Loving Mr. Daniels
Page 12
“No…it’s not that. It’s just…”
“Too much change?” she asked, finishing my thought before I’d even thought it.
I nodded and couldn’t help but smile when she stood up and tossed me her keys.
“Take my car. It’s the Ford Focus. I’m not going to ask where you’re going because I’m a terrible liar. And if I had to rat you out, I would feel bad.”
“Thanks.” I picked up a couple of the CDs from my collection to play in her car and prepared to make my exit without running into Rebecca or Henry.
“Welcome. And Ashlyn?” Her voice heightened as she reached for her bottle of facial lotion and started to apply it to her skin. “It’s not so bad here.”
“Yeah. It’s just that I miss there. I’ll be back later.”
In Hailey’s car, I listened to the music blaring from the CD player. I glanced over to the passenger’s seat, and for a split moment, I could have sworn I saw Gabby sitting there singing along with me. Over the past few weeks, it hadn’t been uncommon for me to sit and talk to her as if she really were there, to try and imagine what she would say, how she would comfort me.
“Mom hasn’t called. Whatever… It doesn’t matter. Can you believe that Hailey calls Henry Dad?” I muttered to my invisible sister. “I’m not jealous or anything. It’s just…weird.” I stared at the empty seat and bit my bottom lip.
She didn’t reply.
Because when people died, they took their voices with them. I wondered if they knew how much the people left behind would kill for their sounds one last time.
As I drove down Main Street, I saw that there were a bunch of smokers hanging around outside a bar. Joe’s bar. I pulled over to the curb, put the car in park, and hopped out.
On a chalkboard sign sitting near the door read the words, ‘Live Music. Half-priced shots. $2 beer.’ Blue and purple balloons were tied to the sign. I watched as one of the smokers joked with his friends and untied one of the balloons, releasing it into the hot air. It floated up, up, up and away, allowing the wind to guide its patterns of travel.
I pursed my lips together and blew out a small bit of air toward the flying object. Sometimes I wished it were that easy. To just get up and fly, fly away. Glancing at my bucket list, I read the one that I was hoping to accomplish that night.
#14. Dance on a bar.
I could do that—even if I really didn’t want to—if it meant a letter from my sister.
The doorman looked at me, checked my ID, and put a big, ugly black stamp on my hand—an instant sign that I was underage and shouldn’t be allowed to have a drink or five. I’d expected that, since Mr. Beautiful Eyes had told me from the beginning.
What I hadn’t expected were the emotions when I stepped inside. So many memories came rushing back to me from just standing inside the bar. The band was setting up onstage, and I choked on tears that were fighting to pour out. Where did that come from? Why did I feel like crying?
“I’m going to do that,” Gabby smirked, eyeing the stage as we walked past a bar. “When I get better, the first thing I’m going to do is perform in this bar.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing at my sister. “After you get better, the first item on your agenda is to sing in a dirty bar?”
“What can I say? I like to live on the edge.”
Within a second, I was standing outside the bar again. Moving to the side of the building, I felt my hands sweating up and my eyes watering over. It was too much—all of the new changes to my life. All of the old things that had been taken away from me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even move anymore. I stayed bent over, crying.
Air filled my lungs, but I couldn’t exhale fast enough, causing me to hiccup over the tears. I was certain that it would only be a matter of time before my body crashed down to the hot cement. My knees began to prove my thoughts of fainting right, yet before I could fall, I heard a voice coming from around the corner.
“Hey, are you okay?” a deep, masculine voice whispered as he stepped closer to me.
My insides tightened as I heard his footsteps growing closer. I saw his hands reach out toward me and I jumped out of my skin, wanting him not to touch me. He must have noticed my reaction, and he stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and I bent my knees, getting closer to the ground.
When I found his face, everything froze. The world went quiet, and I was staring into blue eyes that made the earth’s brightest oceans look dull.
Beautiful.
Breathtaking.
Brilliant.
Blue eyes.
He was Mr. Beautiful Eyes, and a small sigh fell from my lips.
“I’m not going to touch you,” he promised. “I’m not going to hurt you.” There was something so sincere about how he said the words to me that I almost believed him. He made sure to stay a good distance apart from me, but he felt pretty close, too. I liked how close he felt. “Shhh…” His gentle whispers brought me the comfort I needed.
I could smell his cologne and shaving cream from the distance, which tickled my senses, making me want to breathe him in deeper. My hand wiped across my mouth. When I collected my bearings, I returned to a standing position.
My eyes fell to the ground and I watched as he stood up, too. I felt so stupid.
“You’re okay?” he questioned, but the way it had fallen from his mouth made it sound like more of a statement.
I nodded yet still felt the tears falling down my cheeks. “I’m okay.”
He frowned and patted at his pockets. “Sorry. I don’t have any tissue or anything.”
The tears fell harder, probably from embarrassment.
His fingers traveled down to his back pocket, where he pulled out his wallet. He reached in and grabbed a pocketknife and I gasped, taking a step backwards. He saw my reaction and a strong level of guilt took over those blue eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you, remember?”
There was vulnerability in his voice, a softness that almost made me want to look so deep into his eyes so I could see eternity. This stranger made me feel forever, which was something I’d never known could be felt. Who are you?
He took the pocketknife and ripped the sleeve off his white t-shirt. He then put the knife back into his wallet, which went back into his jeans pocket. The sleeve rested in his hands until he reached it out toward me. I stared at him, confused, wondering what he was doing.
“Too much change?” she asked, finishing my thought before I’d even thought it.
I nodded and couldn’t help but smile when she stood up and tossed me her keys.
“Take my car. It’s the Ford Focus. I’m not going to ask where you’re going because I’m a terrible liar. And if I had to rat you out, I would feel bad.”
“Thanks.” I picked up a couple of the CDs from my collection to play in her car and prepared to make my exit without running into Rebecca or Henry.
“Welcome. And Ashlyn?” Her voice heightened as she reached for her bottle of facial lotion and started to apply it to her skin. “It’s not so bad here.”
“Yeah. It’s just that I miss there. I’ll be back later.”
In Hailey’s car, I listened to the music blaring from the CD player. I glanced over to the passenger’s seat, and for a split moment, I could have sworn I saw Gabby sitting there singing along with me. Over the past few weeks, it hadn’t been uncommon for me to sit and talk to her as if she really were there, to try and imagine what she would say, how she would comfort me.
“Mom hasn’t called. Whatever… It doesn’t matter. Can you believe that Hailey calls Henry Dad?” I muttered to my invisible sister. “I’m not jealous or anything. It’s just…weird.” I stared at the empty seat and bit my bottom lip.
She didn’t reply.
Because when people died, they took their voices with them. I wondered if they knew how much the people left behind would kill for their sounds one last time.
As I drove down Main Street, I saw that there were a bunch of smokers hanging around outside a bar. Joe’s bar. I pulled over to the curb, put the car in park, and hopped out.
On a chalkboard sign sitting near the door read the words, ‘Live Music. Half-priced shots. $2 beer.’ Blue and purple balloons were tied to the sign. I watched as one of the smokers joked with his friends and untied one of the balloons, releasing it into the hot air. It floated up, up, up and away, allowing the wind to guide its patterns of travel.
I pursed my lips together and blew out a small bit of air toward the flying object. Sometimes I wished it were that easy. To just get up and fly, fly away. Glancing at my bucket list, I read the one that I was hoping to accomplish that night.
#14. Dance on a bar.
I could do that—even if I really didn’t want to—if it meant a letter from my sister.
The doorman looked at me, checked my ID, and put a big, ugly black stamp on my hand—an instant sign that I was underage and shouldn’t be allowed to have a drink or five. I’d expected that, since Mr. Beautiful Eyes had told me from the beginning.
What I hadn’t expected were the emotions when I stepped inside. So many memories came rushing back to me from just standing inside the bar. The band was setting up onstage, and I choked on tears that were fighting to pour out. Where did that come from? Why did I feel like crying?
“I’m going to do that,” Gabby smirked, eyeing the stage as we walked past a bar. “When I get better, the first thing I’m going to do is perform in this bar.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing at my sister. “After you get better, the first item on your agenda is to sing in a dirty bar?”
“What can I say? I like to live on the edge.”
Within a second, I was standing outside the bar again. Moving to the side of the building, I felt my hands sweating up and my eyes watering over. It was too much—all of the new changes to my life. All of the old things that had been taken away from me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even move anymore. I stayed bent over, crying.
Air filled my lungs, but I couldn’t exhale fast enough, causing me to hiccup over the tears. I was certain that it would only be a matter of time before my body crashed down to the hot cement. My knees began to prove my thoughts of fainting right, yet before I could fall, I heard a voice coming from around the corner.
“Hey, are you okay?” a deep, masculine voice whispered as he stepped closer to me.
My insides tightened as I heard his footsteps growing closer. I saw his hands reach out toward me and I jumped out of my skin, wanting him not to touch me. He must have noticed my reaction, and he stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and I bent my knees, getting closer to the ground.
When I found his face, everything froze. The world went quiet, and I was staring into blue eyes that made the earth’s brightest oceans look dull.
Beautiful.
Breathtaking.
Brilliant.
Blue eyes.
He was Mr. Beautiful Eyes, and a small sigh fell from my lips.
“I’m not going to touch you,” he promised. “I’m not going to hurt you.” There was something so sincere about how he said the words to me that I almost believed him. He made sure to stay a good distance apart from me, but he felt pretty close, too. I liked how close he felt. “Shhh…” His gentle whispers brought me the comfort I needed.
I could smell his cologne and shaving cream from the distance, which tickled my senses, making me want to breathe him in deeper. My hand wiped across my mouth. When I collected my bearings, I returned to a standing position.
My eyes fell to the ground and I watched as he stood up, too. I felt so stupid.
“You’re okay?” he questioned, but the way it had fallen from his mouth made it sound like more of a statement.
I nodded yet still felt the tears falling down my cheeks. “I’m okay.”
He frowned and patted at his pockets. “Sorry. I don’t have any tissue or anything.”
The tears fell harder, probably from embarrassment.
His fingers traveled down to his back pocket, where he pulled out his wallet. He reached in and grabbed a pocketknife and I gasped, taking a step backwards. He saw my reaction and a strong level of guilt took over those blue eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you, remember?”
There was vulnerability in his voice, a softness that almost made me want to look so deep into his eyes so I could see eternity. This stranger made me feel forever, which was something I’d never known could be felt. Who are you?
He took the pocketknife and ripped the sleeve off his white t-shirt. He then put the knife back into his wallet, which went back into his jeans pocket. The sleeve rested in his hands until he reached it out toward me. I stared at him, confused, wondering what he was doing.
