Something About Sam

Chapter 28

           

As soon as I step off stage, I hear Ricky calling out to me. I turn around but keep walking backward towards my dressing room so I can change back into my clothes and hang out with Taite alone in my hotel room as soon as I possibly can. It's the only thing I have been thinking about for the past three hours. High, singing, and thinking about Taite. Like usual.

"What's up Rick?" I push open the door to my dressing room and he follows me in. He looks like he's here on some sort of mission, with his powerful stride and his wide amber eyes.

I'm definitely still a little hazy, so I don't really think anything of it when he grabs the front of my t-shirt in his hands. "God Sam," he says, like I've gone and done something horribly wrong or horribly right. "That was..." He shuts his eyes and finishes his sentence with a moan.

I am confused. "What was what?"

The show went well. I was relaxed. Ricky was great, like usual. My fans were absurd, like usual.

"Your song! Your fucking song!"

I know which one he's talking about, even though I played about 20 songs.

Each concert I play something-not-from-my-album to mix it up. I never know what I'm going to play until I am on stage, feeling the crowd and the energy. My band is prepped with pretty much everything I would want to sing, but if they aren't, I sing accapella.

Tonight, I sang Whitney Houston. I Have Nothing. I had been planning this one for a while. For the right night. For the right boy sitting front row.

Something in me bites back at Ricky, "What about my song?" Because it's not meant for him. If I had it my way, the only damn person in the audience would be Taite. The only person in the fucking universe would be Taite.

I don't get to hear what it is that stunned Ricky so much about my Whitney cover, because the door to my dressing room opens. We both look over to see Taite, MY Taite, standing there like a fucking angel. The fluorescent light from the hallway creates an idyllic glow around the outline of his body.

His blue eyes fall on Ricky's vice grip on my shirt. He burns red and stares at the wall, away from the two of us. "Sorry," he announces, but his tone suggests quite the opposite. "Didn't realize I was interrupting."

I pull myself out of Ricky's imposing grip to walk towards Taite. "You're never interrupting," my voice sounds dreamy and airy and exactly how I feel. I pause, mooning over him, over the way his creased forehead uncreases with each step I take towards him. I don't even look at Ricky when I say, "Mate, we'll catch you later." After a few seconds of Ricky not quite realizing mate is him, I glance over my shoulder and raise my eyebrows at him. He gets the hint, then mutters a quick bye to Taite and then the two of us are alone.

"So?" I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest nervously. I realize my high has worn off. I'm anxious again, overly anxious, like whenever Taite watches me preform. Or, you know, whenever I'm within a foot of him. "What'd you think?"

"Your Whitney cover, Sam..." he pauses to shake his head. His eyes are open wide, like Ricky's were. They're twinkling my favorite sky blue. I've been thinking about painting the ceiling of my room the exact same color. "I've never heard you sing like that."

He sounds like he isn't really there, like he's high too, or in another realm entirely. I've never seen Taite Jefferson without a firm head on his shoulders. I've never seen Taite Jefferson's eyes twinkle. I bite my lip, nervous again. "In a bad way or a good way?"

The corners of his mouth curl upwards. "An unbelievable way. That song was meant for you."

I shake my head. "No Taite. It was meant for you." And it was. Every single word.