Sing For Me by Rachel Schurig

Will

There’s a lump in my throat I can’t quite seem to dislodge, no matter how many pulls of beer I swallow.

I knew that Eva could sing—it’s her career, after all. But I’d never actually heard her before. I could have gone online and found videos of it. Could have downloaded one of her albums. But I hadn’t wanted to. I’d been afraid to.

A lot of people have commented about the lack of music in my life. I’ve taken out girls who find it odd that my truck’s radio remained ever silent. Quinn and Hannie and everyone at the shop are forever complaining that I won’t let them turn on the sound system while I’m there. Even River and Rose, with everything they know about me, sometimes grumble about the relative quiet of our apartment.

We grew up in a family where music was ever present. Touring with our dads, sneaking into the recording studio Uncle Reed has at his house or the one they built here on the farm. Nights spent like this, by a campfire, or sitting around in the backyards at home with guitars. Our parent’s friends are all musicians. Most of us kids know how to play, learning from our dads or our Grandpa. It was unheard of to go a day without a song playing somewhere when I was growing up.

All of that changed for me after Skye.

I had wondered, vaguely, if Eva would ever notice. But as we spent more time together, I slowly stopped thinking about it. She didn’t try to turn on the radio in my truck. She didn’t have music playing when I came over. Didn’t sing under her breath when she was doing stuff around the house. There was a piano in her living room, a gorgeous Bechstein upright, but I’d never seen her so much as sit down in front of it.

She’s singing now. I can hear her voice next to me, even over my Aunt Haylee and Uncle Daltrey and Grandma Ruby, who are usually so loud. Even over all of my cousins and my uncles and aunts who have joined in. There are close to thirty people sitting around this fire, almost all of them singing along, and I can still hear Eva’s voice.

It’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that sneaks its way into your heart, into your soul, and won’t let go. The kind of beautiful that makes your breath catch. That makes you want to cry.

And there’s a part of me that wishes I had never heard it.

“Do you play?” Eva asks between songs, and I tense, thinking she’s talking to me. But then I see her smiling across the circle at Santana, who’s staring at her with wide, worshipful eyes.

“A little,” my cousin squeaks out.

Eva holds up the guitar. “You want a turn?”

Santana looks like she’s going to pass out. She nearly trips into the fire pit she’s in such a hurry to get to Eva’s side, and Uncle Reed has to pull her back to keep her from getting hurt. My girl laughs at the kid’s eagerness, sliding over on the blanket to make room for Santana between us.

“Can you hear what key we’re in?” I hear Eva ask softly.

“A major?” Santana asks.

“Close—G,” Eva corrects, and Santana adjusts her fingers on the frets. “Good.”

I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the two of them. A few times during the song, Eva adjusts Santana’s fingers or leans over to whisper an instruction or suggestion. She’s smiling brightly, clearly enjoying herself, and my chest tightens.

Across the circle, I feel eyes on me and look up to see Wyatt watching us, his expression too shadowed by the fire for me to read.

“Great,” Eva says at the end of the song. “Now you just need to sing at the same time.”

Santana lets out a breathless laugh, her eyes wide and a little shellshocked. She looks like someone who just got a guitar lesson from her hero—which I guess is what happened. I glance up to see Reed watching them, a knowing smile on his face. I’m not quite sure how I should feel about that smile.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” Santana says. “I’m sure I’ll mess up if I try to do both.”

“Nah,” Eva says. “It actually makes it easier. You concentrate on your singing and you don’t worry so much about your fingers. You start to play automatically.”

“Okay.” Santana looks both excited and nervous but when Haylee starts singing “Jolene”, she opens her mouth to sing along. And she doesn’t do half bad.

“See?” Eva asks when it’s over, a huge grin on her face. “You did great.”

Santana is beaming, happier than I think I’ve ever seen her. “That’s the kind of music I want to make,” she says quickly, stumbling on her words in her excitement. “I love country music.”

Silas and Nix erupt into a chorus of groans and boos on the other side of me. “You’re not allowed to be a country singer,” Nix says.

Santana sticks her tongue out at them and Eva laughs. “I like country,” she assures her, and I’m pretty sure my little cousin would now be willing to take a bullet for the woman.

“Yeah, but Eva, this is a rock family,” my brother insists. He looks across the fire to Santana’s father, who’s still watching us. “Tell her, Uncle Reed.”

His mouth twitches in amusement. “You’re talking a lot of smack for someone who doesn’t have a guitar in his hands.”

“Ooh, you’ve been called out, Son,” my dad shouts from the other end of the circle, and Silas huffs.

“Give me a guitar then,” he says arrogantly. “I’ll blow you all out of the water.”

There’s a lot of laughter and shouts of, “Sure, kid,” but Daltrey passes a guitar down to Silas. He slings the strap over his shoulder and looks around the circle. “What’s up next? Give me something hard.”

I roll my eyes and reach over to mess up his hair. “Keep talking shit, kid, and you’re going to get shown up.”

He gives me a cocky grin, looking so much like our dad that I have to bite back a laugh. “Nah. I can back up my mouth.”

“Let’s see it then.”

Dad starts the opening strains of “Heartache”, one of Ransom’s biggest hits, and Silas does a pretty good job keeping up. I can tell my dad is showing off, adding a bunch of riffs and shit you don’t really need for a campfire sing along, but Silas holds his own.

“Not bad,” I tell him when it’s done. “You got a little muddled in the bridge.”

He scowls. “You know he was going way faster than it’s supposed to be.”

I laugh. “Keep up or shut up.”

“You think you can do so much better?” he shoots back.

Several people around us stop talking, lots of heads turning in our direction. I try to keep my shoulders from tensing, try to stay relaxed and—

“That’s not a challenge you want to make,” our older brother says, grinning. “You know Will is better than anyone in this circle.”

God damn it, Wyatt.

I can feel Eva’s surprised gaze on the side of my face and I force myself to stare straight ahead. “You play?” she finally asks, sounding every bit as surprised as I know she must be.

Almost everyone is watching us now, the circle suddenly very quiet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my dad frowning.

“A little,” I mumble, praying Rose or River will jump in to change the subject and save me.

“He’s being too modest,” Wyatt says, and I swear I’m going to kill him. I level a glare at him and he stares straight back. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Will is amazing. Better than Dad.”

“I’m not—”

“Why don’t you play something?” he suggests in an overly innocent tone. “Show your girl what you can do.”

Everything in me is screaming that I should just stand up and walk away. Leave my brother and my dad and their knowing expressions sitting right here by the fire. Leave the silence and the nervous energy I can feel emanating from every member of my family.

Only Eva doesn’t seem to register the mood that’s fallen over the previously easygoing gathering. “I would love to hear you,” she says, and I tear my gaze away from my brother to look at her.

Her expression is bright, expectant. She has no idea what she’s asking me to do.

“I haven’t played in a while,” I mumble.

She grins and slides the guitar strap from Santana’s shoulder, holding it out to me. “I hadn’t played in a while, either,” she says softly. “And it felt amazing. You should give it a go.”

I catch Rose’s wide-eyed stare from the other side of the circle, where she’s sitting close to Wyatt and Reed. I’m pretty sure she’s holding her breath.

I can do one of two things. I can refuse the guitar. Be a rude bastard and stomp away from the fire like a little kid who didn’t get his way. I can make Eva feel uncomfortable and guilty on a night when she’s clearly really happy.

Or I can take the damn guitar like I’m not a huge pussy and play the thing.

I take the guitar.

For a few seconds, no one says anything. Finally, Lennon tosses me a pick. “How about “Finality?”” he asks, and I close my eyes, my fingers already going to the correct frets.

I would have thought the guitar would feel strange in my hands. That my fingers would be clumsy and uncertain. That my brain wouldn’t be able to make the connection between the strings and my hands.

But somehow, instead, it feels every bit as natural as it always did. I don’t even have to think about it. My fingers move over the strings, the guitar pick like an extension of my hand. I can hear my dad playing down at the other end of the circle, his chords balancing mine, adding harmony where there wouldn’t otherwise be.

I’m so engrossed in it that it takes me a minute to realize that Eva is singing. The circle isn’t as loud or energetic as it was before—I’m pretty sure I’ve shocked the hell out of the entire family—but a few of my cousins are singing with her. I feel the strangest surge of pride that she knows the words, that at some point in her life she listened to this song my dad helped write often enough to memorize it.

When it’s done, I consider passing off the guitar. I should pass off the guitar. But Eva looks at me with that gorgeous, breathtaking grin on her face and asks, “I’m assuming you know “Hotel California?”” And I realize that I really want to hear her sing that song. So I start the opening chords.

And when that one’s over, it seems almost safe to keep the guitar in my hands for the next. And the one after that.

I keep playing my guitar and Eva keeps singing and it very nearly feels okay.

* * *

Once Vegaand CeCe have both fallen asleep sitting up, the parents decide it’s time to call it a night. We all help to gather up the trash and blankets and camp chairs. “I’ll make sure the fire’s out,” I hear Wyatt telling Uncle Daltrey. “Will can help me.”

My earlier anger at him comes roaring back. He did that shit with the guitar on purpose. He knows exactly how I feel about all this, and why, but he just had to keep pushing. The fact that I had almost started to enjoy it doesn’t matter—he didn’t have any right to force that on me.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I tell Eva but Alex and Everly come up and link both her arms with theirs.

“We’re kidnapping her for a nightcap,” Everly says, and Eva shrugs at me.

“Guess I’m having another drink.”

I watch them walk away, two of my best friends arm-in-arm with the girl I’ve totally fallen for, until they get swallowed up by the darkness, then turn back to the job at hand.

I wait until everyone else is gone and we’re standing at the side of the dying fire to unleash on my brother. Before I can, he turns to me.

“What are you doing, Will?”

I glare at him. “I’m putting out a fire with my asshole brother.”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean with that girl.”

My entire body goes rigid. He better not fucking go where I think he’s going. Brother or not, I will kick his ass if he says one word against her.

“What about her?”

“You brought her here, with the whole family.”

“The paparazzi—”

“You have her staying in your apartment.”

I narrow my eyes. “Look, I don’t know what Rose told you—”

“She didn’t need to tell me anything,” he interrupts. “It was obvious the first five minutes I saw you together.”

I’m getting really fucking annoyed by his know-it-all smirk. “What was obvious?” I grit out.

“You’re in love with her.”

Everything stills around us, the crickets suddenly very loud in the darkness. Somewhere far away, an owl is hooting. It takes me a second to realize that I’m holding my breath.

I look at my brother, a little scared of what he might see in my face. I should deny it, should tell him he’s full of shit and maybe he wouldn’t say such stupid crap if he was around more. But when I meet his familiar brown eyes, just like our mom’s, I feel myself deflate.

“I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Nah,” he says, gripping my shoulder. “I just know you really well.”

I let out a long, shaky breath. “I’m so fucked up, man.”

“You’re not fucked up. You’re just scared.”

I let out a bitter laugh. He has no idea how true that is.

“So, does she know how you feel?”

I shake my head. “We’re not even dating.”

“I know.” I shoot him a questioning look and he shrugs. “I never said Rosie didn’t tell me anything.”

I laugh for real at that, running a hand over my beard. “Heaven forbid the people in this family stopped gossiping for five goddamned minutes.”

He laughs too and turns the hose on, sending a spray of water towards the dying embers. “She’s got some issues,” I eventually say, wondering if he’ll even be able to hear my low voice over the sound of the spray.

“Dad told me about the fire.”

That stops me short. “Dad told you?”

“Jesus, Will—it was a really big deal in the industry. Dad’s industry. He knew people that were there—some guys who used to work road crew for Ransom were in that theater.”

Holy shit. Though when I really think about it, I guess it’s not that shocking. Dad’s been in the business for so long it sometimes seems like he knows everyone.

“She doing okay physically?” he asks.

“For the most part. She has some injuries and they affect her, but it doesn’t seem to be debilitating.”

“But she hasn’t gone back to work.” I can feel him studying my face in the darkness. “So there’s some emotional difficulties, I’m assuming.” When I don’t respond, he continues. “And those same difficulties are what’s making it tough for her to go all in with you?”

My brother is too damn perceptive for his own good. I throw some sand onto the wet ashes. “Pretty much.”

Wyatt grabs a stick to stir the mess, bringing up some more embers. He turns the hose on them.

“I gotta tell you, man,” he finally says “The way she looks at you, she doesn’t seem all that scared.”

I blow out a breath. “We messed around a while ago. Before the paparazzi shit storm.”

“Messed around huh?” I can hear the amusement in his voice. “You gonna give me any details?”

“Fuck off.” He laughs and I throw more sand at the fire. “She’s been… I don’t know. She’s seemed more comfortable since then.”

“But you haven’t talked to her.”

“Everything got pretty fucked up, Wyatt,” I say. “She’s barely been able to get back into her own house.”

He’s quiet for a minute, concentrating on the embers. I think the fire is pretty much out. “Yeah, that’s not it,” he finally says and I turn to face him.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not holding back because of the paparazzi.”

“Jesus, your wise old guru thing is getting damn old.”

He pushes my shoulder. “You’re holding back because you’re scared.”

I scowl at him. “Thanks for pointing that out. Again.”

“She’s nothing like Skye, Will.”

I wait for the usual rush of anger that always accompanies mention of her name. But I can’t feel anything beyond a dull stirring of the old emotions.

“How do you know?” I ask, voice little more than a whisper.

“Because I knew Skye,” he says. “I was there too, you know.”

I close my eyes, not wanting to think about that summer tour where Reed, Wyatt and I discovered her in that dive bar. Where we started her down the path that ruined her life.

“Skye was fucked up before you met her, man. I know you don’t want to remember that, but she was.”

Logically, I do know that. I know that no one self-destructs so fully and so quickly without some underlying issues.

“I know,” I admit, probably for the first time. I chew on my lip, trying to put into words what, exactly, sends such a crushing rush of fear through me when I think about going all in with Eva. “I couldn’t help her though,” I finally say. “I could see her spiraling and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.”

“You can’t help someone who doesn’t want help, Will.”

I shake my head. I was in love with Skye. Yeah, we were young, but she was everything to me. And I was supposed to take care of her. What does it say about me as a man that I couldn’t do that?

Apparently, I don’t have to say those words out loud for Wyatt to know what I’m thinking. “You were eighteen. You have to stop blaming yourself.”

“What if Eva needs something and I can’t give it to her?” I ask, finally getting to the root of every doubt I’ve had since I found out who the gorgeous girl in my tattoo shop was.

“I just don’t see that happening,” he says right away. “Jesus, Will, you take care of everyone. Every person in this family relies on you. Who do any of the cousins call when they need something? You.”

I don’t have a response to that. No matter how much logic I apply, my brain just keeps repeating the same childish argument—yeah, but what if?

“Look, man, there are risks in life. Risks in every relationship. People will always be able to hurt you, to let you down. I would imagine falling in love with someone is the scariest risk of all.” He turns to face me, a hand on my shoulder, and for just a second, I think I see a flash of unfamiliar pain in his eyes. “But what’s the alternative? You can’t just shut yourself off from everyone because you’re afraid.”

Something about his tone has my warning bells going off. “Wyatt, is something going on with you?”

He grins, but I can’t help but think it looks a little false. “We’re talking about your fucked-up life right now, little brother.”

I sigh, running a hand over my beard, and Wyatt laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

“All right, I’ll stop badgering you. Let’s go have a beer.”

Before we walk away from the fire, I turn to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. We grew up in a house with a lot of hugging. My uncles love to give him a hard time about it, but my dad is very big on physical affection. His kids can barely walk past the man without him pulling us into a hug.

But ever since Skye, it’s been harder for me to show people how I feel. I’ve closed myself off so much, even more so than I think I realized.

“Thanks, man,” I say, voice a little gruff. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He hugs me back, tight. “Me too, kid.”

Then we walk back to the house side by side.