The Rush (The Siren #1)

The Rush (The Siren #1) Page 29

“Mess?” I barely held back my offended gasp.

“Yes, Ivy. Mess. This isn’t a decorating scheme. This is Goodwill meets the Habitat for Humanity Restore shop and has a love child with every starving artist in the city. It’s definitely a mess.” Ryder laughed at my expression and I had the urge to smack his arm again.

“Fine, if it’s a mess, it’s a beautiful mess.” I conceded.

“My dad will be so happy to hear that.” He shook his head at me and then walked over to the corner of the living room where Phoenix was still beating away at his drum set.

While Ryder pulled out an acoustic guitar and plugged it into his amp I looked down at my royal blue knit dress that stopped mid-thigh and my designer wedge boots. Then I thought about my worn out Chucks in my closet at home and decided something very crucial. I wasn’t either of those people. I was this person. Whoever lived in this house, that’s who I was.

And for a moment I felt this overwhelming peace, like suddenly I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted out of life. And surprisingly it was more than just escaping.

Suddenly I didn’t just want freedom, or escape.

I wanted a house, and people to love.

And someone that loved me.

But then the sounds of guitar strings being tuned broke through the incessant drum beats and I forced myself back to reality.

I shuddered at my thinking because this wasn’t an abstract daydream, I knew the person that lived here. It was weird that I wanted to be him.

Or have his life.

Or be a part of his life.

No. No… I just wasn’t used to being in a happy home. High school house parties were hardly the testament of a loving, doting family and any other time I was invited into a house was with someone from the circle.

So, that’s all this was. Nostalgia. Nostalgia for something I didn’t know.

“Hayden and Cole are coming later. And Hudson can’t make it tonight,” Ryder explained when Phoenix finally stopped messing around. “We thought you could try it out with us first, Red, and then when you’re comfortable with the rest of the band.”

“Sure,” I mumbled trying to get back to business. “I don’t think it will make a difference, but whatever you want. Do you at least have sheet music? I mean, I’m not good enough to just make something up.” My tone was impatient and abrupt. Panic flashed like strobe lights inside me and the unsettling feeling of wanting something I could never have seriously messed me up. This was more than uncomfortable, this was terrifying.

“No one expected you to be,” Ryder’s voice had that patient, gentle tone again, like he knew I was going through something just standing in his living room.

Damn him.

I wasn’t fragile. I lived through a lot of crap. I faced dangerous situations sometimes. Like real danger. He didn’t need to treat me with kid gloves.

“So, sheet music?” I pressed.

“It’s over on the counter,” Ryder gestured with his chin and I dutifully walked over to get the small stack of loose leaf music.

“Is Kenna coming tonight?” I heard Phoenix ask in a muffled voice once my back was turned.

Ryder didn’t respond, so I almost turned around to ask the question for Phoenix again when Phoenix’s voice made me stop and pretend to fiddle with something on this side of the room.

“Why not?” Phoenix’s voice dropped lower, almost so I couldn’t make it out.

Ryder replied with something I couldn’t understand from here and my curiosity peeked further.

“Why do you think that?” Phoenix asked, outraged. I heard Ryder shush him and I imagined his angry eyes shutting Phoenix right up. “You’re crazy man. She would never.”

More of Ryder’s mumbling. Phoenix made a half grunt, half scoffing noise and then suddenly banged his drumsticks down onto the head of his cymbal. The loud crashing broke up whatever they were talking about and practically burst my inner eardrum.

“Well, Ivy, you ready? Let’s get to this,” Ryder commanded suddenly as if the cymbal crash never happened.

Or maybe Phoenix did that all the time and Ryder was just used to it. I was not used to it and half expected my ear to be bleeding.

“Sure,” I answered unenthusiastically.

I walked over to where a decent Korg was set up facing the drum set. There were about a million buttons on the top of the instrument and the plastic keys were narrow and not enough octaves long. I struggled to hide my grimace at the foreign instrument while I placed my fingers into and an easy C cord and pressed down. The sudden loudness of the cord made me jump and release the keys. The sound immediately stopped, nothing resonated afterward, nothing happened, there just wasn’t sound anymore.

“You’ve played a keyboard before, right?” Ryder asked deadpan.

“Oh yeah, lots of times,” I lied but sounded obvious enough that I didn’t feel guilty about it.

I ignored the look Ryder and Phoenix were giving each other and took a breath to settle my nerves. I fiddled with the volume button, turning down the sound so it wouldn’t rival Phoenix’s cymbals and then pressed down on the same cord again. The keys were lighter than I was used to, there was no weight to press into, no heavy feeling of accomplishment. It was just…. easy.

With my fingers pressed down, I wiggled them around a little, getting used to the width of each key. When I finally felt like I could wrap my head around the plastic feel of the keys I lifted off and began moving my fingers in quick scales up and down the shortened octaves. After a while I flexed my fingers, loving the warm feeling tingling in each joint.

“Wow you’re really good,” Phoenix commented in awe.

“Phoenix, I was just warming up,” I sighed a bit exasperated.

“Fine, let’s hear it then,” Ryder commanded in his gravelly voice. I looked up and accidentally caught his eye. He was staring at me intently, waiting for me to wow him. Only…. I didn’t want to wow him. I wanted to walk across the room and kiss him. Like attack him with kisses.

What the hell?

Obviously those psychotic thoughts were enough to get me to move my ass. Instead of Ryder’s mouth, I attacked the keys instead, throwing myself into Piano Concerto by Tchaikovsky but immediately ran out of keys on the small set of octaves so I switched to something more contemporary but didn’t really have the range for that either so I improvised.

“That’s beautiful,” Ryder commented. He walked across the small practice space and stood hovering over me while my fingers moved nimbly across the cheap plastic keyboard.

“At times,” I murmured and then hit a section of harsh, discordant chords.

Ryder laughed softly at the notes being played before they were switched back to light and airy and sweet again. “What is it?”

I lifted my gaze from my fingers to meet his silver eyes without realizing it. “Romance,” I heard myself say out loud in an embarrassingly breathy voice. I cleared my throat and focused back on my hands. “Jean Sibelius.”

My fingers danced and flew, crossing over each other and then crossing back. I didn’t have a pedal making the piece choppy and broken up and the very low notes and very high notes were absent leaving much to be desired, but the captivating melody was there. And I was there, caught up in the music, lost in the swell and intensity as the music carried us through what I pictured real life romance to be like, easy at first, passionate, consuming, difficult as real life set in, confusing, infuriating, discontented and then back to the best notes, the best sounds and ending with both hands on chords that complimented each other, that made the other whole…. that finished each other.

My fingers lay heavily on the last notes because once I removed them I knew the music would be gone. That it would be quiet again. And even as the last of the sound faded away I stared down at my tense fingers waiting for it.

Ryder placed a hand on top of my own. I stared at the way his tanned, masculine fingers contrasted with the pale ivory of mine. His thumb moved against mine in a sweeping gesture of comfort. “You’re incredible,” he whispered gently.

I mashed my lips together, forgetting everything else in the room. I lifted my eyes to meet his and the breath caught in my throat. His eyes were liquid pools of silver, intense and exposed all at the same time. “You’re really incredible, Ivy,” he whispered again once he had my attention.

“Thank you,” I meant to reply but was only capable of mouthing the words.

Finally my fingers lifted from the keys and whatever was left of the faint sounds disappeared completely. Phoenix started clapping obnoxiously before he stood and started whistling for me. “Holy shit, Ivy, that was insane.”

I blushed, realizing I had never just had fun playing for anyone before. My mother used my talent to impress dates or Nix. Nix used this to intimidate other legacies. And I hadn’t taken private lessons in three years.

“Thanks guys,” I breathed, all of a sudden embarrassed.

“You’re like a musical ninja,” Phoenix bounced over, staring at my hands like they were aliens.

“Definitely a musical ninja, Red,” Ryder agreed with a smirk on his lips.

“Yes!” Phoenix exclaimed suddenly. “The ginger ninja…. the Ginga Ninja!”

I burst into laughter. The ginga ninja? Was he serious?

“We’ll make t-shirts,” Phoenix continued, bouncing on his toes. He was like a human version of Tigger. “You can thank me later.”

A loud buzzing interrupted our laughter and Phoenix looked up sharply at me and then swiveled his head to Ryder. “I’ll get it,” he announced. “It’s probably just Hayden and Cole.”

Before Ryder could remind him this was his house, Phoenix disappeared out the door and into the stairwell.

“Don’t you have a button up here to let them in?” I asked with my eyes on the door.

“They probably need help with their equipment,” Ryder explained. His hand on mine again drew my attention back to him. When I faced him he wasn’t laughing anymore, his expression completely serious. “I like it when you laugh, Ivy,” he admitted in a low voice.

I stood there breathless and frozen. His gaze delved into mine, capturing it, holding it hostage and the heat from his hand scorched my skin wherever it touched me. The keyboard still separated us, but that was the only thing separating us. Other than physical contact, I felt completely drawn into him, Ryder, like he encapsulated all of me, every hidden, secret part of me. And I was helpless against him.

No.

I chose to be helpless. I wanted this.

Wanted him.

Which was crazy. These feelings were crazy. If Ryder had feelings for me there was only one explanation for them. The curse. Always the curse. And even if I could make arguments day and night to why he had never been affected by it before, the truth was that I would always doubt myself. Always. If I acted on my own feelings and there happened to be something between us, I would never be able to trust it.

I would never be able to trust him.

There would never be a way to know that his attachment to me was not because of the curse.

And so I needed to stamp these thoughts and feelings down immediately. If not sooner. If not yesterday….

His tongue ran across his bottom lip, and his gaze dropped to my mouth. I just talked myself out of this, so I should move.

Now, I should move now.

My breath returned to my chest in fast, heavy pants. My chin tilted up without my permission, like a sunflower to the sun.

Ryder’s gaze heated to desire, his lids hooded, his mouth opened. He leaned forward, we were just inches apart. Just three inches…. “Ivy, I-“

The door to the apartment exploded open with the sounds of banging equipment and three loud boys laughing about something completely grotesque. Ryder and I broke apart immediately, his hand removed from mine, his attention back to his guitar. We avoided each other’s gazes and my blush was definitely back.

I might like this band thing.

I might like this circle of friends.

But that could never happen again.

Ever.

Except when I caught Ryder looking at me not four seconds later, I quickly remembered that you were never supposed to say never….

Chapter Twenty-Six

I followed the sheet music religiously. It was the only way I knew how to play. To be honest, it was a bit embarrassing that I didn’t have the creative ingenuity to just improvise. Especially when that seemed to be what everyone else was doing.

Especially Ryder.

I knew he was talented, but he didn’t have to be the smart kind of talented that made everyone else feel stupid.

I took private lessons for thirteen years. Thirteen.

He apparently picked up his dad’s guitar at twelve and turned into a prodigy.

Ugh.

“I can’t do this,” I grumbled at the end of the millionth play through. It was this melancholy ballad with a pretty piano melody that played above everything else. Ryder’s voice sang rough and raw about a lonely girl with eyes that saw everything and a heart that felt nothing.

As soon as Ryder started singing the lyrics I shot him a sharp look, but he shook his head to deny it. Since then I had been living in a world I liked to refer to as blissfully ignorant. Although, others might have called it denial. Still, if he said it wasn’t about me, then who was I to disagree? Also, I didn’t want to be the girl he was singing about. She sounded sad, and alone and…. empty.

And I wasn’t empty.

Mostly, I was just…. afraid.

Of so many things.

“You were better that time,” Ryder called encouragingly after the last notes of the song drifted off to nothing. “You were uh, more on time.”

I blushed immediately, a deep red that painted my skin. I could feel the heat in my face and across my collar bone, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I wasn’t used to being bad at something. “This is so different than what I’m used to.”