Oh, wow. Ridge is absolutely right. I wrote these lyrics weeks ago, long before I knew about Hunter and Tori.
I lean back against the headboard and open my laptop again.
Me: Okay, you win.
Ridge: It’s not a competition. Just trying to help you see that maybe this breakup is exactly what you needed. I don’t know you very well, but based on the lyrics you wrote, I’m guessing you’ve been craving the chance to be on your own for a while now.
Me: Well you claim not to know me very well, but you seem to know me better than I know myself.
Ridge: I only know what you told me in those lyrics. Speaking of which, you feel like running through them? I was about to compile them with the music to send to Brennan and could use your ears. Pun intended.
I laugh and elbow him.
Me: Sure. What do I do?
He stands and picks up his guitar, then nods his head toward the balcony. I don’t want to go out on that balcony. I don’t care if I was ready to leave Hunter, I sure wasn’t ready to leave Tori. And being out there will be too much of a distraction.
I crinkle my nose and shake my head. He glances across the courtyard at my apartment, then pulls his lips into a tight, thin line and slowly nods his head in understanding. He walks over to the bed and sits on the mattress next to me.
Ridge: I want you to sing the lyrics while I play. I’ll watch you so I can make sure we’re on the same page with where they need to be placed on the sheet music.
Me: No. I’m not singing in front of you.
He huffs and rolls his eyes.
Ridge: Are you afraid I’ll laugh at how awful you sound? I can’t HEAR YOU, SYDNEY!
He’s smiling his irritating smile at me.
Me: Shut up. Fine.
He sets the phone down and begins playing the song. When the lyrics are supposed to come in, he looks up, and I freeze. Not because I’m nervous, though. I freeze because I’m doing that thing again where I’m holding my breath because seeing him play is just . . . he’s incredible.
He doesn’t miss a beat when I skip my intro. He just starts over from the beginning and plays the opening again. I shake myself out of my pathetic awe and begin singing the words. I would probably never be singing lyrics in front of anyone one-on-one like this, but it helps that he can’t hear me. He does stare pretty hard, though, which is a little unnerving.
He pauses after every stanza and makes notes on a page. I lean over and look at what he’s writing. He’s putting musical notes on blank sheet-music paper, along with the lyrics.
He points to one of the lines, then grabs his phone.
Ridge: What key do you sing this line in?
Me: B.
Ridge: Do you think it would sound better if you took it a little higher?
Me: I don’t know. I guess we could try.
He plays the second part of the song again, and I take his advice and sing in a higher key. Surprisingly, he’s right. It does sound better.
“How did you know that?” I ask.
He shrugs.
Ridge: I just do.
Me: But how? If you can’t hear, how do you know what sounds good and what doesn’t?
Ridge: I don’t need to hear it. I feel it.
I shake my head, not understanding. I can maybe understand how he’s taught himself to play a guitar. With enough practice and a good teacher and maybe a ton of studying, it’s possible for him to play as he does. But that doesn’t explain how he can know which key a voice should be in and especially which key sounds better.
Ridge: What’s wrong? You look confused.
Me: I AM confused. I don’t understand how you can differentiate between vibrations or however you say you feel it. I’m beginning to think you and Warren are trying to pull off the ultimate prank and you’re only pretending to be deaf.
Ridge laughs, then scoots back on the bed until his back meets the headboard. He sits up straight and holds his guitar to his side. He spreads his legs, then pats the empty spot between them.
What the hell? I hope my eyes aren’t open as wide as I think they are. There’s no way I’m sitting that close to him. I shake my head.
He rolls his eyes and picks up his phone.
Ridge: Come here. I want to show you how I feel it. Get over yourself, and stop thinking I’m trying to seduce you.
I hesitate a few more seconds, but the agitation on his face makes me think I’m being a little immature. I crawl forward, then turn around and carefully sit in front of him with my back to his chest but with several inches between us. He pulls the guitar in front of me and wraps his other arm around me until he’s holding it in position. He pulls it closer, which pushes me flush against him. Ridge reaches down to his side and picks up his phone.
Ridge: I’m going to play a chord, and I want you to tell me where you feel it.
I nod, and he brings his hand back to the guitar. He plays a chord and repeats it a few times, then pauses. I grab my phone.
Me: I felt it in your guitar.
He shakes his head and picks up his phone again.
Ridge: I know you felt it in the guitar, dummy. But where in your body did you feel it?
Me: Play it again.
I close my eyes this time and try to take this seriously. I’ve asked him how he feels it, and he’s trying to show me, so the least I can do is try to understand. He plays the chord a few times, and I’m really trying hard to concentrate, but I feel the vibration everywhere, especially in the guitar pressed against my chest.
Me: It’s hard for me, Ridge. It just feels like it’s everywhere.
He pushes me forward, and I scoot up. He sets the guitar down, stands up, and walks out of the bedroom. I wait for him, curious about what he’s doing. When he comes back, he’s holding something in his fist. He holds his fist out, so I hold up my palm.
Earplugs.
He slides in behind me, and I scoot back against his chest again, then put the earplugs in. I close my eyes and lean my head back against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me and picks up his guitar, pulling it against my chest. I can feel his head rest lightly against mine, and the intimate way we’re seated suddenly registers. I’ve never sat like this with someone I wasn’t seriously dating.
It’s odd, because it seems so natural with him. Not at all as if he’s got anything other than music on his mind. I like that about him, because if I were pressed up against Warren like this, I’m positive his hands wouldn’t be on the guitar.
I can feel his arms moving slightly, so I know he’s playing, even though I can’t hear it. I concentrate on the vibration and focus all my attention on the movement inside my chest. When I’m able to pinpoint exactly where I feel it, I bring my hand to my chest and pat it. I can feel him nod his head, and then he continues playing.
I can still feel it in my chest, but it’s much lower this time. I move my hand down, and he nods again.
I pull away from him and turn around to face him.
“Wow.”
He lifts his shoulders and smiles shyly. It’s adorable.
Me: This is crazy. I still don’t understand how you can play an instrument like this, but I know how you feel it now.
He shrugs off my compliment, and I love how modest he is, because he clearly has more talent than anyone I’ve ever met.
“Wow,” I say again, shaking my head.
Ridge: Stop. I don’t like compliments. It’s awkward.
I set down my phone and we both move back to the laptops.
Me: Well, you shouldn’t be so impressive, then. I don’t think you realize what an incredible gift you have, Ridge. I know you say you work hard at it, but so do thousands of people who can hear, and they can’t put together songs like you can. I mean, I can maybe understand the whole guitar thing now that you’ve explained it, but what about the voices? How in the heck can you know what a voice sounds like and what key it needs to be in?