Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,98

bit my lip to stave them off and gave her a half smile. “Hey, Mom?”

“Hmm?

“I love you. You’re the best person I know.”

“So are you, T. So are you.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I was definitely going to try to do the right thing.

My plan was ill-conceived and wonky at best, but the fever in me grew hotter with every passing moment, as if I’d combust if I didn’t see him…now. I hurried home, put my portable drum kit in the back of my truck and headed across town to the swankier side of WeHo. I parked in front of Declan’s condo, hefted the drum kit out, and set it up on the lawn. His neighbors were going to call the cops within five minutes or less. I had to make this good.

I knocked on the door. No answer.

Are you home? I typed.

No.

What the fuck? That wasn’t going to work.

I pressed Call.

“Where are you?” I asked in greeting when Dec answered.

“You’re calling me? Geez, are you okay? Is your mom okay?”

“I’m fine. So is my mom. Where are you?”

“On my way home. I had an ice cream craving.” He paused for a moment. “Why?”

“I, um…I want to see you.”

“I’m here. Turn around.”

My heart pounded. Fuck, he was beautiful. And he looked even better in the moonlight. I swallowed hard and met him in the middle of the lawn under an olive tree.

“Hi,” I said lamely.

“Hi.” Dec bit his bottom lip and raised the bag in his hand. “Rocky road. Want some?”

“No, thanks.” I tapped my sticks against my thigh and made a face. “No one likes rocky road. Why didn’t you get chocolate chip?”

“No one likes chocolate chip,” he teased.

“Now that’s just crazy talk.”

“You’re right. They were all out of the good stuff.” Dec smiled and gestured toward the drum kit. “Are you having a rummage sale?”

I gave a nervous laugh and moved to sit on the portable stool at the drums, playing it cool, as though sitting on your lover’s lawn in the dark at a drum set was totally normal. “I have something for you.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Drums didn’t have to be played loudly. They could be soft and subtle. Their job was to create rhythm, to regulate opposing elements…weak and strong, with timing. Timing was everything. And I had to get it right.

I cleared my throat once and hummed, then sang.

“I can’t find the magic when you’re not here. I’m so lost without you. But I believe in second chances. I have to believe it’s not too late to find the magic. Tell me it’s not too late to find the magic.”

I held his gaze and continued. Strong but low, purposeful but subtle. It was going well until he moved closer. When my rhythm faltered, I slipped my sticks into my back pocket and stood.

“That’s my song,” he said softly.

“I think it’s our song. I think I needed your words to get the rhythm right.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…I love you.”

He pursed his lips and smiled. “Yeah?”

“I always have. Always. Even when I didn’t want to. The way I feel about you scares me. It’s always been that way, but it’s stronger now than it ever was before. I have a hard time breathing when you walk into a room. I have a hard time remembering where I am or what I’m supposed to be doing when you’re near me. And when you’re not, I miss you.”

“Fuck, that’s romantic.”

I smiled. “I’m trying. I would have followed you to the moon when we were kids, Dec. I want so much more than that now.”

Dec closed the space between us and set his hand on my cheek. “What do you want?”

“You. Your smile, your laugh, your songs. I want to wake up next to you, dead tired ’cause you kept me up with your snoring and—”

“I don’t snore,” he chuckled.

“You do, and I wouldn’t change it. I want your secret looks and your top-five lists. I want to buy you a bath mat, carry your luggage…whatever you need. I want you…just you.” I covered his hand and brought it to my lips. “And I fucking love you so much it hurts.”

“I love you too.”

I crashed my mouth over his and held on tight as my world fell into place.

As we swayed under the stars, a sense of peace and rightness settled over me. Broken pieces reconnected, wounds mended…the way it was always meant to be. As if the moon were our spotlight and the night was our stage.