Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“You came to me
Cracked and worn
Strong and fierce
Needing something
With nothing to give”
Ian sang a new song, closing his eyes, gripping the microphone, face wrought with pain.
Jersey glanced around to see if any of the crew looked at her, but they didn’t. They watched their guy make love with his voice—his lyrics—to thousands of fans. A single spotlight shone on him, making it feel incredibly intimate as he sang an acoustic song with just the raw notes of Bryson on the piano.
“Are you the beginning
Or are we the end
Who will love the unlovable
Who will make something of nothing
Who will cry for you when you’re gone
Let it be me
Let me be the one
The one who cries for you
Let my hand guide you
Let my heart love you
Everyday I’d miss you
Let it be me
Let me be the one”
Jersey sucked in a shaky breath, shoving her hands into her pockets as she blinked back an onslaught of emotions. Anger being the strongest emotion. Why did he sing those words?
“When there’s nothing left to say
And surrender finds its way
When trust is all that remains
And you give in to your fear”
Ian turned his head, gripping the mic close to his lips while ensnaring Jersey’s gaze. He held it hostage, along with her breath and next heartbeat.
“Let it be me
Let me be the one
The one who cries for you
Let my hand guide you
Let my heart love you
Everyday I’d miss you
Let it be me
Let me be the one”
He repeated the chorus again. The venue fell silent before the last line. Eerily silent. Then he sang the last five words alone, bringing everyone to their feet, hands in the air clapping, screaming, shaking the entire venue.
Ian grinned. “Thank you, Liverpool! I hope you liked my new song, ‘Unloved.’”
Just as Jersey swiped at an errant tear, Ian glanced her way again. She hated that he saw it.
Unloved.
“I’m nothing…” she whispered “…insignificant … forgettable … no one would miss me if I died. No one would look for me if I were lost. No human has ever cried for me.”
“I am unloved.”
After his final song, he took the bottled water from Max in one hand and laced the fingers of his other hand with Jersey’s, leading her down the stairs to the green room.
“You hungry?” He released her hand and shrugged off his sweaty shirt, slipping on a dry one.
“Coop …” she whispered.
He glanced up, zipping his bag.
“It’s me. You wrote that song for me. I am unloved.” It hurt to say those words. In front of thousands of people, he exposed every single one of her insecurities. Could she kill her greatest weakness?
He hiked his bag over his shoulder and closed the distance between them with calculated steps. On a long inhale, he bit his lips together and nodded. “Yes. I wrote that song for you.” Leaning down, he pushed her hair away from her ear and brushed his lips across it. “But no, you’re not unloved.”
Jersey’s fingers curled into the hair on the back of his head, holding him close so he couldn’t see her reaction. He kissed her neck just below her ear, and she blinked away the rush of vulnerability.
On the way back to the hotel, Jersey gave her attention to the streets of Liverpool. Ian squeezed her hand every few minutes. She remained still, not squeezing back, not looking at him, not uttering a word.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled without a glance, without a single blink.
The lie hung in the air between them, making it hard to breathe.
“Have you ever done something really horrible?” she murmured.
When he didn’t answer, she turned her head, studying his pensive expression through the shadows and flashes of night lights flickering through the windows. His brows pulled inward as he nodded slowly.
She forced a swallow in spite of the desert in her mouth. “How horrible?”
Ian’s gaze shifted to the front seat. He never seemed to care about Shane’s presence, often talking about anything without concern. He clearly trusted Shane, until that moment.
Jersey didn’t push him, fearing he might clam up. She had him where she needed him. He all but said the words “I love you.” If he meant it, he would tell her everything. She had little knowledge of love, but the part of her that could imagine it believed it was all or nothing.
At the hotel, Ian locked himself in the bathroom, turning on the shower, leaving Jersey and her question without any sort of acknowledgment. After concerts, he rode an adrenaline high, and they barely made it to the room before he was deep inside of her, half naked, and insane with need.
She liked that Ian, riding the high with him, feeling so wanted—so needed. But that Ian was nowhere to be found. Had she already lost him?
Nick arrived with food, much earlier than Jersey was used to seeing him. It’s as if he knew Ian wasn’t fucking her against every surface of the hotel room.