Second Chance Summer (Chance #1)(16)
Author: Emma Hart

Hold me tight, look in my eyes,

It’s all you, you, you, it’s you.

My words fade out with the chords of the guitar, and a tear drops to the wood. I swipe at my cheeks, relaxing my hold on the guitar with my other hand. I remember writing that song last summer after Reese dared me to write a song that reminded him of us.

“I bet you can’t write a song about us,” he’d challenged me.

“Is that a dare?” I raised my eyebrows in response, smiling a little.

“You bet it is.” He grinned, leaning forward. He propped his chin on his hands and watched me intently.

“I’ll write a song,” I replied, tapping my guitar with my fingers. “I’ll have it done by the weekend.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “Really.”

I went away that night, and for the next three days I worked hard on a tune and the lyrics. When I had it I called him, and we agreed to meet in the tree house in my yard at midnight.

I was sitting and waiting for him when his head popped into the tree house.

“Let’s hear it,” he ordered, pulling himself up. “See if you really have done it.”

I grinned then, a big grin. He settled himself back against the tree trunk that the house was built around, and fixed his eyes on me.

I began to play, letting the music fill the wooden shack softly, and started to sing in time. My eyes closed, and I lost myself in the music.

When I stopped singing, Reese’s strong hands pried the guitar from my fingers. I opened my eyes to find him setting the guitar down gently. He turned back to me, crawling across the tree house floor.

“You did it,” he murmured, sitting in front of me and pulling me into his lap. I wrapped my legs around his waist, hooked my hands behind his neck, and nodded.

“I told you I would.”

His hands ran slowly up my back, his fingertips drawing soft patterns. “Is that really what you think about us?” His eyes searched mine, looking for whatever I’d been hiding for the last five weeks.

I let my lips curl up to the side a little. “Song lyrics are the words your soul is too afraid to say.”

His lips curved upwards into the biggest smile I’d ever seen him, and he pulled me even closer to him. His lips closed over mine, taking them in a searing kiss, and I knew that kiss was all the words his soul was too afraid to say.

As his tongue met mine, he lifted me up, and laid me backward, resting my head on the cushions I’d been sitting on. He lowered his body on top of mine, one of his hands traveling the length of my body. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him to me, and kissed him with everything I had.

I shake my head, banishing the memory from my mind, and rest my guitar upright against the tree. I look up at the tree house.

Dad built it when I was six, saying I needed some of my own space. Mom had argued that I had my own bedroom and that I was a little girl, therefore I had no need for a dirty tree house. I’d pulled on a pair of pants and sneakers and asked Dad when we were building it. He’d ruffled my hair, laughed, and I’d spent the next two days in the yard with him building it.

In thirteen years, the tree house has changed from a place to have tea parties with dolls, to a place for my teenage dreams to form, to the solace I find in it now. It’s all that’s left that’s really mine. My dad isn’t mine, and my mom belongs to the alcohol she so loves. The tree house and the music are all I have, and I hold onto them tight.

A part of my mind perks up, reminding me I could have Reese, and I bury it away. No – I can’t have Reese. The music is the one constant I have, the one thing I can hold onto with the confidence it’ll never leave me. It’s inanimate, but gives me purpose. It gives me an escape.

But Reese… Each look makes my heart race and every touch sends me crazy, but eventually one of us would have to let go. Because eventually, everyone we love will leave us. My parents taught me that. One day, I would have to let him go.

I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to do that again. I’m not sure if I could walk away from him another time.

“I know that look.”

I look away from the treehouse in his direction. He’s leaning against the porch casually, his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles.

“Do you ever actually work? ‘Cause you just keep on poppin’ up here, and I’m starting to wonder if you’re actually stalking me.”

He laughs. “No stalking. I promise. And yeah, I work most of the time. It’s quiet today, so I got the afternoon off.”

“You spend more time out of that place than in.”

“Maybe, but this isn’t a bad alternative to spend my afternoon.” He grins, and my stomach flutters a little.

“How do you know I’m not busy?” I challenge, raising my chin defiantly. He shakes his head, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter, and strolls across my yard.

“The only busy you are right now is playing that guitar, and you already know I could listen to you sing all day.” He grabs the guitar. “So I’m just gonna get a tan here in your yard while you sing to me.”

My lips curve upwards. “What if I don’t want to sing to you?”

His fingers move across my guitar softly, and he sits down, positioning it in his lap. “Then I’ll sing to you.”

I laugh out loud, swinging a little. “You can’t sing or play guitar, Reese.”

“Wanna bet?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah. You used to look at my guitar like it was an alien or something.”

“That was a year ago. I’ve learnt a few things since then.”

“Go on, then. Surprise me and sing to me.”

“Serenade you,” he corrects, pulling his shirt off. “I do serenading.”

“How did you work that out?”

“I’m a guy singing to a girl.”

“Aren’t guys supposed to serenade outside bedroom windows late at night?”

“Are they?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then this is a half-assed serenade.” He shrugs and I laugh again.

“Okay… But do you really need to be shirtless to do that?”

Reese looks at me from under his lashes as he gets comfy. “How else am I gonna get my tan?” he challenges.

I smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier than Reese Pembleton holding my guitar, shirtless.

Jesus, I contradict myself at every turn.

He gets his hand ready, and his eyes burn into mine. “Don’t hate me,” he whispers, playing the first chords of the song.