A Brand New Ending (Page 37)

“Shots!” Ethan shouted. “Tequila.”

“We won’t be able to drive home,” he pointed out.

“We can walk, or there’s Uber.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You do your shots, and I’ll drive your ass home. Just get me a seltzer, okay?”

“Pussy.”

Kyle laughed.

Suddenly, a shout rang out and a couple began to argue quite loudly. He turned his head and watched a woman jump from the table and race outside, her girlfriends trailing behind her, shouting her name and insults at the schmuck who was left looking confused.

Yep, that song did it every time.

“Oh good, a table just opened up. I’ll grab it.” He took the two empty seats with a ruthless efficiency and sipped at his drink. The place was so packed, he could barely see the stage.

Maybe he’d be able to drag Ethan out after his shot.

He sat through a terrible version of Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust,” which reminded him why he’d stopped attending local karaoke, and drank his seltzer.

Thankfully, the song eventually ended. He glanced at Ethan. The shot glass was empty, and his friend was blinking way too rapidly, confirming he was officially hammered.

Poor Mia would have to deal with the aftereffects, but—

“Hi, everyone. I’m going to try to do this one justice, but if it sucks, just feel free to throw some peanuts at me.” Laughter filled the room along with encouraging applause.

Kyle frowned, the familiar voice ruffling his nerve endings. His gaze snapped to the front of the stage, still halfway blocked by the crowd.

“Do you recognize who’s singing?” he asked. “I can’t see.”

Ethan swiveled around, squinting. “It’s Ophelia.” A sloppy grin curved his lips. “Hey, Mia’s sitting over there.” He stood, cupped his hands around his mouth, and began yelling their names.

Kyle grabbed his arm and yanked his ass back in the seat. “They can’t hear you—text Mia. Stay here, Party Boy, and I’ll be back. I’m going to get closer.”

His heart hammered, and every muscle in his body tightened in anticipation. Slowly, as if in a dream, he weaved his way through the crowd until he scored a position to the right of the stage.

The opening strains of Adele’s famous song “Hello” belted from the large speaker, and the lyrics lit up on the screen in fluorescent green. But Kyle already knew she wouldn’t need to read the words. The song unfolded from her body, the first notes lingering in the air with a teasing promise that stirred the crowd’s curiosity. Rooted to the floor, he clenched his fist and prepared himself for what was to come.

Ophelia was going to sing.

His gaze drank her in. Even under the garish lights, she glowed with an inner joy that she always exuded when she sang. Her strawberry-blonde hair tumbled past her shoulders. The black jacket framed the curve of her breasts and hips. The short miniskirt indecently exposed a good portion of thigh, stopped by the edge of the sexiest black motorcycle boots he’d ever seen. Her fingers caressed the microphone, and her mouth hovered inches away, lush red lips damp from her tongue. Her blue eyes turned a smoky hue. She held them half-closed as she gave herself up to the song, practically seducing the audience with sensuality.

Fuck, she was beautiful. But her voice. How long had it been since she was in her element and got to use those gifted pipes?

The first lyrics fell into the air, the rich, husky undertone of her voice just hinting at what she would give them if they only listened. And in that tiny, overcrowded, loud bar, there was a sudden hush as everyone began to recognize that the woman who was singing was different.

The words started low in her belly and grew to a rising, booming entreaty straight from her heart. Threaded with sadness and a longing for a love already gone, she stared out into the crowd and gave it all to them—every emotion sprung open and unleashed—and they took it, reveled, savored.

The music faded until all that remained was the most haunting voice he’d ever heard, the smoky strains interweaved with such richness, it was as if he’d indulged in every vice imaginable: chocolate, champagne, caviar.

His gut twisted and his eyes stung as she moved into the final lines. She reached deep with her voice and let it explode before softly bringing it back down until it was a whisper. He wondered if the entire episode was a dream.

He watched as her head hung down in submission as the final notes lingered and fell silent. No one breathed. No one spoke.

Then she whipped her head back and gave the audience a dazzling smile, lifting up the microphone and doing a small bow.

An aching loss tore at his gut. Once, she’d sung for him, her face joyous, sharing not only her gift but also her full heart. She’d trusted him to take care of both in the vows they’d recited, and the way they’d loved each other.

But he hadn’t been there when she needed him the most.

He bent over and grabbed a chair to steady himself. The realization hit him like a freight train, and the ground shifted under his feet.

The words she’d confessed in the car a few nights ago suddenly held new meaning. She hadn’t left him because she was afraid of a singing career, or jealous over his success, or that she couldn’t handle the intensity of their relationship.

She had left because he’d stopped choosing her.

The cheers of the crowd rose to his ears—not only applause but also catcalls and hushed conversations about who she was. Was she famous, or from The Voice? He took it all in but was still unable to move. She’d done it again. She’d wrecked him and left him scattered into a million tiny pieces, wondering how he’d be whole without her.

Somehow, he had to let her know he finally understood.

Kyle stumbled forward in an effort to reach her.

Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, her gaze scanned the crowd, grazed over him, and swung quickly back.

Their eyes locked.

Recognition. Understanding. Remembrance.

Hunger.

Holding her gaze, he walked toward her. She met him halfway, stepping off the stage.

“You’re here.” It was a statement, holding so much more meaning than those simple two words.

His voice got stuck in his throat and came out hoarse. “Yes.” He drank in her face, reaching out to trail a finger down her cheek. “You were extraordinary.”

She had no time to respond. Bumped by the crowd, suddenly Mia and Harper and Ethan surrounded them, congratulating her and leading them back to their table. They chattered in excitement. Harper hugged her and Ethan ordered another shot in celebration, but all Kyle could see and hear and smell was her.

He felt drunker than Ethan. All of his senses jammed into high alert. He registered the slightest movement of her fingers, the cock of her hip, the way her lips parted and her tongue touched the very top of her teeth before she spoke. He wanted to soak himself in her essence and flavor.

If he didn’t get her out of this club right now, he was going to fracture into insanity.

Ethan hugged his sister and grinned proudly. “I can’t believe you did karaoke. You’re so cool, Tink.”

Mia and Ophelia laughed. “And you’re drunk, baby,” Mia announced.

“Just abalittle.”

“I’m feeling little pain myself,” Ophelia admitted. “That’s probably the only reason I got up there.”

“She guzzled an entire funnel of beer at Joe’s,” Harper said. “And we won fifty bucks.”