Sing For Me by Rachel Schurig

Will

“Are you sure you shouldn’t get some flowers?” CeCe asks, biting her nails. “I mean, she liked them last time, right? Before your date?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Silas asks. “She friend-zoned him that night, Ceece.”

“Your brother knows what he’s doing,” my mother cuts in. “Leave him alone.” But she can’t resist leaning in to smooth the collar of my button-down shirt.

I look over her head, meeting my dad’s eye. Save me, I mouth, and he grins, reaching out to slide his hands around mom’s waist and pull her back again his chest.

“He’s fine. Everyone just chill, okay?”

“But this is a big deal, Dad,” CeCe insists. “I still think he needs to make a grand gesture.”

“I’m not making a grand gesture,” I say for the tenth time, wondering why in the hell I told them my plans in the first place. “That’s not what she wants from me.”

That night I left, she just wanted honesty. Effort. Both things I felt like I couldn’t give her at that point.

I just pray I can convince her I’m ready now.

“Grand gestures are overrated,” my dad says, tugging CeCe’s braid.

Mom turns in his arms, eyebrow raised. “You bought a house in Seattle to prove how serious you were when I broke up with you.”

He frowns. “Hmm. She has a point. Maybe you should get flowers.”

“Oh, my God,” I groan.

But even as I complain, there’s a little corner of my heart that can’t help feeling warm and sappy about this moment. Having the four of them standing here, encouraging me, rooting for me, that means something.

Things have been different with my family since that morning my Dad and I talked. I know I still have a long way to go to get things back to how they were before Skye died. And, hell, maybe they never will be quite the same. I’m not the same person I was at eighteen and that’s okay. But I know I don’t want things to continue on as they were, me constantly trying to keep distance between us. After I talked to my dad, a lot of the anger that sat so heavily on my chest for so long finally started to fade.

The first thing I did after I left the basement that morning was to go up to my childhood bedroom and sleep for the next six hours. For once, it didn’t feel painful to be there. I didn’t hear the whispers of Skye’s voice in every corner. I couldn’t see the shadow of her face everywhere I looked.

When I woke up, I made lunch with my mom. My dad had already told her what happened—because the two of them tell each other everything—but when I tried to apologize for my distance, she waved me off.

“Just be here more, Will,” she said. “That’s all I want from you. Everything else will work out.”

I stuck around the house until CeCe and Silas got home from school. It felt a little strange, to spend so much time there after so long, but it was nice, too. Peaceful. The shock on my siblings’ faces when they saw me sitting in the kitchen sent a fresh swell of guilt through me. I hated that they were so surprised by my presence, when all I had ever wanted was for them to know they could count on me.

I took them out for ice cream after dinner, just the three of us. I apologized over caramel and nut sundaes, explaining to them that I’d been taking a lot of things out on Dad when I shouldn’t have, and that I was going to try to do better. Then I thanked Silas for checking in on me with Eva and somehow managed to grit my teeth and ask how band rehearsal had been going, even though it sent a dim flood of panic through me to even think about it.

Apologizing to my uncles had been harder. But in true Ransome fashion, they let me say my piece. When I was finished, Uncle Reed pulled me into a hug. “We’re all good, kid. We’ve always been good.” Daltrey messed up my hair, and Lennon slapped my back. Then Reed crossed his arms and stared at me. “Now what are you going to do about your girl?”

Because of course my dad told them about Eva. I wasn’t even surprised.

But I sure as hell didn’t know what to do about her. I missed Eva with a ferocity I hadn’t even realized I was capable of. She was the first thing I thought of every morning, the last thing I pictured at night. My chest physically ached, all the time, and I was restless and snappy and generally miserable.

“Go talk to her,” Rose said, pretty much every time she saw me. “You obviously miss her. You want to see her.”

“But what if she doesn’t want to see me? I was such an asshole.”

River rolled his eyes. “Stop being such a fucking pussy, man, and fix this shit.”

In the end, it was my baby cousin Vega, of all people, who finally convinced me to get off my ass and try to take care of my mess. In addition to making things right with my siblings, I’d made it a point to visit with each of the younger kids to apologize for being such a distant jerk lately. Vega informed me that she would forgive me on one condition—I had to be her assistant for the next four cooking shows she had planned. So it looked like there would be a lot of frilly aprons in my future.

We recorded the first one the next day. I expected to find my little cousin organizing her supplies when I got there—she could be pretty damn particular about the way her kitchen ran—and by particular, I mean bossy as hell. Instead, I found her staring off into space when I arrived at her sparkly pink kitchen.

“You okay?”

She jumped, like I surprised her. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

I took in her pale face and narrowed my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She let out a shaky breath. “I got some news this morning. You know Giselle Lee?”

I rolled my eyes. “You have a freaking shrine to her in your bedroom, Vega. Of course I know who she is.”

Giselle Lee had a cooking show on the Food Network and Vega was obsessed. Giselle was her hero—I wasn’t kidding about the shrine.

Vega looked like she both wanted to puke and jump for joy. “She’s hosting a cupcake competition on the Food Network this summer. For young chefs. They asked me to be a contestant.”

“Holy shit,” I muttered, staring at her.

She laughed a little shakily. “I know, right? Mom and Dad aren’t totally on board. You know how they get about us being in the spotlight. And this would be like, major spotlight.”

My stomach clenched at the thought of my little cousin getting so much attention. But then I thought about Uncle Reed and Aunt Paige and how they would never in a million years let something bad happen to one of their kids, and my nerves settled a little. “True,” I said. “But man, Vega. This could be huge for you.”

“Can you imagine how much traffic it would send to my channel?” She shook her head. “It’s crazy.”

“So if your parents agree, you think you’re going to do it?”

“Yeah. I think I am.” She took a deep breath. “Honestly—it scares the crap out of me.”

That surprised me. “Vega, you love being on camera.” The girl was a total ham, if we’re being honest.

“But this is a whole different level than my YouTube channel, Will. Besides, I’m not the most competitive person in the world, you know? Sometimes these shows can be really cutthroat! I’m worried the pressure of competing will throw me off my game.” She held up her hands. “I get sweaty palms just thinking about it!”

I frowned. “You know this isn’t mandatory, right? Your channel is doing great even without any extra publicity. You don’t have to do this, Vega.”

She straightened her shoulders, looking suddenly much more mature. “I think I do have to do it, Will. Even if it scares me.”

“Why?”

“Because having a real cooking show someday is my dream. And sometimes you have to do scary stuff to make your dreams come true.”

Well, damn. Schooled by a thirteen-year-old.

Vega’s words kept ringing in my head for the next several days. Which led me to this moment, crowded with my family in the entryway at my parents’ house, trying to get the hell out of here so I can go and see Eva already. If I could just get my family to back off.

“Oh, I have a great idea!” CeCe exclaims. “You should play her a song.”

“This isn’t a sappy chick-flick, CeCe. I’m not playing her a song.”

She pouts. “But that would be romantic. Girls like romantic.”

Silas is tapping on his phone. “Wyatt says you should definitely bring flowers,” he reports.

“You texted Wyatt?”

He shrugs. “Figured he’d want to be involved.”

“You guys are something else,” I mutter, but I’m trying hard not to smile. And when I meet my dad’s eyes, I know he can tell.

“All right, everybody out,” he says, grabbing my younger siblings by the shoulders and herding them out of the hallway. “Say good luck to your brother and get lost.”

“Good luck, Will!”

“Bring her over after you convince her to give you a second chance,” CeCe says. “She told me she would teach me how she does that fishtail braid in her hair and she never did.”

“That will be tops on my priority list,” I mutter drily.

My mom leans in to kiss my cheek. “You look very handsome. She’d be crazy not to take you back, even if you were an ass.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

She laughs. “You should be thanking me. Paige and Daisy wanted to come over here tonight to see you off and I wouldn’t let them.”

Shit. That would have been much worse. “You’re a goddess among women, you know that?”

Mom laughs and kisses my cheek again, then leaves me alone in the hallway with my dad.

“You got this, kid,” he says. “Just be honest with her.”

I blow out a shaky breath. “Yeah. That’s the hard part.”

He tilts his head, waiting until I meet his gaze. “Is she worth doing something hard?”

I don’t even hesitate. “Absolutely.”

He grins. “Then suck it up and get it done.”

Laughing, I smack his shoulder and turn to go.

“No way,” he says, pulling me back. “You know the rule.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, but I’m grinning when he pulls me into a back slapping hug. “You really are exceptionally short, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, pushing me away. “Stop by tomorrow and let me know how it goes.”

I grimace. “I might be stopping by tonight asking you to get me drunk if this doesn’t work out.”

He nods, expression suddenly serious. “We can do that if it comes down to it. And then we’ll figure out what you should try next.” He holds my gaze. “Because you never, ever want to give up, kid. Not when it matters.”

I nod, feeling a little less queasy than I had a few minutes ago, and head out to my car. I’m only halfway down the driveway when I hear a familiar voice calling my name.

“Oh, Will,” Paige calls, practically dragging Presley down the block behind her. “We just happened to be out for a walk. What a coincidence. Where are you going dressed so nicely?”

“You’re certifiable,” Presley mutters behind her mother.

“Gonna try to get my girl back, Aunt Paige,” I call. “Wish me luck.”

She stops in her tracks, hands going to her mouth. “That’s so sweet.”

I give her a wave and climb into my truck. She calls something after me but I hold my hand up to my ear, pretending I can’t hear her. You have to be careful with Paige—she’d probably try to sneak in the back of my truck to watch it all unfold if I let her.

The sick feeling in my stomach comes back as I drive to her place. The one image that has haunted me more than any other over the past week is Eva in her kitchen that night. Tears in her eyes while she told me she wished I’d been willing to fight for us. The way she’d been so brave, letting me in the way she did even as I closed myself off.

I never should have left her house. I should have fallen to my knees right there in her kitchen and begged her to forgive me.

But I also know I wasn’t ready to be that honest with her. Not then.

This week was one of the worst of my life, knowing that I hurt her. Knowing that I may very well have ruined the best thing I ever had. But it was also a necessary week. I needed to have those conversations with my family. Needed to let go of some of the guilt that had such a stranglehold on my heart if I ever had a chance of giving it to Eva.

God, I hope she wants it. As broken and mangled up as it is, my heart belongs to that woman, one hundred percent.

I stop outside her gate, wincing when I see a few paparazzi. It’s not as bad as it had been at the beginning of the week, when they swarmed me every time I left the house. Someone tipped them off about the breakup and it killed me to think of her stuck in her house without me, scared to go outside.

The few photographers milling on the sidewalk present a complication. I had been planning on using the buzzer, rather than enter the code she gave me. I felt like she deserved the opportunity to tell me to fuck off if she wanted. But I’ll have to give her that chance by ringing the doorbell, because letting these assholes get shots of me being turned away at the gate isn’t going to do anything to help with the media attention.

I cross my fingers as I enter the numbers, hoping she hasn’t changed it, and sigh in relief when the gate swings open. Pulling into the driveway, I stare up at the house, remembering the first night I’d been here. How cold and impersonal the place had looked from this angle. And then the surprise of walking up those steps—how much light and beauty there was in her space. How lucky I had been to be able to see all of that, the stuff that was normally hidden from the rest of the world.

I pray to God I’ll be lucky enough to be let inside again.

Marissa answers the door, of course, and it’s everything I can do not to cower in fear. I could probably bench-press Eva’s tiny, terrifying little friend, but I’m pretty sure she’s capable of murdering me if she wanted to. And I know she’s efficient enough that she’d be able to hide all the evidence.

I can’t even blame her for the look of pure disgust and anger she fixes on me. I hurt her friend. She stares at me for a long moment before she finally purses her lips and steps aside.

“You better have your shit together now, Tattoo Boy.”

I feel a great rush of gratitude for this woman—not just because she let me in but because I would bet my shop that she’s been the one to pick up the pieces after I screwed everything up last week. She’s been taking care of my girl, just like she’s been doing since the fire, and I’m so damn grateful Eva has Marissa that I could hug her. But I restrain myself. One step at a time.

“She’s upstairs?”

Marissa nods. “I will be right here, listening closely, ready to kick your balls into your throat if you hurt her again.”

I swallow, legitimately scared by the threat. “Noted.”

The ache in my chest deepens when I climb the steps and see Eva’s place spread out in front of me. In the grand scheme of things, we didn’t have a lot of time together, but the time we did have was so damn good, and so many of those moments took place right here. I always felt like this house was a good representation of my girl—so bright and serene and beautiful—and that reminder of her smacks me right in the face. It smells like her, too, the lemon and sugar scent that always drove me crazy clinging lightly to the air.

God, I miss her.

I’m not surprised to see the outline of her back out on the deck. She’s leaning against the railing, watching the sunset paint the sky in pinks and oranges, just like she had that first night I’d been here. I’ve sketched her exactly that way so many times since then, trying and failing to capture her beauty. I’d pushed her too far that night, scaring her and making her retreat into the safety of mere friendship. I pray that I’ll be able to do better tonight.

Though at this point, I’d take friendship. I’ll take whatever this girl is willing to give me.

The sound of the sliding door has her turning, a brief expectant expression on her face, probably assuming she’ll see Marissa stepping through. When her eyes land on me, they widen immediately and I can hear her sharp intake of breath even over the sound of crashing waves down on the beach.

“Hey,” I murmur, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Marissa let me in.”

She just stares at me for a long moment, her expression impossible to read beyond the surprise that still lingers. Finally, she presses her lips together. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“I know. I should have called first but…” God, I hate how awkward this is. It’s never been awkward between us. “I wanted to talk to you,” I press on, forcing some strength into my voice. “I understand if you don’t want to hear what I have to say after the way I acted, but I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance.”

“A chance to what, Will?”

“A chance to explain.”

She studies me again, her gaze harder than before. “Are you really going to explain? Or is it going to be more of the same vague shit about complications and—”

“I want to tell you everything.”

That stops her short. She searches my face for a long moment before she finally releases a long, shaky breath. “Fine.”

Relief floods me. I haven’t fixed this yet, not by a long shot, but at least I have a chance.