The Healer: A Young Adult Romantic Fantasy (The Healer Series Book 1) (22 page)

Sandy nodded and gave Victor a flirtatious wink. He gave her a bashful smile. He didn’t seem to realize how attractive he was. It made me like him more. Sandy moved her attention back to me.

“So, what have you got for us this visit?”

“Huh?” was my dumb response.

“Your song for tonight. Are you entertaining us with something bluesy or maybe a nice up tempo rock song?” she pressed.

Realization came crashing down around me.

“Oh, no. I’m not doing anything tonight. I’ve been a little busy, and I don’t really have anything ready.” I kept my eyes locked on Sandy’s and silently begged her to read the panic in them.

“That’s not true, Hope,” Angie said.

My head flipped around, and I watched her hold up a folded piece of paper.

“What’s that?” asked Victor.

“The song Hope wrote today. At least I think you wrote it today.”

“Where in the world did you get that?” It was the song I’d written in my car before I’d left to see Kirby. The one helping me release all of Tie’s emotions from my system.

“I found it in your pants pocket at the hospital. The lyrics are pretty good. I can’t wait to hear you sing it.”

Her comment was given innocently enough, but her eyes gleamed wickedly, and full comprehension of her intentions for tonight became crystal clear.

That little minx had set me up. She’d found the song and orchestrated this date to Expresso to get me to showcase my singing capabilities in front of our dates.

Oh, we are so having a talk about this.

“I didn’t know you wrote music, Hope,” Tie commented. “You seem to be endowed with several amazing talents.”

My discomfort was growing, as was his infuriating smile.

“Are you going to sing for us tonight?” asked Victor who seemed genuinely interested.

“Not a chance.” My reply came out sharper than I intended. “That song isn’t finished yet, and I haven’t run the music by the band. They’d need a couple of practice runs before getting it right.”

“Oh, come on, Hope. You’ve done a lot of impromptu performances without practicing beforehand, and the band is always able to follow you,” Sandy argued.

“No worries. I made copies of Hope’s song at the hospital and already passed them out to the band. They should be good to go,” Angie said giving me a triumphant grin. Sandy’s eyes lit with happiness.

“I’ll go tell Jackson you’ll be singing next,” she said, jumping up quickly and heading toward the lead guitarist.

I wanted to leap up and run out the door—right after I choked Angie, of course.

This date had been a mistake. Beads of sweat began forming along my hairline. I could hear Tie chuckling softly. I gave him an icy glare and then turned the full force of it onto Angie.

“You are by far the worst best friend I’ve ever had,” I said.

“You’ll thank me later.” She reached across the table and gave me my lyrics.

I ripped them from her hand and did my very best to hold back the biting remarks floating in my head.

There was some tapping on the microphone and a bit of feedback as Jackson cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, everyone. Our next performance will be by one of our most popular musicians tonight. Please give it up for Hope Fairmont.”

The applause started and my pulse skyrocketed. I hadn’t even had time to form an escape plan. I stood up slowly, wishing with all my heart that I was simply having a nightmare. I’d wake up the minute my feet touched the stage.

Of course, that never happened. Within seconds—seconds that felt like hours—I gingerly climbed up the side steps to the small stage, barely avoiding a large wobble due to my treacherous footwear, and placed myself in front of the microphone. For the first time in my life, the mic no longer seemed like an old friend. More like a threatening viper ready to strike.

I looked out at the sea of familiar, smiling faces and felt my muscles unwind slightly. Maybe I could pretend Tie wasn’t present. There were so many friends from school waiting for me to succeed. Tie was just one guy, right?

I looked over at my table and met his gaze. He sat there staring at me, taking in my less than confident appearance. I waited for him to give me another teasing smirk. Instead, he mouthed the words “you can do this” and gave me a supportive nod. I couldn’t help but give him an answering smile, feeling bolstered by his attitude.

It was strange to hear my music being played from behind me.

Jackson’s group and I had spent a good three years getting to know each other’s styles. We knew what worked and what didn’t, but I was always amazed at how quickly they could pick up my music and make it a reality for me.

The base line and percussion gave me a quick adrenaline rush, and I closed my eyes as the first chords to the song washed over me. With the warmth of the spotlight bearing down upon me and the music filling up all the empty spaces within, I forgot about my fears, I forgot about my worries, and I started to sing the song that Tie had given me.

I could hear my voice ringing out true and clear through the monitors.

My confidence grew, and by the time I’d reached the second verse I was completely at ease and in my element. It had to be the best kind of freedom I’d ever experienced. It always felt that way when I sang.

You use words like Maybe now

It keeps me from moving on

When all your emotion’s gone

I locked my eyes with Tie’s, as if they were a life line and my only thing anchoring me to the stage. To my surprise his face was open and vulnerable. Gone was the overconfident smile. There wasn’t even a hint of a teasing expression.

You like to say If a lot

There isn’t one single string

To keep you here next to me

I guess it’s my own fault I can’t stop

You’re so easy to believe

And even when my hope seems to drop

I still want to breathe you in

The chorus was coming again, and my eyes never wavered from

Tie’s. His were also glued to mine, but I got the impression he wanted more than anything to break the strange connection we were experiencing, to be rid of the sadness etched in his face.

If you’re already leaving

Why don’t you get on with it

Just get on with it

Cause I’m already bleeding

Oh please just get on with it

Get on with it

Take me or leave me

Figure it out

If you’re gonna be gone anyhow

Go now

I switched to the bridge with the band easily following me.

My words would beg you to stay

But your words would throw me away

My heart keeps beating while your hearts retreating

and soon I’m losing you

I repeated the chorus one last time. It felt sad to let the moment go and have the song end. Tie wasn’t the easiest person to read, but this song opened a crack in his armor, and I was anxious to understand as much as I could. The more I sang the more I would see, but the song finally ended and the last chords of my music faded out into the silence. The applause that followed managed to break the connection I’d shared with Tie. I smiled and took an exaggerated bow.

Tie’s mouth was strained, his body rigid. I wondered at the intense emotions my song had unearthed for him. Whoever this girl had been, she’d certainly put Tie through the ringer.

I stopped short at the thought that it might have been me. Brushing off that troubling idea, I stepped off the stage and made my way over to our booth. Tie’s rigid posture made me nervous. He stared down at the table without really focusing on anything, and I wondered if it had been a mistake to sing his song in front of him.

I sat down close to him and brushed my leg against his. Placing my hand on his arm I chirped, “How’d I do, date?”

He gave me a rueful smile, like he’d decided to concede defeat, but his eyes still contained that awful look of longing. His silence went unnoticed, due to the fact that Angie, Victor, and everyone else in the restaurant were tripping over each other to tell me how much they loved the song. From the corner of my eye I saw him slowly recover himself. His icy façade slipped tightly into place.

“I think there were some Hollywood talent scouts here tonight. When you’re rich and famous don’t forget the little people who dressed you up and gave you gold stilettos,” Angie said. She gave me a satisfied smile and turned her attention to Victor.

I couldn’t help but give Tie a surreptitious glance as I took another bite of my burger. I’d thrown him off balance a bit, but I didn’t feel too guilty about it. I’d been off balance since the moment he’d waltzed into mythology.

“Tell me, Hope, was that song about someone in particular or have you had a lot of practice being dumped?” he asked. I was startled by his abrupt change in demeanor.

First he’s hinting at his interest in me, and now he’s getting nasty with me? What is his deal?

I did my best to hide the anger I felt with this unexpected verbal onslaught.

“You should stop talking, Tie,” Victor said in a tired voice. “No one has the energy to keep up with your tactless commentary.”

“Hope has never been dumped,” Angie defended.

“So she’s the one doing all the dumping, huh? Some things never change,” Tie said.

I had no idea what he was talking about. He didn’t know me at all, but the way he sometimes interacted with me suggested this had all been done before.

“So Angie, how long have you and Hope been friends?” Victor interrupted.

“Since we were babies. My mom and her mom were pretty tight.”

“Your mothers aren’t tight anymore?”

Angie’s eyes turned to me immediately. It was obvious she was regretting bringing my mom up as a conversational piece.

“My mom died when I was ten,” I stated bluntly. My small talk really needed some work.

There was an awkward silence that filled the space between us all. Not even Tie had a nasty comment to offer up. They both seemed taken aback by the sad news.

I found it interesting that this aspect of my life was a complete and total mystery to them. I mean, they’d gone to great lengths to determine who I was and what I could do. I’d just assumed they’d have some kind of file documenting the events in my life. Surely something as major as the death of a parent would have made it into that file.

This was assuming my government agent theory was even correct. Maybe they were high school students looking for other people who could heal the way they could. Maybe I’d perceived them as more threatening than they really were and given them far more credit than they deserved.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Victor said sounding a bit embarrassed. “I’m also sorry for asking about it. I’m sure this is the last thing you want to talk about.” Victor gave Tie a very confused look.

“It’s okay,” I lied feeling a little more exposed than I was used to. “It was a long time ago.”

“How did it happen?” Tie asked. His question seemed more urgent than intrusive. I’d been waiting for more snide commentary or some tactless joke, but he looked like he was trying to put some pieces of a puzzle into place, something that had been eluding him for quite some time. He placed his hand on mine and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“Tie, we should really change the subject,” Angie said showing some obvious remorse for having opened her big mouth.

She knew how touchy this subject was for me. I mean, I talked about it once with Angie right after it happened, and then I refused to talk about it any further, and she was the one I told everything to. Well, almost everything.

Tie ignored her, however, and continued to stare at me expectantly. I surprised myself with the desire to finally talk about what really happened that night. Not even my own father knew everything I knew. He didn’t know I’d seen my mother’s killer.

Yet here, in this crowded café, with my best friend and two guys I’d met this morning, I was ready and willing to share a part of my history I’d refused to talk about for years. The noise of the café seemed to fade away into the background, and our tiny little booth in the corner felt like the most private, ideal location for soul bearing if there ever was one. I wasn’t sure if Tie’s mesmerizing gaze had created that illusion for me or if I was just so desperate to finally get everything off my chest that I’d created it for myself. Either way, I needed and wanted to talk about it.

“It happened on a Saturday,” I said roughly. I may have wanted to talk about it, but my voice felt weak and shaky. I started again. “It was my tenth birthday, and my mom was making my birthday cake. She always made my birthday cakes for me,” I smiled happily to myself. “There was a knock at the door, and she sent me to open it. A very old looking man was standing there in the entryway smiling down at me. He asked if he could see my parents.”

I swallowed hard as I tried to collect my thoughts. I looked up to see Angie staring at me. She seemed surprised by my willingness to talk about a subject I’d so studiously avoided all these years. She nodded at me encouragingly.