Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(93)
Several people in the crowd laugh, but I just groan and bury my face in my hands, peeking through my fingers at him up on the stage.
“All right, let’s get on with it, shall we? We have a few new songs for you tonight. Unfortunately, the whole band couldn’t be here, because”—he looks to his left at the small width of the stage, then to his right—“well, I don’t think they all could have fit. So I’d like to present to you a small portion of the band Sounds of Cedar.”
My heart falls to the floor. I close my eyes when the crowd begins to clap.
Please, let it be Ridge.
Please, don’t let it be Ridge.
Jesus, when will this confusion go away?
I can hear commotion up on the stage, and I’m too scared to open my eyes. I want to see him sitting up there so much it hurts.
“Hey, Syd,” Warren says into the microphone. I inhale a slow, calming breath, then open my eyes and hesitantly look up at him. “Remember a few months ago when I told you sometimes we have to have really bad days in order to keep the good ones in perspective?”
I think I nod. I can’t really feel my body anymore.
“Well, this is one of the good days. This is one of the really good days.” He raises his hand in the air and motions to my table. “Somebody get that girl a shot of whatever will help loosen her up.”
He moves the microphone to the stool next to him, and my eyes are glued to the empty chairs. Someone lays a shot on the table in front of me, and I instantly grab it and down it. I drop the shot glass back onto the table and look up just in time to see them walk onto the stage. Brennan is first, and Ridge is right behind him, carrying a guitar.
Oh, my God. He looks incredible. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him on a stage. I’ve been wanting to watch him perform since the first moment I heard his guitar on my balcony and here I am, about to watch my fantasy become reality.
He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, just . . . incredible. I guess he looked incredible back then, too. I just didn’t feel right allowing myself to admit it when I knew he wasn’t mine. I must feel okay about it now, because holy crap. He’s beautiful. He carries himself with such confidence and I can definitely see why. His arms look as if they were built for the sole purpose of carrying a guitar. It molds to him so naturally, it’s as if it’s an extension of him. There isn’t a shadow of guilt clouding his eyes like there always was in the past. He’s smiling, like he’s excited for what’s about to happen. His enigmatic smile lights up his face and his face lights up the entire room. At least it seems that way to me. He glances over the audience several times as he makes his way toward his seat, but he doesn’t immediately spot me.
He takes a seat on the center stool, and Brennan sits to the left of him, Warren to his right. He signs to Warren, and Warren points at me. Ridge looks out into the audience and finds me. My hands are clamped over my mouth, and my elbows are propped up on the table. He smiles and gives me a nod and my heart crashes to the floor. I can’t smile or wave or nod back at him. I’m too nervous to move.
Brennan leans forward and speaks into the microphone. “We’ve got a few new songs—”
His voice is cut off when Ridge pulls the microphone away from him and leans in toward it. “Sydney,” Ridge says into the microphone, “some of these songs I wrote with you. Some of these songs I wrote for you.”
I can hear a small difference in the way he speaks now. I’ve never heard him say so much at once out loud. He also seems to enunciate a little more clearly than the few times he’s spoken to me in the past, like the subject in the photograph is slightly more in focus. It’s obvious he’s been working on it, and knowing he’s continued to talk out loud makes my eyes tear up without even having heard a song yet.
“If you aren’t ready to say the word, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll wait as long as you need me to. I just hope you don’t mind this interruption tonight.” He pushes the microphone away, then looks down to his guitar. Brennan leans into the microphone and looks at me.
“He can’t hear what I’m saying right now, so I’ll take this opportunity to tell you Ridge is full of shit. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. He wants you to say the word more than he wants air. So please, for the sake of all that is holy, say the word tonight.”
I laugh as I wipe a tear from my eye.
Ridge plays the opening chords to “Trouble,” and I finally realize why Warren made me wear this dress. Brennan leans forward and begins to sing, and I remain completely immobile as Warren signs every word to the song while Ridge keeps his focus on the fingers strumming his guitar. Watching the three of them together, seeing the beauty they can create from a few words and guitars, is mesmerizing.
Ridge
When the song ends, I look up at her.
She’s crying, but those tears are accompanied by a smile, and that’s exactly what I was hoping I would see when I looked up from my guitar. Seeing her for the first time since I kissed her good-bye has a far greater effect on me than I thought it would. I’m trying my damndest to remember what it is I’m here to do, but all I want to do is toss my guitar aside, rush to her, and kiss her crazy.
Instead, I keep my eyes trained on hers while I play another song she helped me write. I begin the opening chords to “Maybe Someday.” She smiles and clutches a hand to her chest while she watches me play.