All I Ever Wanted Read online

  Although tonight, just managing to get all three members of the group onstage at the same time would probably be plenty to hope for. I stole a peek at my watch. The other two band members weren’t exactly returning quickly.

  When Dax and I were done with the setup and the initial sound check, we still had a half hour on our hands before the doors officially opened. Lots of people were already milling around outside though. More than there had been when the two guys had their fight. But I could hear snatches of gossip about it. Words spoken about Justin—or rather, “Jubb” or “Jubby,” as the townspeople kept calling him—and the mayor’s son, whose name was Kennedy Hale. There was no escaping their chirping.

  Couldn’t help but think about Samantha and the way this “sense of community” could cut both ways. Yeah, she was embraced by the citizens of Abbott Springs as one of their own, but people here were also trapped by whatever attitude the community had toward you. By whatever category they’d labeled you with years ago. If you had a nickname, like “Sami” or “Jubby,” it was yours forever. Probably why she preferred being called “Samantha” at school and why my buddy had always introduced himself as “Justin.” Period.

  I could see something else too. Something that made the unsettling feeling in my gut only grow larger. That I’d probably already caused some trouble for her in this town, just by showing up. That if I made a scene or was part of some rumor that was started and it involved her in any way, she wouldn’t be able to live it down. And because her family still lived here, the consequences would be lasting and inescapable.

  If I cared about her at all, I’d have to be on my best behavior for the rest of the weekend. No more kissing in public. No thought of repeating our night together in Cincinnati. No reveling in my own differentness. The good citizens of Abbott Springs didn’t picture some wild-looking outsider like me with someone sweet and local like her. Her brother and her dad had made that clear enough, but it was more than just her family who’d felt that way. I could see that now. Feel it in the suspicious looks leveled in my direction.

  It was quarter to nine and Justin and Everly still hadn’t returned. I glanced at my watch for the seven hundredth time and meandered toward the door to check the parking lot again. Before I got there, though, some jerk who looked like a twenty-year-old human sparkplug slammed into me. Hard.

  “Watch it, ya douche,” he said, all but foaming at the mouth. Must’ve already had about five beers too many tonight.

  I stepped back from him, decided the asshole wasn’t worth my time, and took a few more steps toward the door.

  “Hey, I heard about you,” he said loudly but not loud enough to make more than a few people even glance in our direction. It was chaotic in that barn.

  I stared at him for a sec and shrugged. Turned away again.

  “You’re the one sniffing around Sami Abbott.” He laughed when I stopped and faced him fully this time. “Like she’d go anywhere near some loser like you. Even if you are named after a president.”

  “Alexander Hamilton was our country’s first Treasurer,” I said coldly. “He wasn’t a U.S. President.” Too busy pulling the legs off insects during middle-school history class, perhaps? I mentally asked him.

  “Whatever.”

  I was saved from my overwhelming desire to slug the guy by Samantha, who entered the barn, saw me, and came rushing over.

  “Hey, Alex! Glad I found you before things got started.” She threw an arm around me and gave me a peck on my cheek. The dumbass stared at us, his mouth dropping open stupidly. “Oh, hey there, Leon,” she said to the guy, her tone noticeably cooler.

  “Uh, Sami,” he mumbled.

  She turned to me. “Can I sit near you while you do the sound for the show?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, putting my palm against her spine and guiding her toward the soundboard and away from that drunken idiot. Leon. It was all I could do not to flip him off behind Samantha’s back.

  Not that his opinion counted, but here was yet another example of how the townspeople had judged me and, at least in regards to Samantha, found me wanting.

  “So, are you going to teach me how it works?” She pointed to the various levers that were raised or lowered to get the desired sound quality from the instruments.

  “Sure,” I said. “But it’s a moot point until Everly and Justin show up.” I looked at my watch again. Only five minutes to nine.

  “They’re still not here?” she asked in alarm.

  I shook my head.

  “But I just saw them driving downtown a little while ago.” She pulled out her phone and started rapid-fire texting when I caught a glimpse of Everly’s distinctive hair and Justin’s determined stride as they both came racing through the front door.

  I nudged Samantha. “There they are.”

  We both let out the collective breath we’d been holding.

  Justin raised his hand at me in greeting, said a few private words to Dax, and helped Everly get situated on the stage. If someone hadn’t known about her twisted ankle, they wouldn’t have guessed. She looked as stable and as confident as always, standing in front of the crowd and waiting for the band’s inevitable introduction.

  The mayor tapped the mic and welcomed everyone to the music and dance portion of the Winterfest weekend. “And now, we have quite a group for you,” the mayor said, smiling indulgently at Everly, Justin, and Dax. But standing off to the side was his son—Kennedy—scowling at his father and shooting very serious looks at the band. Not surprising, I supposed, since less than two hours ago he’d wanted to pummel the guitarist. “Our very own Everly Abbott is back!” He paused while the crowd cheered. “Along with Jubb Cohen.” Again the crowd went wild. “And their drummer Dax Williams. Together, they are Infernal Contradiction!”

  The audience clapped and there were some catcalls, but several people also shouted out the band’s actual name: “Internal Insurrection!”

  Not sure this correction was of any use when it came to the mayor; he’d already moved on and was busy shaking hands with some men near the entrance. His son, though, looked both embarrassed and pained, but he kept his eyes focused on the stage. On Everly in particular. Interesting.

  Everly smiled at the audience and enunciated very clearly into the mic, “Hi, we’re Internal Insurrection.” Her grin brightened as the crowd packed inside the barn laughed. “And we’re gonna play some songs for you. Hope you’ll like them.” They immediately launched into a cover of a Green Day tune while I made a few tweaks to the soundboard, trying to drive away any residual feedback.

  Samantha watched me with interest and, if I guessed right from her expression, a little admiration too. But she wasn’t the only one paying attention to me. Even in the role of a glorified stagehand, any guy hanging with a band would get a lot of looks from single women. I wasn’t usually displeased with that—it made hook-ups easy, when I had that desire or when I was lonely—but I was here with the only woman I wanted to spend time with tonight. Had no plans to encourage the advances of anyone else.

  For a handful of songs, everything seemed to be going smoothly at last. The nineties covers the band played were well received, the sound controls were all at a decent level for the instruments and the size of the venue, and Samantha was sitting beside me, smiling. Giving off rays of happiness. I liked to see that, and she wore it well.

  Then Justin started playing a different song. One that wasn’t a cover of any other band’s big hit. I’d heard it once before; it was a song he’d written himself. A good one.

  The vibe onstage changed.

  And so did Justin’s facial expression.

  He didn’t even get to the end of the final chorus before the music abruptly stopped. For a second, I was confused. I thought maybe there was a problem with the connection of his guitar amp to the soundboard. I checked the jack to see if the plug had been accidentally pulled out.

  But when I looked up at him again, he wasn’t fiddling with the guitar plugs or cords. He was leaving
. He’d set his Fender on the stand and was literally stomping off the stage area and heading outside.

  Dax was gawking at him, drumsticks suspended in midair. Everly stared at his retreating form and then faced the suddenly silent crowd with a stunned look on her face. She was absolutely frozen. Never seen her so shocked before.

  Next to me, Samantha gasped and said, “Oh, no. Oh, no! Someone needs to do something. Now.”

  Yeah, someone does, I thought. And it would be least disruptive if that someone were me.

  “Just keep an eye on the board,” I murmured to her. “Don’t let anyone walking by mess with the settings and we should be okay.” Then I sprinted up to the stage, grabbed Justin’s guitar, and gave it a quick practice strum.

  Everyone in the barn—Everly and Dax included—turned their gaze on me as the electrified sound rang out. The two other band members were still motionless and mute, but the crowd had begun to twitter with expectation.

  Well, hell. Here goes nothin’.

  “We got one more song for you all tonight,” I said into my buddy’s mic. “Justin knows I like to play this one. Hope you’ll enjoy hearing it.” And with that, I launched into a fairly faithful rendition of Semisonic’s “Closing Time.”

  Dax caught on right away and seamlessly added in the drums, and the crowd got into it—swaying along with the melody, some holding up their beers and singing, especially when I got to the line about a last call for alcohol. I saw more than one guy down the rest of his drink in a single slurp.

  Everly got a little color back in her face, but she didn’t recover enough to sing again. I focused on the crowd on her behalf, though, engaging them and encouraging even more audience participation. When I sang that part about knowing who I wanted to take me home, I got some loud wolf whistles from ladies in the front few rows. Grinned at ‘em. Made sure they felt seen and heard. It was what I always needed to do so the audience could really feel that connection. And Everly sent me such a grateful look that I knew I’d made the right call.

  When we finished the song, I thanked the crowd for coming out and mentioned all of the names of the band members again—even Justin’s, though he was still nowhere to be found—and let the people in the barn clap for the trio.

  One of the women near the front shouted, “What’s your name, hot stuff?”

  “I’m Alex,” I said simply. Then, because I caught a glimpse of Samantha standing by the soundboard, staring thoughtfully at me, I added, “This is my first time in Abbott Springs, but I’ve found lots of good things here already. Hope you’ll all pick up a few treats at Abbott’s Sweet Confections this weekend. They’re delicious!”

  I had the satisfaction of seeing Samantha grin and blush a little. Yeah, not just talkin’ about the cupcakes, sweetheart.

  “Goodnight, all!” Dax said into his mic.

  Everly nodded at me appreciatively. Then she hollered, “Thank you, Abbott Springs,” into her mic, jumped off the stage, and promptly disappeared.

  “What the hell was wrong with Cohen?” the drummer whispered as the DJ hired for the Winterfest Dance started to spin a nineties Matchbox Twenty tune to help transition the crowd from the band’s songs to his own dance mix. “Why’d he walk off?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, “but I can help you get the equipment back into the van so you won’t have to wait for the other two. God knows when they’ll come back.”

  “Yeah,” Dax said. “Thanks, man, for stepping up tonight. You saved us with that song. I don’t think most of the people even realized we were supposed to keep playing for another fifteen minutes.”

  “No prob,” I said before I motioned to Samantha that I was helping Dax with the instruments and amps. She nodded that she’d wait for me. Nice.

  I saw her get caught up in a conversation with a few locals and kept an eye out to make sure that lowlife—Leon—didn’t get anywhere near her or try to hit on her. But he seemed to have left, and anyway, it didn’t take long for us to get most of the equipment loaded into Dax’s van.

  When we were outside, though, I felt a slim pair of arms wrap around my body and a soft puff of breath on my neck. “Hey, handsome.”

  It was a woman, but it wasn’t Samantha. I detangled myself from her grip and turned around.

  “Hi,” she said, grinning. “Wanna dance?” She pointed to the entrance to the barn, just a few yards away.

  Dax took one look at her (objectively speaking, she was pretty hot), waggled his eyebrows at me, and went inside to gather the last of his belongings. “Have a good night, man,” he called to me as he left me alone with the blond babe. Not what I wanted.

  “What’s your name?” I asked her carefully, taking a few more steps toward the barn and away from her.

  “Heather.” She closed the distance between us. “I’m not from here. I’m from Clarington.” She paused. “You’re not from here either, Alex. I heard you say so onstage.”

  “True.”

  “So dance with me. No one’ll care.”

  The DJ was playing “Better Days” by the Goo Goo Dolls. The sound poured out of the building and into the chilly night.

  “I’m here with someone,” I told her. “Thanks anyway though.” I walked into the barn and scanned the room for Samantha.

  But Heather was persistent. She pulled a business card and a pen out of her small purse and scribbled something on the back of it. “Then dance with me at my hotel. The Sun Dial Inn on the western edge of town. I’m in room number eight.” She winked and stuffed the card into my front jeans pocket, her fingers lingering there for too long. Then she turned and flitted away.

  It wasn’t until she’d finally disappeared into the crowd that I spotted Samantha leaning against one of the back walls and gazing at me with a laser focus.

  “Well, this evening has kinda taken a weird turn,” I admitted when I reached her.

  “You mean Jubby running offstage, you playing a song that made you look like a rock star tonight in Abbott Springs, or getting hit on by some random blonde?”

  I laughed. “All of the above.”

  “Yeah. But you were amazing up there. Really impressive, Alex.” She smiled, but I couldn’t help but feel a wave of sadness. I wanted to cheer her up.

  “If Everly hadn’t looked so shaken, I might’ve played a few other tunes. There’s one song in particular I’ve had spinning over and over in my head this weekend. Something new I’m writing. A song you inspired.” I paused to gauge her reaction.

  Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

  “Yep. I’m still working out a few transitions, but it’s getting there. I can send you an MP3 file of it when I’m done.”

  “I’d rather just hear it live,” she countered. “Tonight.”

  “Oh, I don’t think Dax is still—” I looked around in hopes of seeing him. “Pretty sure he left, and he had Justin’s guitar in his van. So…” I shrugged. “Can’t play it now. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you have your own guitar with you? I thought you brought one here.”

  “To Abbott Springs, yes. Not to the barn. Mine is back at the B&B.”

  “So, okay then,” she said, studying me with those watchful blue eyes. “Let’s go there.”

  I exhaled. Slowly. “Listen, Samantha. I’ve had a chance to get a solid look at your town these past two days, and you’ve got a lot of people here who are real protective of you. Half of them are maybe just looking for gossip or to stir up trouble, but the other half are trying to make sure no one hurts you. I don’t wanna cause you any problems, okay? It’s getting late, and well, we should probably—”

  “Go to bed,” she finished for me, her voice low.

  I nodded. This was the best thing to do, I told myself. The best thing for her. Though, God, I wanted her. So. Damn. Much. I could taste the wanting. Feel it in my fingers. If I touched her, the electricity would leave scorch marks.

  “Then we’d better do that.” She leaned close and whispered, “At your B&B.” She snatched her fluffy pink
coat and slipped it on. “Time for you to take me to bed, Alex,” she added, her expression so determined I didn’t dare to contradict her. “Right now.”

  Sami

  I could feel myself falling for him.

  Watching him onstage brought back that wild rush of desire I’d felt when I first saw him in the fall. It was magical to me the way he belonged there. He didn’t have to pretend to be anyone else. The way he could connect to a crowd was like a zap of pure lightning—whether he was performing with the White Knights, stepping up to join Internal Insurrection, or I imagined, just standing in the spotlight himself in front of a live audience.

  I wanted to see him alone onstage and be his live audience. An audience of one. I wanted that connection with him. With only him.

  He was silent when we walked up the stairs and into his room at the B&B.

  “You don’t really want me to play now, do you?” he asked, flipping on one small light in the cozy room and standing in front of me, waiting, watching.

  “I do,” I said. “You promised me a song. A song before bed.” The best kind of foreplay ever.

  He smiled this funny half grin, almost as if he could read my mind. But all he said was, “Okay. Have a seat. Let me pull out my guitar.”

  I sat on an ottoman, resting my head on the back of my hands and my elbows on my knees. He plugged the guitar’s cord into a small travel amp and fiddled with a few knobs, looking strangely uncomfortable at the idea of being watched. Whatever awkwardness there may have been disappeared completely, though, as soon as he began to play and sing:

  “There’s a stranger who walks

  Between silent worlds she stalks

  A thread linking life with fantasy…

  At home there she finds

  Solace, dreams, peace of mind

  And a story about us…one that’s all about us.”

  My eyes began to tear up as I listened to him. He was honoring me with these lyrics, making them about my secret world, making himself a part of it too. And though the tune was slow, soft, and haunting, it built to a chorus about “amethyst veils and frosted hearts” that made my daydreams and my real life merge together in poetry. I didn’t want him to stop but, of course, he did. The song had to end sometime.