I rounded the stage corner and climbed the stairs as I went over what I was going to say in my mind. It’s dark and I had to feel my way along the wall until I found the door to the prop room. It was open slightly, like it didn’t close right. When I looked down, I saw why. The rubber flap on the bottom of the door folded under and held it in place. Pushing through, I stood on the upper-landing ready to flip on the lights when I heard someone singing and the soft sound of a guitar.
The basement was normally pitch black, but there was a small burst of light cutting through the darkness. It was too dim to do anything but cast a narrow beam of golden light. Pulse pounding, I slowly felt my way down the stairs. Music drifted up softly and when he began to sing my heart twisted. It was that song by Day Jones. The melancholy tune, the longing in his voice, the way he played the guitar, the way his voice resonated on certain notes... A shiver ran down my spine as I came to the lower landing. The only thing separating us were the flats stacked next to the stairs.
My stomach twisted wildly as I stepped off the landing. Each note sank into me. Each word he sang pierced me whole. It made me move slower, breathe slower. It was like this wasn’t happening, like it couldn’t be real.
I stepped out from behind the flats and stared. It looked like the video. A guy sat in pitch black with a single light behind him. His head was bent forward, his fingers moving gently, strumming the instrument as he sang. He played a few more bars, singing softly before he noticed I was there. Suddenly, he gasped and looked up, startled.
I could barely breathe.
Trystan looked at me with those haunted sapphire eyes. “Mari,” he said, his voice a rush of air. Rising off the stool, Trystan lowered the guitar from his lap. Yellow light poured from the music stand behind him. Handwritten music pages were spread across it like he’d been composing something.
“You’re Day Jones,” I whispered, pressing my fingers to my lips. Shock ratcheted through my body. Trystan didn’t deny it. He stood there, beautiful and devastated, with his guitar at his side.
THE SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT
Vol. 2
Coming Fall 2012
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MORE BOOKS BY
H.M. WARD
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H. M. Ward, Collide
(Series: The Secret Life of Trystan Scott # 1)
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