Beauty from Pain(49)

His worry has taken him somewhere else, and I want him back here with me. “Want me to play something for you?”


“Yes, that would be nice.”


I get up from the floor and take my new guitar from its case. I stand in front of him and strum several times. “Any requests from the audience tonight?”


“You pick.”


I know the perfect song to take his mind off what just happened. I begin to strum a bluegrass version of “Gin and Juice,” but I can tell he isn’t catching on. Maybe Australians aren’t fans of Snoop Dogg.


“‘With so much drama in the L.B.C., it’s kinda hard bein’ Snoop D. O. Double-G … But I … I somehow, someway … keep comin’ up with funky-ass shit nearly every single day.’”


I know the second the song comes to him because he begins to laugh. Hmm. Lachlan thinks I’m funny. It’s feels so strange because Blake never thought anything I did was amusing.


He picks up and begins to sing the chorus with me. “‘Rollin’ down the street … smokin’ endo … sippin’ on gin and juice … Laid back …With my mind on my money and my money on my mind.’”


When I finish, he claps and I curtsy. “That was fantastic.”


“Bluegrass ‘Gin and Juice’ isn’t fantastic; it’s shitastic. There’s a huge difference between the two.”


“That wasn’t exactly the kind of performance I was expecting when I bought the guitar for you, but I loved it. Do something else shitastic for me.”


I don’t have to think about it. I’m going to do “Whatever You Like” by T.I. my way because the song makes me think of us and our bizarro relationship.


“‘I said you can have whatever you like … I said you can have whatever you like … Yeah … Stacks on deck … Patrón on ice … And we can pop bottles all night and baby, you could have whatever you like … I said, you could have whatever you like … Yeah … baby, I can treat you so special, so nice … Gas up a jet for you tonight and baby, you can go wherever you like … I said you can go wherever you like …Yeah.’”


He applauds for me when I finish and I curtsy again. “You’re amazing.”


He thinks that’s amazing? “You know I was just playing around, right? That’s not the kind of stuff I sing for real.”


“Okay, so tell me. What does Paige Beckett sing for real?”


“Music is what feelings sound like out loud. I sing songs that speak from my heart. They tell my story, how I feel.”


“Sing one of those. Pick one that tells me your story.”


“I don’t know.”


“You do know. Come on, tell me your story.”


I’m going to regret this. I know I will. I decide on “According to You” by Orianthi. I strum until I find the desired chord. “‘According to you … I’m stupid, I’m useless … I can’t do anything right … According to you … I’m difficult, hard to please, forever changing my mind … I’m a mess in a dress, can’t show up on time, even if it would save my life. According to you … According to you … But according to him … I’m beautiful, incredible. He can’t get me out of his head … According to him … I’m funny, irresistible … Everything he ever wanted …’”


And that’s as far as I make it before I’m choking on my own words. Shit, I knew I’d regret doing this. I’m mortified as I stand in front of Lachlan with my hands over my face so he doesn’t see the ugly cry.


He gets off the couch and is by my side, arms around me. A moment later, he lifts the guitar over my head and puts it in its case. “I don’t know who he is, but he’s wrong. You are beautiful. And incredible. And funny. And irresistible.”


There’s so much that’s happened in my life to make me feel unworthy of ever being beautiful, incredible, funny, or irresistible. But I don’t want to think of those things. Not now. And certainly not in front of Lachlan.


He lets go of me and takes my hand. “It’s late. Come to bed with me.”


I follow him to his bedroom and shuffle through my bag as he pulls the comforter back. “What did you bring to sleep in?”