In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(26)

She nods, her lips tight. She’s gone back to giving me nothing. But she hasn’t changed her mind. This dream is bigger for her too, whether or not she wants to admit it. Our dreams are bigger than butterflies, so whatever it is that just happened—it’s probably for the best.

“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say, backing out through her door, patting the frame once. I pause waiting to see if she looks my way one last time. She doesn’t. My chest burns a little.

I can hear the television on some travel show in the living room as I pass, her brother repeating things, almost as if he’s making a mental list of the many places he’d like to go. I wonder what life is like in this house when it’s full; when her parents are home, too? I bet there’s even more of this feeling—of family. I wonder if it’s always felt so beautiful, and full of simple joys. I wonder if that feeling will come back for Murphy the second I leave.

I hope so. I hope I’m not stealing it from her by taking her voice. I’ll give it back when I’m done. I swear it; I’ll give it all back.

I’m not sure how much of me I’m going to lose in the meantime, though. That’s the thing—if she were my type, I’d know exactly how this all plays out. Instead, I haven’t got a clue. But I have a song. And I’m going to get it in John Maxwell’s ears if it kills me.





Chapter 6





Murphy


“You should bring coffee. Stop somewhere and pick up one of those drink carriers and bring in two black, one caramel, and one light,” Sam’s voice echoes from the phone in my lap. I don’t have Bluetooth, but I hate holding the phone when I drive—even for my best friend.

“How are you the expert on this? Why would I bring coffee? And what’s with that list of flavors? What if there are five people there?” I ask my barrage of questions with my forehead wrinkled. I glance at the directions on the Post-it that is stuck—scratch that—has just fallen from my dashboard to the passenger side floor.

“Uhm, I’m a secretary? Hello! I do this for the ad execs here at the paper every Wednesday before the big meeting, and I always only get four. My boss says they are for the four most important people in the room.”

Sam has been working as an assistant at the Oklahoman since graduation. Her degree is in finance, but she really doesn’t know what to do with it. I feel like coffee delivery might be selling her skills short, but she’s happy, so I keep my mouth shut.

“Right, well…I’m not so sure I want to set the precedent that I’m here to bring them coffee—no offense,” I throw in.

“Whatevs,” she says. “But you’re going to wish you had coffee.”

I drive in between the iron gates in the back of a two-story building made of tinted glass, the undercarriage of my car scraping the curb as I roll in. Always making an entrance.

“Sam, I’m here. I gotta go,” I say, hanging up after her short “Kay” and tossing my phone into my open purse in the passenger seat.

I have a feeling Casey is the only one who knows I’m coming here. It’s after five, and I bet when Grammy winners have an appointment at John Maxwell’s studio, they get a late morning timeslot—and reserved parking in the front. I pull up to a bunch of guys in blue overalls, smoking. I think it’s probably the cleaning staff.

“This is nuts,” I whisper to myself.

For a second, I consider backing out—a three-point turn, as if I came in here just to flip around—but Casey swings open the back door and heads right to my car. Pulling away will look really strange now. And he’d probably just chase me on foot.

Deep breath.

“Hey,” I say, opening my door. He takes over, swinging it wide and reaching for my hand. I look at his palm and let out a small laugh.

“What? I can actually be a gentleman, you know,” he says.

I glare at his lips, the way they purse and smile only on one side. He gets a dimple when I tease him. I have to admit…I like it.

“Fair enough,” I shrug, taking his help. His hand is warm and it covers mine completely. The full touch startles me a little, and I stumble as I climb boot over awkward boot out of my car. Casey catches me by my elbow, and my face slams into his chest. That’s warm too.

“Sorry,” I say. “I…I’m a little nervous.”

I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut.

“It’s fine. Everyone’s gone,” he says.

I knew it!

“Oh, are we…allowed to be here?” I ask, my stomach thumping with the beat of my heart. I’m not good at breaking rules. I play by the book. I’m a book player.

“Relax, I got permission,” he sighs. “That’s why it had to be late. They have someone coming into the other studio all night, and they’re booked tomorrow completely, so this was our only shot.”

“Oh, good,” I say through a whoosh of air.

I move to the trunk and pull out my guitar, looping the case over my shoulder, then grab my purse from the passenger side and follow Casey to the door. He holds up a badge against a small metal plate that beeps to let us in; then he holds the door wide for me.

“Here, let me take that,” he says, reaching for my guitar. Nervously, I grip it fast to my side and shake my head.