Page 109 of These Wicked Hearts

“Can I read it?”

“Okay, but if you take it, please let me know if you read it, because I’ll want to talk about it, and I get really enthusiastic. I’m warning you. I am a lot.”

I hear his warning, but a smile slips onto my face. “I have no doubt about that, hockey boy.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Atlas

I wake up and realize Gage’s heat is missing and only silence keeps me company in my room, so I get up and slip on a pair of sweats. Light filters in from down the hall. Then I hear it. The soft strum of his guitar.

Slowly, I make my way toward the sound and can’t help the smile that hits my lips when I hear his voice. Soft and warm like a hug. I can’t really make out the lyrics, because the guitar is muffling most of whatever he’s singing, and I can only see a sliver of his face, but his eyes are closed as he plays softly.

Then his eyes open and he sees me. “Oh, sorry. Was I loud? I was trying to be quiet.”

“No, I didn’t hear you until I came out.” I walk around the couch. “Are you okay?”

Gage looks up, but there’s something in his eyes that catches me. I’ve noticed it lately, and I don’t know if that’s because I’m just more aware of him or if something is chipping away at him. The hard lines of his face have softened.

His fingers move with ease against the guitar. “Yeah, I’m okay.” A quick smile flashes. “Just couldn’t sleep. I was in the mood to write something.”

“Can I join you?”

“It’s your house, babe.” Gage’s eyes snap up to me at the slip.

“Babe.” I grin. “Wow.

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, but I catch the smile. His fingers find the strings and start strumming again. The notes are soft, like he’s testing them out, afraid to commit fully.

“My friend would be so jealous of me right now.”

Gage’s eyes light with amusement. “The red-haired one?”

“Yeah, Knox. He’s a huge fan.” I shake my head. “If he only knew.” His eyes lift to mine. “Which he won’t, I promise. I’ll never tell anyone. No matter what.”

Gage doesn’t look at me, his focus on the guitar as he plays with the rhythm. Then he begins singing. It’s soft at first, his voice deep. He was powerful on stage, but here there’s something delicate about him. Something fragile in his voice.

“Have you written anything since you’ve been on break?”

Gage glances up, shaking his head. “Not really.”

I sit beside him and he looks up, then stands with his guitar in hand. “Move a little. Sit back.” I sit back against the couch, allowing Gage to sit inside my legs and lean back against my chest.

“When did you learn to play?”

“When I was nine. My foster dad had this old guitar and he let me practice.” He sits comfortably between my thighs. He looks so relaxed like this. I dare a little, wrapping one arm around his waist and resting it there while his head settles against my chest.

“I like your voice.”

Gage looks up at me.

“It’s deep and calming. Nice.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been listening to you before practices. Knox thinks that’s what’s fucking up my game.”

His brows scrunch “Why would it fuck up your game?”