do this,” I gasp out.

He holds up his hands, posture appeasing, like I’m a dangerous person he’s trying to calm. “We don’t have to kiss. We don’t have to do anything.”

“No,” I moan, the pain of what I have to do slicing through me. For just a few days I actually let myself believe I could be normal. What a stupid idiot.

“I mean I can’t do this.” I gesture between the two of us. “I can’t do a relationship.”

His eyes search my face. “What just happened, Eva?”

“I told you I was a mess,” I snap. There’s no one to blame for this, no one to be the target of my anger, and I want to lash out. So I lash out at him, the only person here. “I told you I was broken.” I gesture at myself, letting out a short, biting laugh. “Well here you go.”

“You’re not broken,” he says through gritted teeth, looking almost as angry as I feel.

“I am! I can’t even fucking kiss you without—without—”

His expression softens. “Will you please just tell me what happened?”

“I have flashbacks.” I cover my face with my hands. “All the fucking time.”

“Of the fire?”

I jerk my head in confirmation. “Sometimes it happens just out of the blue, no reason at all. And other times something happens to remind me, to make me think of—” I just shake my head. He doesn’t want to hear this, all the ways I’m screwed up.

“And that kiss?” he asks. “Did something about that trigger the flashback?”

I don’t want to answer that question. Don’t want him to ask why something like that would trigger me. “Being physically close to someone sets me off sometimes,” I mutter. It’s not a lie—it’s just not the whole truth. “But the point, Will, is that I’m still clearly really screwed up over this.”

I dig my fingers into my forehead, trying to stop the sudden pounding. “I thought things were getting better lately but now…”

I think about the day I had, the dull aching pain I’m still feeling from my PT session. The conversation with Dennis that had sent me into such a tailspin. My inability to even leave the house to do something as simple as having dinner with Will. And now this.

I finally make myself look up at him and see that’s he’s studying me. His features seem frozen, tightly controlled. “I just don’t think I’m ready to be close to someone,” I finally say in a rush.

For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to respond. He just watches me, face tight and still, for a long time. Finally, he lets out a long, shaking breath. “I lost someone,” he says in a terrible clipped voice that doesn’t sound like him. “Someone who I really loved.”

My eyebrows furrow. Why is he telling me this now? “You…lost them?”

“She died.” His jawline is sharp, his expression like ice. “My girlfriend. Skye. She was young when she died. It messed me up pretty bad.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, Will. Jesus. How old were you?”

“It was four years ago. I was eighteen.”

I knew, better than anyone, how much it changes you to lose someone important at that age. I reach across the carpet and take his hand. His fingers are stiff in mine, lifeless. Then he finally relaxes, clutching my hand tight, and when he speaks again, he sounds more like himself.

“What I’m trying to say, Eva, is that I understand broken. I understand feeling like you’re not ready.” He gestures at the phone on the ground, which has finally stopped buzzing with texts. “My entire family is freaking out about me being on a date because it never happens. I never thought I could—” He sucks in another sharp breath.

“Look, I honestly don’t know if I’m ready for this either,” he continues, reaching out to tilt my chin up. He brushes his thumb across my jaw once, and then again, and I can’t stop myself from leaning into the touch, wanting more of it in spite of what just happened. “But I think there’s something here, Eva.”

“What if I can’t?” I whisper. “I told you being close to someone, physically close, that can set me off. So what if we try this and I—”

“Have a flashback?” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Then I’ll give you space until you feel better.”

He makes it sound so simple. But it’s not.

“I just don’t know.”

We sit in silence for a long moment while I try to dredge up some long-buried bravery. I want this to work with him, so badly.

But I can’t see how it ever will. How do you date someone when you can’t even kiss them without panicking?

“I’m not going to pressure you, Eva,” he finally says, his voice tight. “If you don’t think you’re ready…”

I squeeze my eyes shut, so pissed off at myself and this entire situation. At my entire life.

“Hey,” he says, softer. “You don’t need to stress about it.” I open my eyes and see that his expression is guarded. Careful.

“How about we try being friends first?” he asks. “I like spending time with you—”

“I like spending time with you, too,” I say quickly, wanting him to know that this isn’t about him, not even a little bit. It’s all me.

He smiles and even though it looks forced, I can still see how sincere his words are. “So let’s keep hanging out. As friends. And then we can just see how it goes.”

Relief rushes through me. Maybe I don’t have to lose him completely. It certainly doesn’t sound like he’s shutting the door on the possibility of us someday being more.

It’s still hard for me to imagine a time when I’ll ever feel fully comfortable getting close to him, but maybe if we’re friends first I can get there. I manage okay with Luke and Geoff. Even if I sometimes still feel a flash of panic when one of them comes in for a hug.

My stomach drops. Shit. Am I just pushing off the inevitable here?

As if reading my mind, Will nudges my shoulder. “Let’s just take it a day at a time, okay?”

I study his face. “So we’ll be friends.”

His lips twitch. “I mean, I’m not going to guarantee that I won’t spend half the time wanting to kiss you, but yeah. We’ll be friends.”

I take a deep breath, trying to push away the disappointment. This night did not go the way I’d hoped. But so long as I don’t lose him entirely, I guess I can’t be too upset about it.

“Friends,” I agree.