Page 17 of Embracing the Beat
“Kids can be mean. It was a long time ago.”
“Not that long ago. It shouldn’t have gone undiagnosed for so long. Someone should have caught it. One of your teachers along the way should have noticed something sooner and asked questions. Something.” He breathes deeply, his words bitten out with more passion than when he talks about teaching—and he’s usually very passionate about teaching.
“West, it’s okay. I was only trying to explain my connection with music. I don’t want you to be upset.”
I squeeze his knee in comfort. He brings his hand up, covering mine until he fully interlaces my fingers with his.
“Sorry.” His embarrassment is clear, and I tighten my fingers around his.
“You don’t need to be sorry. I just wanted to tell you.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he murmurs. “Your voice is incredible.”
I huff and try to pull my hand back, embarrassed by his earnestness, but he holds on.
“You don’t need to flatter me. My voice is okay, but nothing spectacular.”
“You don’t think so? You got a record contract,” he responds. “What’s it like being a famous rock star?”
“I’m not—” I nearly tell him that I’m not famous, but the way he’s looking at me—with pride, wonder—locks the words in my throat.
“You’re not…?”
“I’m not that famous,” I tell him quickly, taking a drink to hide my discomfort. I should have just told him the truth. “Besides, lots of people get record contracts and never make it.”
“Never make it? You were just on tour.” His eyebrows knit in confusion, and my stomach nosedives.
“Yeah, but—” Yet again, the words push at my lips, ready to admit how not-famous I really am.
“But what?”
“They…they weren’t that big. Small venues.”
Can I call those bar floors venues?
He opens his mouth with a reply, but a server interrupts.
“Refills?”
West turns to me, and I nod before he orders a second drink for us.
“Why history?” I ask after the server leaves, desperate to change the subject from my fabricated fame.
He finishes what’s left of his whiskey before answering.
“I’ve always loved it. We grew up in this city where all this history happened—”
“I’ve seen National Treasure many times thanks to you,” I say seriously, teasing him.
He pokes me in the side, and I squirm away. “Funny girl. Yes, National Treasure is still my favorite movie. But Philadelphia is almost four hundred years old. A lot of history exists in our hometown.”
“But you moved away.” I remember when Sawyer told Mom and Dad about West moving. He hadn’t been back long from a deployment in Afghanistan—his last one. “You broke Sawyer’s heart.”
“Pittsburgh was not my choice,” he says with a grimace. “Ashley is from there and wanted to move back.”
“Your fiancée. You moved for her?”
“Yep.” His lips form a thin line before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The silence, so comfortable with him before, is awkward. “I wouldn’t have chosen to move away on my own.”
