Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(67)
“I’d like to play it all the way through once or twice,” Jared suggested. “See how it sounds with a bridge between the second and third verses. Do you have any words in mind yet, or—”
“I wrote lyrics, but that’s always been more you and Ryder, so if you don’t like them, it’s no big deal. In fact, maybe you should just go ahead and come up with something—”
“Yeah, ’cuz that’s what we’re going to do—come up with something else before we even hear what you’ve got,” Ryder interjected. “Stop making excuses and let’s go, dude.”
Wyatt nodded, but for the first time, he looked nervous. Reluctant. And she got that—she did. Music was personal, emotional in its own right. It set the tone, the mood, told the listener how to feel and gave them an experience all on its own. But good lyrics could do so much more than that. If they were done right—and she had a feeling Wyatt’s were done very right—they drew the audience into the artist’s world, gave them an up close and personal look at a very specific experience or emotion in the writer’s life. That was something that even the best music couldn’t do on its own.
So it was no wonder, with all the shit he’d been through, that Wyatt was reluctant to open that vein and bleed, even in front of his closest friends and the woman he’d spent most of the previous night making love to. Or maybe especially in front of them. As worried as he was about f*cking things up—and being rejected for it—it was a miracle he was willing to try at all.
Then again, she’d figured out days ago that his trust in the other guys was absolute. It was just one of the many things she admired about him—the way he could just give them that part of himself without reservation. Which was why, despite everything, she wasn’t surprised when he gave in and started marking the beat on the hi-hat again.
Seconds later, the others joined in with their instruments, and then Wyatt started to sing. He had a good voice—a really good voice, all gravel and sex and darkness. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it—he had sung backup on more than a few of the tracks through the years. It was, however, the first time she’d heard it this up close and personal, and she was glad she was sitting down, since her knees were trembling so badly that she wasn’t sure they would have supported her if she’d been standing.
It wasn’t a traditional love song, wasn’t filled with sappy metaphors or promises of happy ever afters. What it was, was raw and broken and real. So real that as the words poured out, she forgot anything—she forgot everything—that wasn’t this song. That wasn’t this moment. That wasn’t him.
I spent all night watching you dreaming
I spent all day just looking for meaning
I spent all night lying beside you
I spent all day just trying to hide you…away, from me
I spent all night watching you sleep
I spent all day getting in too deep
You should be running far away
But baby all I want is for you to stay…with me
With me
Baby all I want
Baby all I need
Baby all I dream
Baby all I see…is you…and me
Just you and me
And I know…I know you need to go
I know you want to take this slow
But baby, I need your touch
Baby, you make me feel too much
I spent all night just holding your hand
I spent all day sinking in quicksand
I spent all night just counting your heartbeats
I spent all day trying to break you free…from me…from me
I spent all night just trying to get close
I spent all day remembering I’m broke…into pieces
You should be running far away
But baby all I want is for you to stay…with me
With me
Baby all I want
Baby all I need
Baby all I dream
Baby all I see…is you…and me
Just you and me
And I know…I know you need to go
I know you want to take this slow
But baby, I need your touch
Baby you make me feel too much
I want to hear you breathe
I want to watch you sleep
I want to taste your kiss
I want to feel you keep…me close, to you
And I know…I know I ask too much
But baby, I need your touch
Baby all I want
Baby all I need
Baby all I dream
Baby all I see…is you…and me
Just you and me
And I know…I know you need to go
I know you want to take this slow
But baby, I need your touch
Baby you make me feel so much
When it was over, when Wyatt’s voice finally faded out over the last word, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Hell, she could barely breathe. No wonder he’d played until his hands had bled. If she could make something that real, she might never stop either.
For long seconds, nobody said anything. Then the others were clapping and laughing and all talking at once as they told Wyatt how good the song was, how much they liked the lyrics, how much they wanted to record it, to see how it sounded when it was professionally arranged. And she, who had already thrown her objectivity out the window days ago, did something even more out of character than letting Shaken Dirty’s drum player eat her out in an alley behind a club. Something that shot straight to hell the promise she’d made to herself about playing things cool.