Page 141 of Sing For Me

I cross my fingers as I enter the numbers, hoping she hasn’t changed it, and sigh in relief when the gate swings open. Pulling into the driveway, I stare up at the house, remembering the first night I’d been here. How cold and impersonal the place had looked from this angle. And then the surprise of walking up those steps—how much light and beauty there was in her space. How lucky I had been to be able to see all of that, the stuff that was normally hidden from the rest of the world.

I pray to God I’ll be lucky enough to be let inside again.

Marissa answers the door, of course, and it’s everything I can do not to cower in fear. I could probably bench-press Eva’s tiny, terrifying little friend, but I’m pretty sure she’s capable of murdering me if she wanted to. And I know she’s efficient enough that she’d be able to hide all the evidence.

I can’t even blame her for the look of pure disgust and anger she fixes on me. I hurt her friend. She stares at me for a long moment before she finally purses her lips and steps aside.

“You better have your shit together now, Tattoo Boy.”

I feel a great rush of gratitude for this woman—not just because she let me in but because I would bet my shop that she’s been the one to pick up the pieces after I screwed everything up last week. She’s been taking care of my girl, just like she’s been doing since the fire, and I’m so damn grateful Eva has Marissa that I could hug her. But I restrain myself. One step at a time.

“She’s upstairs?”

Marissa nods. “I will be right here, listening closely, ready to kick your balls into your throat if you hurt her again.”

I swallow, legitimately scared by the threat. “Noted.”

The ache in my chest deepens when I climb the steps and see Eva’s place spread out in front of me. In the grand scheme of things, we didn’t have a lot of time together, but the time we did have was so damn good, and so many of those moments took place right here. I always felt like this house was a good representation of my girl—so bright and serene and beautiful—and that reminder of her smacks me right in the face. It smells like her, too, the lemon and sugar scent that always drove me crazy clinging lightly to the air.

God, I miss her.

I’m not surprised to see the outline of her back out on the deck. She’s leaning against the railing, watching the sunset paint the sky in pinks and oranges, just like she had that first night I’d been here. I’ve sketched her exactly that way so many times since then, trying and failing to capture her beauty. I’d pushed her too far that night, scaring her and making her retreat into the safety of mere friendship. I pray that I’ll be able to do better tonight.

Though at this point, I’d take friendship. I’ll take whatever this girl is willing to give me.

The sound of the sliding door has her turning, a brief expectant expression on her face, probably assuming she’ll see Marissa stepping through. When her eyes land on me, they widen immediately and I can hear her sharp intake of breath even over the sound of crashing waves down on the beach.

“Hey,” I murmur, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Marissa let me in.”

She just stares at me for a long moment, her expression impossible to read beyond the surprise that still lingers. Finally, she presses her lips together. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“I know. I should have called first but…” God, I hate how awkward this is. It’s never been awkward between us. “I wanted to talk to you,” I press on, forcing some strength into my voice. “I understand if you don’t want to hear what I have to say after the way I acted, but I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance.”

“A chance to what, Will?”

“A chance to explain.”

She studies me again, her gaze harder than before. “Are youreallygoing to explain? Or is it going to be more of the same vague shit about complications and—”

“I want to tell you everything.”

That stops her short. She searches my face for a long moment before she finally releases a long, shaky breath. “Fine.”

Relief floods me. I haven’t fixed this yet, not by a long shot, but at least I have a chance.