Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse), page 22
I sit there, mouth agape, staring at the spot where he was, and if I knew better—if my mind wasn’t delusional and twisted in favor of wanting to believe that already—I would’ve sworn Sam just flirted with me…
❈
It takes absolutely everything out of me to survive working my shift, or doing pretty much anything that isn’t practicing for my performance in the following two days. It feels like I’m training for the act of a lifetime. Like I’m going to be singing in front of Peggy Porter, the ‘alpha with the voice of an angel’ herself.
“You’re going to strain your vocal cords, Theo,” Dad says, letting out an amused chuckle as he glances at Pop next to him.
“But it’s good, right? It sounds good? Not too much?” I blurt out, fiddling with the guitar in my hand. They both sit in the kitchen with me after I’ve demanded to have their audience and for them to give their honest opinion on the song I will be singing in front of Sam. “Minus the guitar, obviously. I only hope that Max is as good this time as he usually is. He says he knows the song well, so…”
“Wouldn’t want him to ruin your serenading,” Pop teases.
I fight the urge to puff my cheeks like a child, settling only on stomping my foot. “Stop! Stop making fun and tell me. Honestly.”
“Of course it’s good. It’s perfect. Your voice is perfect, like it always is, my little dork, and your eyes shine with the most captivating adoration when you sing. I think he’s going to be as smitten as you want him to be,” Dad says. He stands up to come to me, putting his hands on my cheeks with a crooked smile, while Pop watches from the kitchen island, amused.
I purse my lips, doubt swirling inside my mind and my heart.
“I don’t want him to be overwhelmed. Or weirded out. It’s not too much, is it? It’s a love song, but it’s not a love song that would scare someone away, right?” I ask, darting my eyes to Dad specifically, hoping he understands what I mean.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Have you ever seen him this flustered over someone before?” he asks, twisting at his waist to Pop.
“Nope. Never.”
Dad turns back to me, petting my cheek. “You sweet thing. No, it’s not too much. The song isn’t sexual or pushy in any way. It’s no Gushing Holes.”
Pop makes a disgusted grimace behind him. “How I hate that damn song. Revolting.”
“That would probably get you a restraining order. Not the Prickles of Your Love Blooming Under My Skin. It’s one of the greatest, most touching love songs ever made, if you ask me.”
I let out a controlled breath. Besides all the endless worries, I’m giddy. I’m so damn excited to perform for him properly, but the critical voice in my head won’t shut up.
“Now, how about you stop torturing yourself with it and give your vocal cords a chance to function later, hm? You’re going to make yourself, and Martin, hate the song. With how fussy he is, he must be bitching at you about it already.”
I smirk at Pop. “He threatened to tape my mouth shut last night.”
They both laugh.
Seeing them together, supporting me, finally eases the worst of my anxiety. They’re right. There’s nothing more I can do. I sing the same way I always do, and that’s all I can give Sam. I just hope it’s enough to see that smile of his again. To make him happy. And maybe, just maybe, get a taste of that delightful, flirty side of him.
If only he’d let me.
If only that were what he wanted…
Later that evening, after a text from Sam confirming he’s still coming, I finally step foot in The Butterfly Den.
Everything feels strangely unfamiliar. I haven’t been in so long, considering my injury and…well, Sam walking into my life. I’ve been so focused on him and everything around him that I’ve sort of neglected this part of myself.
Not that I didn’t have a reason to go less frequently before. With my relationship with Emily slowly breaking down for months, I’d definitely been finding more and more excuses not to go even pre-Sam. After all, Emily would never miss a single performance. She would never let me have one or two just for myself. In her mind, I was trying to push her away or to hide something. So I stopped altogether, stopped grabbing the available spots, stopped listening to the pull inside me to share myself…
I’m glad Max called me about this one, though. With him recovering from a throat infection and me recovering from nearly slicing my finger in half, we turned out to be a perfect match.
“What’s up, dude?” He greets me with a funky handshake and a quick hug. His bleached blond dreadlocks are shorter than the last time I saw him.
“Damn, you do sound awful,” I say with a grin that hopefully portrays how sorry I am for him. His usually smooth and deep, booming voice is now all weak and crackly. In a very weird way, it suits his thin frame much more. Max has always been one of those people who open their mouths and make everyone gasp in shock at the sound that comes out.
He chuckles painfully. “Thanks. You gonna be able to play again soon, right?” He points at my hand.
“Oh, yeah. Already played when I prepared for today, it just doesn’t sound as good as I’d like and makes my finger ache after a bit. You’ll get better soon too, won’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s the worst. Taking too long.”
“I get it. It sucks.”
“Anyway. Prickles of Your Love Blooming Under My Skin… I knew you were a romantic, obviously, but damn. Is there gonna be someone in the audience you wanna impress?” he asks, flashing his brows curiously.
I try to hide the stupid smile that comes out right away. “Maybe.”
“Ha!” Max exclaims, and gets momentarily stuck in a short, painful-sounding fit of coughing. He waves his hand at me, indicating he’s fine. “I better not mess up or forget my notes, huh?”
“You better not.” I give him a threatening glare, still smiling.
“Okay, Mr. Heartthrob. Let’s get set up. We’ve got this.”
By the time we’re done setting up and testing, more people fill the cozy room. Some faces I recognize; regulars who come here often to enjoy music of all kinds. I used to be one of them, which is how I first got the opportunity.
Dee, the always-cheerful omega bartender, waves at me from the bar as I run my eyes across the room. Unfortunately, there’s only one person I hope to see, and she isn’t him.
I mutter the words of the song under my breath as if I’m going to forget it otherwise.
When I look at Max, who keeps tuning his guitar, I’m paralyzed by the irrational worry over the possibility that he’ll suddenly lose control of his limbs or get a coughing fit and ruin the performance.
Then I quickly shake my head, telling myself how hysterical I’m being for no reason.
Ruffling up my hair and then brushing it down a little—shit, do I look okay?—I glance at the audience again and notice a movement at the back. My entire body tenses up like a string when I see Sam making his way from the back toward the seating area with a glass of Coke in his hand.
He meets my eyes and gives a deliciously shy smile.
I’m going to have a heart attack.
I smile back at him and nod, quickly turning to fiddle with one of the buttons on the box connected to the microphone so that I look like I’m doing something and not just standing on the stage, grinning like a complete maniac. Because that’s just what he does to me.
His hair is brushed back. Different. I want to look at him more, to stare at him for hours like he’s a painting, but I don’t. I live off the brief glance I gave him until it’s our time to perform and I have another excuse to look.
He’s sitting there, only two tables away from the stage, his long coat now off, wearing one of his comfortable sweaters and dress pants.
The more I look at him, the more I realize what’s about to happen, the more all that inner tension shifts into something more powerful. It isn’t at all like my parents or Max said. I’m not doing this to woo him, to trick him, to push him into something… I just want him to experience—or to maybe come a little closer to understanding of—the depth and beauty of what I feel for him.
Whether he accepts it or not. Whether it changes anything at all.
The room turns still as we get ready to perform. The familiar pulse of adrenaline rushes through me, tempered by something else, something that might be the soothing scent of blackcurrant and sage.
Max nods at me, letting me know he’s on, so I reach for the microphone.
“Um, hey everybody. I’m Theo Reid. This is Max Callaghan. Tonight, we’re going to be performing Prickles of Your Love Blooming Under My Skin by Heavenly.”
Moderate cheering and clicking of fingers buzz through the room. The only person I care about smiles at me and raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Show me what you’ve got’.
Oh, he’s beautiful in the dim overhead light, brightening up the room.
I begin.
Like it always does, everything fades, and the world becomes only the words coming out of my mouth as if they’re sacred, the peaceful melody governing them. Usually, there would be nothing else for me. No audience, no people, no worries or thoughts or anything outside of myself. Even I, all that makes up Theo, would fade into obscurity, but this time, there’s a bright northern star guiding me.
“A rhythm born of stardust, an eternal, divine line.”
Sam holds my gaze when I look at him. His brown eyes sit there like two stars, constant and unchanging.
“The constellations spell your name,
Each spark a promise, still the same.”
My throat tightens, not just with the tones I’m willing into existence, but also with that endless, ever-present longing I’ve felt since the moment I laid my eyes on Sam.
I want him to know. I need him to know, to understand, that I’d do absolutely anything for him. That whatever I’m feeling is deeper than the vastness of the universe. No matter how damn irrational. No matter how delusional or obsessive. In a way, it could never be. I feel it as clearly as the air in my lungs: that what we have could never be anything but right and beautiful.
“A universe of wonder lives within your eyes.
Every breath, a symphony; every touch, a flame,
Forever etched in time, our hearts will stake their claim.”
If he asked me to cut open my flesh and bleed myself dry in front of him, I would do it. I wouldn’t even hesitate. It doesn’t scare me anymore.
And just like that, it’s over.
With the last word leaving my mouth in a sharp huff and my heart pounding hard against my ribs, I clench the microphone stand in my trembling hands. My mind reels from the onslaught of clapping and cheering.
I open my eyes that I’ve closed at some point, and…there he is. He doesn’t clap or move at all, just watches me with his lips parted slightly and his eyes glistening.
I bow, holding my hand over my chest, but my hesitant smile is aimed only at him.
Then, Sam’s face finally moves. Slowly, he smiles back at me, wider and wider until it reaches his eyes, giving them those adorable wrinkles at the corners. My stomach nearly turns upside down with the overwhelming joy that hits me.
I can barely see straight as Max and I walk off to the side of the stage. A more popular band, the Silver Diggers, is already preparing to perform after us.
“That him?” Max asks, cocking one brow. I can hardly hear him over the noise. “The pregnant one?”
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, fighting the urge to look for Sam again. “Thanks for the assistance. You were great.” Or so I think. I didn’t really pay attention.
He makes a ‘don’t mention it’ kind of huff and gives me a brief side hug while patting my back. “No wonder you needed the performance. Pfff…”
“It’s not mine,” I mutter, giving him a chastising grimace, but then…I realize the discomfort pulsing in me at those words. The dull pain echoes back from somewhere deep inside. When I look at Sam, I don’t think of him as mine, and I don’t think of the child in his belly as mine or not mine. But…I do love her as much as I love him. As much as if she were mine.
I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.
After briefly chatting with the upcoming band and some familiar faces that come up to check up on me, I notice Sam standing by the bar. He raises two glasses, each in one hand, and jerks his head, indicating for me to come with him.
We go sit down on the other side of the establishment. In the corner, behind the bar, where the noise from the stage isn’t as overwhelming.
Sam puts two Mojitos between us. I raise an eyebrow. “They’re virgin,” he says with a smirk, hand resting on his belly. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted the proper one, so I got two. Though you definitely deserve a real one.”
I smile, looking down so he doesn’t see the way my cheeks must be turning red. I was fine onstage, compared to now, when it’s like I’m sitting right across from the burning star that he is. “Did you like it?” I ask, my voice low.
Sam chuckles. “I’d say it was above average.”
Wide-eyed, I shoot my head up and quickly realize how easily I’ve fallen into his trap. Sinking in my chair with a disgruntled grumble while he grins at me, I sip on the mocktail.
“I’m sorry. No, it was beautiful. Really. I’m not usually one to appreciate music or look very deeply into the meaning of songs. Probably not as much as you do. And it might be just the pregnancy hormones, but your performance did move me.”
Hearing him say that is like a soft caress against my soul. I exhale to ground myself before meeting his eyes again, unsure if I’d be able to keep my emotions and pheromones in check if I didn’t.
He plays with the paper straw between his teeth, studying me.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I say.
“Have you always enjoyed singing?”
I nod. “When I was little, I used to perform in front of my parents. My sister and I would do reenactments of those talent competitions. Of course, I’d always win,” I admit with a chuckle. Gail would get so mad. “And my pop says I’ve been babbling as soon as I had the mind to. That I chattered in my crib and wouldn’t let my sister fall asleep.”
Sam looks down at his stomach with a fond smile, no doubt imagining what his baby will be like. I can’t wait to see that, either.
“I was always quiet, apparently. Unless it came to getting dressed and going out. I’d get plenty talkative then.”
“Ha… Yeah, I used to be really nervous about performing in front of strangers at the beginning. I’d get the shakes, throw up sometimes. All of it. But then it just…went away. I don’t know why or how.”
Sam tilts his head slightly, something playful swirling in his eyes. “I imagine it might’ve had something to do with you getting older, and realizing how people in the audience certainly appreciated much more than just your voice,” he says in a sing-songy tone. “A handsome young man with an angelic voice to match… Can’t be hard to win the toughest of audiences.”
His voice, both prudent and flirty, sends shivers down my spine. A few zaps of excitement go through my crotch, too.
“You keep saying that,” I mutter.
“What?”
“That I’m young. Like when you said I should be seeing people ‘my age’. You know, I really don’t think we’re as far apart in age as you make it out to be.”
Sam leans back, hand resting on the rim of his glass. His brows shift with interest, and his luscious lips purse playfully. “My apologies. You feel very young at heart.”
“In a good way?” I ask tentatively.
“In a good way.”
“So…how old are you?”
Sam shifts his shoulders. “Twenty-nine. For a few more months, anyway.”
“See?!” I blurt, startling him. “I’m twenty-five. We’re barely five years apart!”
He looks amused. “That’s half a decade,” he says, slowly reaching for his drink. “Though I suppose at this stage of life, we’re not that different. Even if I feel like certain things have aged me a decade or two…”
My heart aches at the mention of it. And over the way his eyes lose their spark a little. I don’t want him to think about that.
“I’m so, so sorry it happened,” I whisper. It would probably be best to change the topic quickly, but I can’t help myself.
Sam hums and sips his drink. “I guess if it didn’t, I never would’ve had her,” he says, running his hand over his bulging stomach with a somber smile. “And I would’ve never gotten transferred. Never would’ve met you. You never would’ve met your fated mate.” Stressing those words, Sam fixes his eyes on me. I don’t know whether the way he said them was meant to mock the notion of it or if he’s indicating that he might be coming around on his opinion about it.
I doubt it’s the latter.
As right as he is, what he said gives me pause. “I’d rather never have met you or experienced what I feel if it meant that wouldn’t have happened to you.”
Sam frowns, visibly taken aback. I can’t imagine why he would be, and try not to let it hurt me as much as it does. “You…would?”
“Of course.” I say firmly.
There’s a moment of silence. Judging by his pensive expression, Sam is somewhere deep inside his head. My mind races to come up with a way to get us out of this hole of not so pleasant thoughts and toward more cheerful topics. This evening was supposed to be about his comfort and joy.
“Sometimes, life makes these choices for you,” he mutters, almost to himself, and reaches for his drink. He glances around us, noticing that no one really pays attention, then looks back at me again. His gaze softens, and he leans with his elbows against the table. “I appreciate your selflessness, I do. But I’m not even sure if that would’ve worked. It likely would’ve happened, anyway. You see, she really wanted to be here. And I’m saying that as someone who doesn’t believe in that stuff.” With a chuckle, he looks down.
I raise my brow questioningly. There’s a bittersweet undertone to his words.
