Read My One Regret (Martin Family Book 3) Online
Authors: Brooke St. James
I watched Ryan smile a little and wave at the others at my table before he turned to leave. I was equally disgusted with myself and proud of myself for letting him walk away.
Beautiful classical guitar was playing, but I wasn't really thinking about who was playing it or where it was coming from. It was mostly just in the background, but I did take note that it was being beautifully played. I did appreciate that.
I had a general sense of serenity, partly because of the soothing guitar sounds and partly because of the weather and my surroundings. I was lying on a thick, brightly colored quilt in the bed of a truck. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought I might have been the one who made that quilt.
The truck's tailgate was down, and my feet were dangling off of the edge. The temperature was perfect. There was a breeze coming off of the bayou, and I could see Spanish moss swaying in the trees above me. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, giving everything a golden hue.
And then I remembered why I was feeling the way I did—utterly serene and worry-free. It was because Ryan was there next to me. I shifted and sat up onto my elbow so that I could stare down at him. He had been lying there with his eyes closed, but feeling my shift, he opened them, squinting up at me. He smiled and I smiled back at him. My heart somehow knew this was right. Relief flooded my body when I realized I had made the right choice.
His hair had been growing out, and I reached out to run my hand through it, watching the way it fell and shifted between my fingers. I never dreamed love could feel like this. I never dreamed of a moment so perfect.
"Rakeboarding isn't the same as skateboarding," Ryan said in a voice that wasn't his own.
I pulled back so I could ask him to repeat the odd statement, but it wasn't Ryan at all. In fact, I was not in the bed of a truck, nor was I on a quilt. I was sitting down cross-legged on a skateboard, going way too fast on a steep hill. My surroundings reminded me of pictures I'd seen of San Francisco.
What was I doing in San Francisco, and how in the world was I supposed to get control of this skateboard?
I had on a helmet and elbow and kneepads, but I was still going way too fast. There was an intersection coming up, and I knew I had to stop before I got there so I didn't want to get hit by a car. I held onto the skateboard for dear life, trying to decide how and when to hurl myself from it. I had no other choice but to do so if I wanted to survive. I had never been so scared, but I did it. I fell off of the skateboard, rolling to a crash landing.
And that's when I woke up.
It may not seem intense to think about having a skateboard dream, but I can I assure you, it was. I woke up feeling terrified and breathless like I had really been in a life-or-death situation. I stayed there in bed, staring up at my ceiling as I tried to regulate my breathing and return to reality.
That's how it always happened—a wonderful Ryan dream, followed by some terrifying part that had me waking up in a panic.
It had been two months since I saw Ryan, and I had been dreaming about him a few times a week since then. Thoughts of him weren't just reserved for my dreams, either. I imagined him all the time. I did everything I could to make him leave my consciousness, but nothing worked. People who say they're the masters of their thoughts are lying. Or maybe it was just me who was incapable of controlling mine, and other people actually knew how to do it. All I know was that I couldn’t make myself stop thinking about Ryan Collins. I didn't try to contact him or search for him on the internet, but I still couldn’t get him to leave my mind completely (which was obviously the goal if I ever wanted to move on with my life).
I did read his book, which was perhaps my biggest mistake. It was heartfelt and beautifully written—compelling like the reviews said. I was proud of him, and that made the task of forgetting him even more impossible.
It helped when I stayed busy, so I tried to do so. I'd been writing a lot of new music. I had ten new songs. They definitely reflected my brokenness, but also spoke of hope. They just flowed from me. I did a lot of praying, asking for purpose in my craft, and I felt like that prayer was answered. Lyrics and chords came easier than ever, and I fell into a natural groove with a meeker, more laid-back edge to my delivery. I just sought God and did what I felt came natural—what I was created to do.
I didn't really have a plan past writing lyrics and melodies, but my family had other ideas once they heard my new stuff. My mom called Claire who got me a gig at a coffee shop in New Orleans. I worked up seven songs with a possible eighth and ninth depending on the crowd.
Gigging was my way of life—something I had done all the time. This one was different, though. I wasn't billing myself as a "Christian" artist or anything, but God was definitely attached to these songs, and I felt a little pressure in performing them since I didn't want to misrepresent Him in any way.
I didn't enjoy the feelings I encountered when I left Austin. I hadn't enjoyed my feelings in the last few months, actually, but something beautiful happens when you come to the end of yourself. You see God clearer there. Anyway, I still had some work to do with my feelings in my personal life… but I was proud of the work God had done in and through me with these songs, and I was looking forward to performing them.
I couldn't believe the time had already come.
My gig was the very next night.
It was a beautiful afternoon in mid-October, and I had just arrived at my aunt Debbie's house. She and Uncle Steve had invited us over for some shrimp and okra gumbo. My dad was the only one in the family who didn't like okra, and he always gave Aunt Debbie a hard time, telling her she should just make chicken and sausage gumbo like a normal person for once. She liked to torture him, so she always made hers extra okra-ey, which meant it was slightly slimy in a delicious way. Dad would just have to complain and eat a big bowl of potato salad with crackers while he watched us eat the main course.
I smiled at that thought as we got out of our boat and stepped onto my Aunt and Uncle's dock. Our family owned a huge piece of property that extended down a waterway. My parents and Aunt and Uncle had adjoining property. It would have been faster to just walk through the trails in the woods, but it was a beautiful evening, and my mom suggested taking the boat instead. My dad helped me onto the dock before offering his hand to my mom. My cousin, Cole, and his family must have done the same thing because I saw their boat tied up near ours.
Aunt Debbie's house already had some action when we got there. Cole and Cam were standing outside along with Alex's husband, Jacob, and Uncle Steve. My dad stayed out there with the guys, and my mom and I went inside. Alex was in the kitchen with Aunt Debbie and Cole's wife, Liv.
Olivia (or Liv) had been in our family for at least a couple of years, but my aunt was still filling her in on all things Cajun. She was in the process of telling Liv that you don't use file
(fee-lay: the dried and ground leaves of a sassafras tree used to season and thicken gumbo)
on okra gumbo because it was already thick enough. I was relatively sure she had already told Olivia that, but my aunt Debbie could always be found giving a lesson in Cajun culture, even to other Cajuns. She had just finished making that file statement when we walked in, and the three of them turned to look at us.
"Oh, you brought your guitar?" Aunt Debbie asked with a huge smile.
"I asked her to," Alex said. She rubbed her baby-bump, which at five months along, was just starting to grow. She let out a sigh as she shook her head. "This is a rough one," she said. "I just hate to drive all the way to New Orleans and not know how I'll be feeling."
"My morning sickness was over by like twelve weeks," Olivia said, wrangling Jude, who was toddling around, trying to open cabinets.
"Mine was too, with Lane," Alex said. "But my doctor said they're all different."
"I hope I don't have that next time," Liv said.
Alex reached out to poke at me. "At least I can have the artist bring the show to me," she said. She smiled and came over to stand beside me, offering me a slice of fresh cucumber that she had just salted.
I opened my mouth and let her place it inside. "Thank you," I said as I chewed.
"I'm excited about the show," Olivia said, coming to stand next to me.
"We're gonna watch Jude," Aunt Debbie said, "so you'll have to take some video. Your mom told me how good your new music was."
I smiled, feeling shy about taking credit for the new songs.
"I haven't heard you play your guitar," Aunt Debbie said, gesturing to the instrument I stashed on a nearby chair.
"She's gotten really good at it," my mom said proudly.
"I wouldn’t say that," I said, "but I know enough to get by."
"I'm looking forward to hearing some tonight," Aunt Debbie said. "I'm glad you're planning on singing."
"Cole and I got to see her in Houston recently," Liv said sweetly. She looked at me with a smile. "You're amazing. I can't wait."
I smiled shyly. Used to, I would have loved those words, but now I felt humbled by them. Not that I didn't enjoy the compliment, because I did, but I now had a firm grasp on how much help I truly had from God, which made me want to make some sort of disclaimer when she said how amazing I was. I just smiled and told her thank you, taking the compliment as graciously as I could.
I got out my guitar, and sang a few songs while we were all standing around the kitchen. The guys came in during the second one, but I kept going. I had a soft-spoken way about performing, and I didn't have a mic, so everyone stayed really quiet. Even the kids just sat there and watched me, which I thought was cool. I tried to quit after two songs, but my family begged me to do one more, so I did. They were extremely gracious, saying they were touched and proud, and giving me tons of compliments about the songs being my best yet. I was humbled and amazed that they all seemed to identify with these songs that were birthed out of my brokenness.
"I like it when she said, "I, I, I, I, I," Lane sang when I finished my third song. He was doing a perfect impression of the way I repeated the word I in the chorus of the song I just sang, and we all laughed at his precious imitation. "I, I, I, I," he continued, loving the attention.
I reached out to tickle him before I put up my guitar, and we all filed into the kitchen, making a line at the counter.
"That last one was about a boy," Cam said from next to me in line. "I heard all that stuff about forgiveness and broken hearts." He nudged me with his elbow. "If you need me to go to Austin and kick some body's butt, you better believe I will—"
"It's not about anyone in Austin," I said. "And I definitely don't need you to beat anyone up."
"Nobody better be gettin' in fights," my aunt chimed in, hearing the last part.
"Nobody is," I assured her. I glanced at Cam. "It's not even what you're thinking." I said.
"It's totally what he's thinking," Alex said, "but Wynn didn't get hurt by him." She didn't add that
I was the one who did the hurtin'
, but it was obvious that by the way she said it that it's what she meant.
"I think everybody could use a little forgiveness," Liv said casually as she scooped a small portion of rice into the bottom of her bowl.
I guess I hadn't realized how obvious my lyrics were, or I just thought they wouldn't pick up on it. I smiled at her like I was surprised that she knew I needed forgiveness. She smiled back, and I just looked at her, not knowing what to say.
"I hope, if it's someone from here, you've asked him to go tomorrow," she said in almost a whisper, shaking her head a little like she couldn't resist giving her opinion.
"Who?" I asked, pretending not to know what she was saying.
"The guy," she said. "The star of that song. You should make sure he hears it."
"What?" I asked, giggling.
Liv smiled and shrugged, and I could tell she felt bad about giving her opinion and was going to drop the subject, which made me feel relieved.
"Well, I think if that song
was
about somebody, well, he'd love hearing it," Aunt Debbie said, overhearing us.
"Me too," Liv said, shaking her head like it'd be a crying shame if I didn't invite him.
Cam looked around with a confused expression as if all the women in the room had gone crazy. "I must have heard it wrong," he said. "Was it that last one? I thought it was sad."
"It was sad," Liv said. "But it was about someone she loves."
Cole laughed, and we all looked at him to find that he was pointing at my dad. "Uncle Mitch is looking around like,
'that song better not be about some guy breaking my baby's heart'
."
Everyone looked at my dad who let out a laugh as he shook his head at Cole. "You better pray you have all boys, son."
I got ready for my coffee shop gig over at Claire's house. She shared a cool rental house with two other girls, and it was close to the venue where I was performing, so it was convenient for us.
I'd be singing without a band this time. The stage area at the coffee shop was small, and having a band up there would have been a tight squeeze. Claire learned one of my new songs and was planning on joining me onstage to sing harmony on it, but otherwise it would be me and my guitar.
I planed on sitting down to play, which was new for me. Lots of things were new, but I tried not to focus on them. I told myself to just go out there and do what came natural. I was nervous, but I had been on hundreds of other stages in my life, so I just had to remember to trust myself and my own instincts.
I had a pretty clear fashion sense, but Claire, being the awesome best friend she was, added a couple things to my outfit before we left. One was a bobbypin with a rhinestone star that she tucked discretely into the side of my hair, and the other was a necklace with a tassel that one of her other friends had made. It matched my pink converse and stood out next to my dark shirt and the other jewelry I had on.
"Perfect," she said, with a fake kiss to the cheek after she put it around my neck.
"I love it," I said, picking it up to inspect the pink tassel.
"Keep it," she said. "It looks great on you. I'll get Casey to make me another one." She pinched my arm. "You look beautiful, but we need to get out of here."
I was holding my phone, so I glanced down at it to see the time. "We do need to go," I said, grabbing my purse and guitar bag from the table.
I had no time to think about my nerves. One second, I was getting dressed and practicing harmonies with Claire, and the next, we were on our way to the coffee shop. I wasn't even sure where the songs had come from or how I had gotten to this point, but there I was. God was the only explanation.
Claire and I got to the coffee shop a half-hour before my set, and it was already packed. We had to park down the street a little ways, and could see how busy it was as we crossed the street, heading toward the door.
"I think your family has half of Martin Outfitters coming out, and I have about twenty people from my office," she said. "It'll probably be standing room only."
"Are you serious?" I asked.
She gave me a perplexed expression. "It's just a coffee shop," she said, knowing that I had played much bigger venues.
This one was different, though. My style and content had changed a little, and I felt a sense of vulnerability about it. "I know it's just a coffee shop," I said. "I'll be fine."
"You'll be more than fine," she said. "You're gonna kill it."
We walked up to the door just as she said those words, and I smiled confidently at her, striking a silly rockstar pose that had her laughing as we walked inside.
I smiled as I looked around. The place was already packed. It was a long, narrow room with the stage set-up in the very back. There were so many people that I couldn’t see the stage area from where we were standing. I recognized a lot of the faces in the room, and I smiled at the ones who were looking back at me.
I made eye contact with the owner who was about mid-way through the room, standing behind the counter. He motioned for me to go over there. Claire saw the exchange, and she squeezed my arm in a gesture of goodbye and good luck.
"I'll be over here with James and them," she said.
"You'll be up on the fifth song," I said. "I'll call you up."
She nodded as she squeezed my arm again. "You look and sound amazing," she said.
I smiled. "Thank you," I said, sincerely. "I love you."
She returned my smile. "Good, then you won't be too mad at me for telling Ryan."
My skin got instantly cold when she said that name, like all the blood had left the surface of it. I definitely experienced bodily sensations.
"You did what?" I asked.
She smiled and waved me away casually. "Mike's waiting for you," she said, changing the subject.
"Did you tell Ryan?" I asked.
She tilted her head at me. "I just sent him a text to let him know you were playing tonight. I didn't hear back from him. He might not be able to make it."
"You didn't hear back?" I asked. I swallowed hard against the lump that was forming in my throat.
"I just texted him yesterday," she said. "I didn't really give him much notice. He might be out of town." She pushed me toward the counter. "Go," she said. "He's waiting for you to soundcheck."
I would have probably been terrified about the possibility of Ryan coming, but I had no time to think about it. The instant I left Claire's side, people started talking to me. I had to stop and talk to at least five people on my way to meet the coffee shop owner, and even then, I felt like I had to brush other people off. It seemed as though they were genuinely glad I was home and were really looking forward to hearing me sing. Again, I was humbled.
After a few minutes of making my way through the crowd, I finally made it to Mike. He ushered me to the stage and introduced me to the sound guy.
There were two barstools set up onstage—one for a seat, and the other to hold a bottled water and a towel. I wasn't planning on doing much sweating, but I always brought a towel. It was a brightly colored striped towel that Ryan had given me in college, and I'd been using it every gig since. I went from washing after every gig to every other because it was wearing out on the edges and getting small holes in places where it was threadbare.
I laid it on the stool next to my bottled water, wondering if he would even recognize it or remember giving it to me. I wondered if he'd show up. I couldn't believe Claire had told him about it. Moreover, I couldn't believe he hadn't responded to her text. That hurt a little bit.
Even if he was out of town, he could've responded with something. But really, how can I blame him? I had hurt him a lot and sent too many mixed signals. He was probably smart for not texting back.
I had no other choice to forget about it.
I had a gig to play.
I sang a few lines into the microphone and played some guitar so that the sound guy could dial in the proper settings. I did the same thing with Claire's mic. He asked if I we could get her up there so we could sing together, but I wanted to leave that song as a surprise for the audience since she had so many people there from her work.
The process of soundcheck only took about ten minutes, so I had a few minutes to mingle around the room before I got started. A ton of my old friends and family had shown up, and I tried to stop and greet as many of them as possible before I got started.
There were a couple hundred people there, but none of them was Ryan. It was probably better that way. I knew I would be significantly more nervous if he showed up, so I was grateful for his absence in that regard.
The first three songs I played were all bluesy, soulful numbers about grace and hope and love, and the audience sat completely still and quiet, listening to me. The fourth song was an up-tempo number where I used the front of the guitar as a drum for part of it. The audience loved that one and was singing along by the third time I sang chorus. I sang it one more time, just so we could all sing together, and I ended the song laughing and feeling so thankful for how much fun I was having.
Claire sang the fifth song with me, and her section of the coffee shop went wild, cheering for her afterward. I loved that part.
The sixth was a ballad, and the seventh was another up-tempo tune that I introduced as 'my last tune for the evening'.
Ryan Collins came in when I was halfway through that seventh and final song. I saw him walk in the door and cross to a spot near the back where he stood, leaning against the wall. He was alone, and he didn’t look around or try to talk to anyone.
I did the best I could with continuing to engage the crowd, but I couldn't stop myself from glancing at him every other second. It took him a while to look at me, but I was staring right back at him when he finally did.
Before I could think better of it, I smiled. He smiled back by sheer instinct. We were far away, and there were tons of other people between us, but he smiled at me, and I felt like a weight lifted off of my shoulders when he did.
I finished the song, and stood to bow.
I had experienced some sweet audiences in the past, but I was honestly a little taken aback by this one. Everyone stood up, yelling and cheering like I was Adele or something. I giggled as I bowed two or three more times.
"One more!" they called with relentless cheering. "Bravo! Encore!"
I nodded and waved at them as I sat on the stool again, adjusting my guitar onto my knee. "Be still my heart," I said into the mic. There were a few whistles and yells in response to my statement and I smiled at them. "Seriously, you guys have been amazing tonight. I'm so thankful you took time out of your busy schedules to—"
"You're amazing, Wynn!' someone in the audience yelled, cutting me off.
I was relatively sure it was one of my friends or even my cousin, but it still felt good.
I smiled. "Thank you," I said in a weird voice, and making a weird face, like the weird-o I was.
Everyone in the room laughed, and I used that as lead-in to my final song.
I almost did the one I wrote for Ryan, but I decided against it, opting for one called Hideaway.
I played the first few chords of it before changing my mind again and switching back to the one I wrote for Ryan.
I'm sure no one really even noticed that I switched songs, and I really didn't even care if they did. I glanced at Ryan before I started singing, and knew I had no other choice but to go ahead and sing his song.
I couldn't look at him as I sang. I knew that probably made me a coward, but I could barely even sing it knowing he was in the room, much less look at him while I was doing it.
"And I, I, I, I, I
don't deserve your forgiveness,"
I sang in the chorus.
"Cause you are my one regret.
Oh, I, I, I, I, I'm,
more fit for your mistress,
And you just can't help yourself."
It's not like I used our names or anything, but I thought the lyrics made it pretty obvious that I was talking to Ryan. The song was called Forgiveness, and because it struck such a chord with me, my performance was honest and heartfelt. I zoned out and just let my body perform the song the way it needed to be performed, which was with restrained intensity. I almost cried, which I never do. I let out a sigh as I sang and played the last note, feeling like I had poured my heart into the song.
The whole place went crazy. Everyone stood up, cheering and whistling while I bowed and shrugged out of my guitar.
The owner was standing near the side of the stage, waiting to see if I was going to sing one more song, but I gestured to the mic to let him know that I was done. He smiled and came onstage to speak to the crowd about the upcoming schedule. He thanked me for the show, which made the crowd give me one more round of applause while I put up my guitar. I smiled and waved from behind his back, but he kept on talking, taking the pressure off of me.
A rush of people came to the foot of the stage to talk to me once I made my way down there. I sort of thought I would make my way to the back to see Ryan, but there were about a hundred different people between us who I knew and needed to speak to. I glanced in his direction and was pleased to see that he was still standing there, talking with someone he obviously knew—a guy I didn't recognize from a distance.
My friends and family gathered around me to say really nice, supportive things like, "I loved you and Claire together," "I loved your new music," or "You sound great."
I smiled and hugged everyone, feeling thankful for the kind words, but I was unable to hide my desire to make my way toward the back. I was hugging my parents and telling them to have a safe trip back home when I glanced over my mom's shoulder to see that Ryan was headed for the door. Right behind him was Claire, and I watched as she tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and she reached out to give him a hug. I watched from a distance as they talked.
"I have to go over there," I said, still staring at Ryan, but talking to my parents.
"Over where?" my mom asked, turning to look over her shoulder.
Liv lunged from several feet away and gave me a push on my back. "Go," she said, seeing what I was looking at.
I glanced at her, and she smiled and pointed at the door. "He's leaving. You better go."