Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

27. everything

[ 27 ]

EVERYTHING

BAXTER

“SHE IS” BY THE FRAY

S itting in my home recording booth, Lennon holds my black Yamaha FG-TA acoustic guitar while I sit next to her, holding my Takamine GD-30 in dark red. She glances at my finger placement before looking back down at her own, strumming the chord. The desired sound leaves the instrument, and her eyes light up, a massive smile covering her face.

“There you go, Lenny girl. You’ve got it.” I smile back at her before moving my fingers to the next position. “Now try this.”

My fingers pull at the strings as she watches intently. My blood burns under her gaze, but I keep my focus on the task in front of us. Lennon mimics me, once again content when her movements create music.

When I got the call a few weeks back telling me that I leave for tour tomorrow, something shifted between us. Until then, the rules we set for this arrangement were pretty firm. But now, Lennon’s persistence in only hanging out to plan the concert or for sex has dwindled, and with each day that passes, she’s opened herself to me a little bit more. And with each new thing I learn about her, the hole I’ve dug for myself gets a little bit deeper.

I had the perfect opening to tell her more about my mom and everything that happened when I was twenty-one years old, but that would mean also sharing how I know Logan. No matter how many times I tell myself I will, I can’t bring myself to do it. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

It’s something I’ve never dealt with myself—which also makes it something I don’t know how to deal with when it comes to her.

And I don’t want to give her any reason to end our arrangement early.

I won’t lie and say it hasn’t been nice getting to know her better. And being here with her now, teaching her how to play guitar, lets me get to know her even more.

I get the sense that when her parents died, her love for music did, too. Losing the people who taught her all about it was her breaking point, and aside from singing at the funeral, she hasn’t let herself do anything musical since the accident.

From all she’s told me over the past few weeks, I know losing music was almost as hard for her as losing her parents. Because to her, they were one and the same; her parents gave her music, and music became her saving grace. It was the one thing that gave her reprieve from life’s chaos—an outlet, somewhere to dump all her feelings in a way that can be used for good. It was the biggest thing that tied her to her parents, the thing she believes made her special to them.

But since they died, she hadn’t allowed herself to play. Whether out of fear or sadness, I’m not sure, but every time she’s been around a piano in the past few months, I’ve seen her itching to reach out and touch the keys. She’s been dying to let her fingers take control and guide her through the motion she’s known her whole life. But something has kept stopping her. At least until now.

I don’t even think she’s noticed just how much it’s affected her—I most certainly didn’t until I saw how much she lights up with an instrument in hand.

It’s been slowly killing her to not be able to play, and even more so to not be able to write.

So when she asked me to give her guitar lessons, I couldn’t say no. I felt a need to help her find her way back to the one thing that’s always been a constant for her.

Watching her now, completely at peace with a guitar in her arms, I know I was right to do so.

“Good. Look at you go.”

A look of concentration fills her features as she puts the chords together. I’m teaching her how to play “Do You Know?”—one of the easier guitar songs off my new album. She’s sounding great so far, especially considering we’ve only been playing for a couple of hours.

We continue back and forth like this for a while longer, Lennon copying me in perfect rhythm. I should’ve known she’d be a natural—the fact that she already plays piano and sings helps her memorize the notes. It takes no time at all before she gets the hang of the full song and is able to play through it independently.

I sit there silently, watching as she finishes the song, and she looks up at me in admiration. Her cinnamon-coloured eyes are glassy, but from the smile filling her face, I’m guessing they’re happy tears. I get the sense it’s been a long time since she played like this—so natural, so real, so free .

My heart aches at the thought that I’m the one who brought it out of her.

“You’re incredible, Lenny girl.”

A blush fills her cheeks. “Thank you, Lover Boy,” she returns, glancing down at the notepad sitting on the table. “Pass me that, would you?” She gestures to the pen next to me as she picks the notepad up.

I hand it to her, smirking as she flips to a new page.

My mouth stays shut as I watch her. I’m overjoyed knowing this was all it took for her to begin writing again, but I also don’t want to say anything to scare her off. I know what it’s like to be unable to write; finding inspiration again is hard, and it’s easy to lose it all just as fast as you got it back.

She scribbles down a few lines before passing the notepad to me. Without meeting my gaze, she asks, “Will you help me with the music for it?”

I feel a pang in my chest as I read the words scrawled on the page. It’s just a few lines right now, but even through those I can tell it’s about her parents.

I swallow roughly before glancing up at her again. “Of course, Lennon,” I tell her sincerely. I read through her words again. “This is really good.”

She smiles softly at me before setting the guitar beside her. “It’s nothing. I’ve had some words floating around in my head for a while now. Figured it was time to get them down.”

“It’s not nothing, Lennon. It’s good. And together, we’ll make it great. Okay?”

She rolls her lips together and nods. “Okay.” Then she stands, making her way over to me. Once she’s directly in front of me, she takes me by the hand as she says, “Thank you for today.”

She places one knee on either side of my lap so she’s straddling me, and I instantly grow hard beneath her. I grit my teeth to fight it as I repeat the same thing I’ve told her since the day this began, the thing that grows truer with each day that passes.

“Anything for you, Trouble.” I tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “But I really didn’t do much.”

She nods, smiling. “You did everything. I wasn’t sure I’d ever find music again. And it may not be much, but today I did. I owe that to you. So thank you.”

I grin as my hand moves under her shirt, rubbing small circles on her back. “I promised you would write again. I always keep my promises.”