Page 22 of Raise Me Up

“I’m teasing. Wasn’t anything serious between us anyway.”

My lips part in shock. So theyweretogether.

Thankfully, Beau’s no longer looking at me because I’m gaping at him. My chest tightens as I glimpse the pain he’s trying to hide, betraying his carefree words.

I don’t believe Liam would ever intentionally hurt someone, but isn’t this wounded, beautiful man next to me proof that he’s entirely capable of causing internal damage?

It was supposed to be a low-key cookout.

Naturally, the entire local metal community found out. Cars flood the streets outside the rows of uniform townhouses, heavy music blares from Liam’s open patio door, and people spill out onto the green space to smoke and lounge around a community fire pit.

I’d bet the neighbors are all terrified of Liam, considering the cops haven’t been called. It’s early in the night, though. There’s still time for handcuffs.

I’m sitting on the patio railing under a glow of string lights, nursing a sweating bottle of beer.

It’s been ages since I’ve had a drink. The desire is always there to let go, but tonight I have a better distraction from the monologue of self-deprecating thoughts in my head.

I seek out Liam, bathed in the ethereal orange glow of the fire. He’s standing beside Hail in a half-circle of musicians and crew members from Atonement, away from the crowded house. His inked, ringed fingers hold a Coke while everyone else drinks beer or liquor.

It’s strange…why would he bring Beau here if he’s just going to ignore him? He’d left us alone for hours this afternoon, eventually drifting back into the kitchen just in time for the party.

Of course, he was wearing another pathetic scrap of material for a shirt, fitted black jeans, and thin chain necklaces.

It doesn’t matter that Liam looks like a sex god, or he’s an incredibly talented musician, or a successful businessman. He won me over long ago with his kindness. Liam’s a protector at his core.

Aprovider.

Sipping at my beer, I turn my attention toward the house where Beau’s engaged in conversation with the chaos duo—Malek and Griff.

“…ocean isinfinitelymore terrifying than space. Think of all the unknown monsters lurking below your feet…” Griff rattles off.

“…chances of getting rescued are way greater in the ocean than inliteralfucking space…” Malek argues.

I’d think Beau needed rescuing, but judging from his dimpled grin, he seems to be enjoying himself.

Settling into a buzz, I touch my fingertips to my cheeks. They still ache from how much he made me smile earlier.

After we’d finished baking, I hadn’t been mentally prepared for him to reappear from his shower in a backwards hat, a crisp white t-shirt that clung to his chest and arms, artfully ripped up jeans, and a pair of worn leather boots.

My open-mouthed gaping earned a few laughs from him as I contemplated how an edgy rock artist could transform into a country boy so effortlessly.

So, I’mdefinitelyattracted to both versions of Beau.

Over the course of the night, that little stripe of white hair has snuck out over the snaps of his hat. I kind of want to curl it around my finger.

Socially awkward Stasi wins out though, and I force my gaze up to the sky. It’s a velvety blue tonight. Not a star in sight, which makes me a little sad.

Lonely, too.

I shouldn’t feel this way when I’m surrounded by people. I have to remember, everyone here has some sort of connection tying them to music. I’m not being left out. I just have different interests.

I don’t regret my choice to pursue a career in the medical field. I love what I do. I love witnessing the progress my patients make after experiencing life-altering injuries or suffering at the vicious hands of disorders or neurodegenerative diseases.

But I hate the winding path I took to get here. I hate that I lost years of my life that I could have spent building relationships like these or treating more patients had I buckled down in my early twenties instead of spiraling out the moment I was free from my parents.

I’m going to hate it when Hail’s back on tour, and then Liam and I don’t have a reason to interact outside the gym. We’ll go months without talking again.Yearseven.

Our childhood friendship was always doomed to unravel.