Page 9 of All I Have Left

EVIE

I ’m dreaming. I have to be. There’s no other way because that can’t possibly be him.

Can it?

The man, definitely not a boy, comes into view and my heart stops. My breathing hitches into what can only be described as broken shudders.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I know those eyes and I know that voice.

Nervousness pricks at my skin and I choke on my breath. The ruggedly handsome man standing before me is vaguely familiar. He looks, different. Strong and rigid, as if he’s nervously gauging my reaction; he’s not the boy I once knew. “Grayson?” I finally ask.

“Yeah.” He smiles, dimples forming in the corners of his mouth.

He steps forward, coming closer into the light of the stage behind us, the silhouette of his lean frame appears.

At first, I don’t believe it. I just stand there staring at him, probably with my mouth open.

He looks like he stepped off a GQ magazine cover and into our small town.

Wearing faded stone-washed jeans, a few holes in them, and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

His unruly wavy dark hair is artfully messy and a scruffy jawline draws my eyes to his plump kissable lips.

Running a hand through his hair, he smirks, his face perfection.

Glistening with the humid air, his skin glows underneath stage lights.

They cast a yellow shimmer over him. I want to reach out and touch him but resist. Unaware of anything surrounding us, we stare at each other for what seems like forever, the moment drawing us both speechless, but really, only seconds before Frankie intervenes.

“Well, give an old friend a hug!” Frankie pushes us together. “Don’t be shy.”

Chest to chest, I gasp and reach up, hesitantly wrapping my arms around his neck.

He gently returns the gesture, his arms snaking around my waist to draw me closer to him.

Oh, wow. He smells like cinnamon, pine and soap, but also the distinct Grayson smell that I missed all these years.

It’s similar to honey and dirt. Believe me, it’s a delicious combination.

Awkwardness roots in my bones and I’m not sure what to do.

Had he wanted to hug me or did he do it because Frankie made us?

Easing out of the embrace, I place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

My lips brush against the rough stubble of his jaw. “Am I dreaming?”

“Feels like it.” His words come out with a sigh.

“I missed you,” I whisper in his ear, only for him to hear.

More than you can ever imagine.

But, he surprises me when I attempt to let go. He holds tighter, refusing to release me. I inhale a deep, embarrassing jagged breath. I certainly have no complaints with holding on to him longer. If I could, I’d crawl inside this man right now and make myself a little home.

I peek over his shoulder to see Frankie watching us, pleased with herself, as I mouth the words, “What. The. Fuck?” to her.

Shrugging, she giggles, bouncing with uncontained excitement. Beside her, Ethan rolls his eyes, uninterested.

With a sigh, Grayson’s lips press to the spot below my ear. I shiver at the heat of his mouth. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers. Shivers tickle down my spine. He leans back, peering down at me. Licking his lips, his smirk peeks out as he shakes his head “You look amazing.”

God, I’ve missed that smile.

He drops his hands from around me and pulls out of the embrace, the loss of heat immediate. Awkwardly, I step back too. I’m about to ask what he’s doing here, but Paul shouts at me. “Evie, get your ass out here!”

Shit, shit, shit. I scowl at Paul. “I’m coming.”

He smiles, twirling a drum stick on the palm of his hand. “Now!”

“You’re such a jerk,” I mumble, and then back to Grayson, who is still watching me with rapt attention, I say, “I’m sorry. I promised them I would help them out tonight. I shouldn’t be too long.”

Stupid commitments.

He blows out a sharp breath. “Okay.” His brows draw together, but then his eyes drop to his feet for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Slowly his eyes meet mine again. Delicately, as though I’m a glass bubble, his hand moves from his pocket and he touches my cheek, his thumb dragging across my skin the way it did the night we had sex.

He squints, as if he too is remembering the night.

After swallowing, my breath comes out in a shaky exhale.

His eyes rake over my body once, unabashedly.

Removing the hand on my cheek, he brings it to his jaw where he rubs down the side, smiling, and then winks. “I’ll wait.”

He’ll wait? If only he’d stayed.

With a good amount of hesitation, I walk away, giving him a timid smile, hoping not to trip, and desperately trying to ignore my internal bantering. I don’t have to look back to know he’s still staring at me. I can feel his eyes still on me as I stumble up the stairs.

Paul motions for me to come closer. Leery, I scowl at him. “What do you want?”

“You.” He grins, trying to touch my ass.

I push his face away and knock his baseball cap off. “Gross. Stop it.”

Never, ever, would I consider Paul Jeffrey. He’s cute, if you like that skater boy style, but he takes nothing but music seriously. He didn’t even graduate. And he’s a shithead most of the time.

I start to walk away but he grabs my hand. I half-turn toward him. “What now?”

With a playful nod, he motions toward the side of the stage where Grayson stands. “I see your boy’s back in town,” he muses, taking a drink from the flask he has stashed on the side of the stage. His sticks drop to his feet in the process.

My boy? He hasn’t been my boy in years, but he was the one who wrapped my heart in barbwire from a young age and the only one willing to get bloody to untangle it.

Caught up in memories I can’t shake, I don’t say anything to Paul and move away from him. Does everyone in town think he’s mine?

Well, yeah, they do, actually. After Grayson left, everywhere I went, I got these sad sympathetic glances from everyone.

Even the chick at the bank who used to cash my fifty dollar paychecks.

She sadly handed me over my money and a mint every week.

As if somehow that mint would make up for a broken heart.

Or I had bad breath and that was her way of telling me.

I don’t know. But what made it all more depressing was feeling like the one left behind.

That’s when I notice the playlist taped to the side of the speaker. Damn it. “Sweet Home Alabama” is next. I hate playing that song. It’s too hard. But they play it every weekend, second song in. It’s something their fans expect and chant following the opener.

Ethan’s band, Lost Revive, is a cross between Led Zeppelin and The Black Keys. They have their own style and for the south, drowning in country, everyone loves their signature alternative blues rock .

“Play the guitar on this one, Evie.” With his holey black T-shirt clinging to his sweaty chest, he hands me his guitar.

The guitar?

Fan fucking-tastic!

And I hate playing the guitar on “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Honestly, I’m not that good and now that Grayson is here, I don’t want him to see this if I mess it up. How embarrassing would that be? Extremely is the answer.

As the opening notes begin, the crowd stirs into hysteria with the familiar song. It’s basically our motto here in Alabama. Obviously.

Right after my guitar solo, which I don’t fuck up, Ethan dives into the first verse, his rosy pitch providing a unique twist to the deep south anthem. As the song continues into the chorus, I happen to glance toward the side of the stage and notice Grayson climbing up the stairs, guitar in hand.

My heart jumps to my throat. Say what? He’s coming up here? No. No way.

I begin to panic and fidget again. Two more steps and his body drags against mine as he moves around me. With my cheeks burning, I quickly look over at Shane.

I know, he has no right to dictate anything in my life, but it still doesn’t give me the right to rub it in his face.

It will only set him off. I wait for a reaction from him, but it doesn’t come.

At least not physically. A thickness fills the air around me.

Shane’s expression shifts from confusion and all I see from him is sadness. I blink away any emotion I have.

Still behind me, Grayson leans in so his lips are against my ear again.

If I thought my heart was in my throat earlier, it’s there now.

“You’re doing great,” he assures me, his warm breath working across my neck.

I flinch, not from pain or disgust but the reaction my body has on him being this close to me after all this time. My face burns with embarrassment.

What surprises me is when Jeff, a music perfectionist who never allows anyone but him to play this song on the keys, steps away once Grayson reaches him. He even bows to Grayson. Cute.

Did they plan this?

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ethan interrupts the song, “Grayson Gomez!”

I can’t imagine he had much time to play in the Army and to pick it up again so effortlessly reminds me of how talented Grayson is at everything he does.

As the song continues, I’m actually beginning to enjoy myself and getting into it. Having all three of us up here reminds me of when we were younger and messing around in the garage, except now there’s a field full of people watching us.

When I happen to glance over at Grayson, he’s staring at me, not looking at the keys during a very important chorus. A quick wink and he drops his eyes, shaking his head slowly as if something is amusing to him.

Smiling myself, I look out at the crowd, singing along to the music. My eyes catch Shane’s near the fence and the smile fades. He’s smoking again, a beer in hand, glaring at Grayson.

How am I ever going to explain this situation to Grayson? I can’t even tell Frankie the whole story, and Grayson, no way. He’d kill Shane if he knew what he’s done.