Maybe Someday(55)



He was telling me then that lyrics have truth

behind them, because they come from some-

where inside the person who wrote them. I look

back down at the page.

For her I bend, for you I break

Oh, my God, I can’t. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t

want this.

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But it feels so good. His words feel good, his

closeness feels good, his eyes searching mine

make my heart go haywire, and for the life of me,

I can’t figure out how something that feels like

this can be so wrong.

I’m not a bad person.

Ridge isn’t a bad person.

How can two good people who both have such

good intentions end up with feelings, derived

from all the goodness, that are so incredibly bad?

Ridge’s expression grows more concerned, and

he pulls his gaze away from mine and picks up

his phone.

Ridge: Are you okay?

Ha. Am I okay? Yeah. That’s why my palms

are sweating and my chest is heaving and I’m

clenching the sheet beside me on the bed so I

don’t do something to him with these hands that

I’ll never forgive myself for.

I nod, then gently push him aside as I stand up

and walk to the bathroom. I shut the door behind

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me and lean against it, closing my eyes and si-

lently repeating the mantra in my head that I’ve

been repeating for weeks now.

Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie.

Ridge

After several minutes, she finally walks back into

her bedroom. She smiles at me, walks to the bed,

and picks up her phone.

Sydney: Sorry. I felt sick.

Me: You okay?

Sydney: Yeah. Just needed water, I

guess. I love the lyrics, Ridge. They’re

perfect. Do we need to run through them

again, or can we call it a night?

I really would like to run through them again,

but she looks tired. I’d also give anything to feel

her sing them again, but I’m not sure that’s a

good idea. I already beat up my conscience

enough while I was writing the rest of the lyrics

down. However, the fact that I was more than

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likely writing about her didn’t seem to stop me,

because the only thing on my mind was the

simple fact that I was actually writing. I haven’t been able to write lyrics in months, and in just a

matter of minutes, it was as if a fog lifted and the

words began to flow effortlessly. I would have

kept going if I didn’t feel I’d already gone way

too far.

Me: We’ll call it a night. I’m really happy

with this one, Syd.

She smiles, and I pick up my guitar and head

to my room.

I spend the next several minutes transferring

her lyrics into the music program on my laptop,

and filling in the guitar chords. Once it’s all

entered, I hit send, close it out, and text Brennan.

Me: Just sent you a very rough draft with

lyrics. I really want Sydney to hear this

one, so if you have time this week to work

up a rough acoustic, send it over. I think

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it’ll be good for her to finally be able to

hear something she created come to life.

Brennan: Looking at it now. I hate to ad-

mit this, but I think you were right about

her. She really was sent to earth just for

us.

Me: Starting to seem that way.

Brennan: Give me an hour. Not busy, so

I’ll see what we can work up.

An hour? He’s sending it tonight? I immedi-

ately text Sydney.

Me: Try not to fall asleep. I might have a

little surprise for you after a while.

Sydney: Um, . . . okay?

? ? ?

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Forty-five minutes later, I get an e-mail with an

attachment from Brennan that says, Rough cut,

Maybe Someday. I open it on my phone, find a set of earbuds in the kitchen drawer, and head to

Sydney’s room. She opens the door after I knock

and lets me into her room. I walk over to sit on

her bed and motion to the spot on the mattress

beside me. She looks at me questioningly but

walks to the bed. I hand her the earbuds and pat

her pillow, so she lies down and places them in

her ears. She continues to watch me warily, as if

I’m about to pull an elaborate prank on her.

I scoot down next to her and prop myself up on

my elbow, then hit play. I set the phone down

between us and watch her.

A few seconds pass, and her head swings in

my direction. An “Oh, my God” passes her lips,

and she’s looking at me as if I’ve just given her

the world.

And it feels pretty damn good.

She smiles and puts her hand over her mouth

as her eyes fill with tears. She tilts her face back

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up to the ceiling, more than likely because she’s

embarrassed by her emotional reaction. She

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