Page 85 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
The chords play again, and I lift my eyes to meet Jett’s. They used to hold so much for me, but now I look at him and feel nothing.
So I close my eyes and think of Grady and feel everything.
“You are my shot in the dark.
The flame I can’t put out.
The dream I need to walk away from.
Because it’s myself I constantly doubt.
But you’re under my skin.
You’ve tattooed my soul.
The fate of my heart yours to control.”
The gravel of Jett’s voice fades, but I hum the ending again. Tears sting my eyes so I keep them closed past the last chord played and the room falls silent. It’s Grady I’m singing to, but when I open my eyes, it’s Jett’s eyes I meet. He’s staring so intensely that a lump forms in my throat, and I’m not sure why.
“Can you give us a minute?” Jett asks, not shifting his gaze as chairs scrape across the floor, instruments are put down, and the sound booth switch is turned off. When the door shuts behind the last person, he asks, “You okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“It’s weird being back in here, isn’t it?” His voice is soft, warm.
“It hasn’t been that long.” And mine is barely audible.
“He’s hurt you, hasn’t he?”
I keep my face impassive, at least I try to, and lower my eyes from his, aware enough to know Jett is the king of taking advantage of my emotions. “No. There’s nothing really to hurt. I’m getting over you, and he’s dealing with his own issues.” I tighten the strings on the neck of my guitar to busy myself. “We’re at the right place and the right time for each other.”
“Dylan, I don’t believe that for a second. I miss you. I miss us. Didn’t it feel weird walking into your house without me there? My stuff. The smell of my cologne. The music I always have on? I mean, look at us. Look at the music we’re making right now. You can’t do that if you don’t have a special connection with someone.”
It was weird walking into my house without Jett’s presence, but it was even more so when I realized it didn’t feel like a home the way Grady’s does.
“Jett, can we just get this song—?” And when I turn to look up, Jett is right there, in my space. His hand is on my cheek. His face is tilting forward. His breath is on my lips.
I close my eyes out of habit, and the minute his lips touch mine, I stand abruptly and shove my chair back with a clatter. “No,” is off my tongue as my chest heaves and heart twists and insides riot.
“Dylan. Babe . . .”
I stand in the empty studio—a place symbolic to us—and look at Jett. I see everything that is familiar to me. The everyday norm I used to have. I know what life is like with him—unpredictability and spontaneous chaos. A life-long party of insecurity and self-doubt.
And then I picture Grady. Shirt off. Eyes wary. Smile cocky.
You’re my shot in the dark.
He’s everything that is outside my box.
The flame I can’t put out.
He’s everything I want, and I know exactly what to expect.
The dream I need to walk away from.
The outcome is predetermined.
But you’re under my skin.
