Don’t I know it. When I was seventeen I hit one and it was traumatizing. I cried, not for the ruined front end of the car, but for the poor deer who lost her life. When I called Dad sobbing, he thought I killed an actual person.
“I will,” I say in reply and he smiles, saying goodbye to the guys before heading out. Cannon, Fox, and Rush head out too, waving goodbye.
Fox pauses outside the door, giving Hollis an inquisitive look but Hollis waves him on. Fox’s eyes seem to narrow in warning and Hollis ignores him.
With a shake of his head, Fox disappears with the others.
“I really do have to clean up,” I tell Hollis.
He has his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders drawn forward. “I’ll help then.”
Between the two of us we make quick work of picking up the trash and then I wipe everything down with a disinfectant, getting rid of any traces of stickiness.
While I’m wiping down the counters Hollis excuses himself to prepare for whatever it is he’s going to show me. When I finish I wash my hands before entering the room.
I find Hollis in the booth at the upright piano and he waves me into the room.
“You play?” I ask as the door closes behind me.
He grins. “Shocked are you?”
“A little,” I admit.
“I learned piano before I realized I could sing. I kept having lessons though.”
“Your mom was encouraging then?”
He smiles fondly. “Oh yeah. She knew from the time I was a baby music was in my soul. She went without so I could have lessons. She’s always been proud of me, even when I feel like I don’t deserve it. Now sit.”
He scoots over, making room for me on the bench.
“I wrote a song the other day—normally Cannon writes our music or it’s a group effort, but … I was inspired.”
He wets his lips and those golden eyes focus on the keys beneath his long strong fingers. There’s something sensual about his hands. The veins running through them, the quiet strength they possess.
He begins to play, the sound of the piano bleeding into me. His fingers move across the keys quickly, creating a melody unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. I can’t help but think even my Aunt Emma, an incredible piano player, would be envious of his raw talent. I’ll have to ask him why he doesn’t play piano on any of
their songs.
Then, he opens his mouth and begins to sing and I know immediately the words, the passion, pain, and hope woven into them are about me.
“I don’t know how to prove this to you,
so I put pen to paper, my heart on my sleeve,
bleeding out for you. Here I stand, just a man telling you this is real.
This spark isn’t a flickering ember, it’s every star in the sky.
I’ll give you the world.
I’ll give you me,
if you just see this is real.
I’m here to stay, to make you mine.”
He turns then, his eyes connecting with mine. I wipe away the tears falling freely.