Wicked Beat
Page 88

“Do you think you’ve got it?” he asked as he helped her play it for the tenth time.
“Yeah,” she said breathlessly. “How did you do that?”
“What?”
“Capture me in a piece of music.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just sort of came to me. Keep playing. I’ll add mine now.”
His left hand moved to a lower octave, and he joined her hesitant playing with a different melody. It sounded entirely different from hers. Still upbeat, but a little darker. It sounded like Eric. And when the two melodies were played together, they complemented each other perfectly.
“This is why we work together,” he said. “We’re different, but harmonious.”
She nodded in agreement, too awed to form words. The man really was a musical genius. He should be writing concertos and symphonies. No, she decided, he was where he belonged. He made Sinners’ music phenomenal and rocked millions.
She stopped playing her little string of notes and reached up to cup Eric’s cheek. He looked into her eyes. When she didn’t do anything but stare, he lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“Why don’t you take more credit?”
“Credit for what?”
“For writing Sinners’ music.”
“Because I don’t write it all. I arrange it.”
“What would they do with Brian’s disjointed solos and Sed’s words if it weren’t for you?”
“I’m sure they’d think of something.” He laughed. “It would probably sound like shit, but they’d think of something.”
“You’re a genius, baby, but you act—you act like a goofball most of the time.”
“Yeah, well, who wants to hang with a genius? Boring.”
“There’s nothing boring about you.”
“I have written a few things,” he said, avoiding her gaze.
“Really? Can I hear them?”
“They’re not ready yet.”
“Are they for Sinners’ new album?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. They’re more alternative rock than metal. Much too soft for Sinners.”
“I’d still love to hear them.” She grasped his hand.
He looked up and smiled. “Yeah?”
She nodded eagerly. “When they’re ready.”
He lowered his gaze, suddenly looking nervous. “You’re probably going to be mad at me for doing this,” he said, “but…”
He reached into the inner pocket of his vest and pulled out a little plastic bubble—the kind they filled with novelty “prizes” (aka junk made in China), so kids could hound their parents for quarters at grocery stores.
“Here.”
“What is it?”
“It took me nine tries, but I finally got one I liked,” he said. “Open it.”
She quirked an eyebrow and popped open the container. A small, black spider dropped into her hand. She shrieked and tossed it into the air before tipping backward and almost falling off the piano bench.
Eric grabbed her to save her from a certain concussion and released her only once she’d regained her balance. He retrieved the plastic spider from the piano keyboard and extended it in her direction. She cringed. Even though she could tell it was fake and part of a cheap plastic Halloween ring, it still gave her the willies.
“You don’t like it?” he asked.
“Did you expect me to?”
“It reminded me of the time I rescued you from the spider in the hotel shower. Remember that? It was the morning after our first time. The day I started believing that someone could love me for me. I thought your engagement ring should be significant in some way.”
“It significantly freaks me out,” she said. And then the enormity of his words sank in. “My engagement ring?”
He dug in his pocket and produced another plastic bubble. He took her hand and folded it around the novelty. “Maybe this one will be more to your liking.”
Her heart thudded. She was almost afraid to look. If another plastic spider tumbled into her hand, she was totally going to lose it. She shook the container slightly, and the prize inside rattled loudly. This one had some weight.
She popped the bubble open and a thick, platinum band tumbled into her palm. A full-carat princess-cut diamond seemed to be suspended in the ring’s setting by magic. She’d never seen such a unique yet beautiful ring in her life. It wasn’t too girly or too strong. It was just right. She looked at Eric, trembling so hard, she feared she’d need some of that CPR he used so capably.
“Oh…” she whispered.
“Do you like it?”
Unable to form words, she nodded. He released a breath of relief.
“Will you wear it?”
She nodded again.
“And you promise to marry me?”
Nod.
He took the ring from her hand and slid it onto her left ring finger. It felt heavy. And cold. And foreign. And substantial.
And real.
“Tomorrow?”
Tomorrow… She almost nodded, but changed her mind and shook her head. “After my MRI.”
“When’s that again?”
“In ten more days.”
“A ten-day engagement sounds just about right. I guess Brian’s record of three days still stands.”
Rebekah chuckled. “You guys compete over everything, don’t you? If you have your heart set on beating Brian, you can take the ring back and ask me again eight days from today.”
“I’d rather not,” he murmured and lowered his head to kiss her. “I’m too f**kin’ stoked that you accepted it to ever take it back.”
She gazed at the sparkling ring on her finger. Its beauty almost drew her attention from the grease under her fingernail. “I need to get my nails done. It’s so gorgeous, and my hands look terrible.”
“Your hands look perfect,” he said. He lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Perfect.”
Just beneath his lips, the diamond of her engagement ring sparkled in the light filtering through the curtains.
Her engagement ring. Engagement ring.
Rebekah’s vision blurred with tears. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart rate accelerated out of control.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asked breathlessly. “Why are you crying?”
She was crying? That would explain why her cheeks were wet and her nose was running. Why she couldn’t see his face or anything but smears of color. She squeezed her eyes shut.