Dancing With Keenan

Chapter One - I Need A Favor

“Lilah, I need a favor,” Phoebe said from the other end of the phone call.

I twisted a lock of chestnut hair around my finger, leaning back against the sofa. When it came to Phoebe, there was no telling what she would want or need. Sometimes it was a legitimate favor, and sometimes it was something she cooked up to cheer me up.

Neither idea was very appealing.

But I was bored, and she sounded sincere for once. “What is it?” I finally asked.

“So,” she began, “This friend of mine is in a band, and the lead singer has a sore throat, probably laryngitis.”

“A friend or a ‘friend’?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What’s the favor?”

There was at least a full thirty seconds of silence before Phoebe spoke again, her words rushed and almost slurred as she tried to get them all in before I interrupted. “They need someone to fill in, and I kind of offered you. They have a gig tonight and they really didn’t wanna cancel last minute.”

I groaned. “Phoebe!”

“Please, Lilah? I’m begging you. For me?”

There were so many reasons I should say no. I had classes tomorrow. I had three exams coming up. I didn’t know anybody in this band, not to mention that I didn’t know anything about the band. I didn’t know the music, or even the style that they played. I hadn’t sung on stage -- or been on a stage at all -- in years, not since before my life went to hell in a handbasket.

“Lilah?” She prodded, pulling me out of my spiralling thoughts.

“I have class in the morning, Phee.”

“C’mon! I’m begging you.”

“And I have to study.”

“You need to get out more, Lilah. Have some fun for a change.”

I sighed, picking at the cuticle on my thumbnail. “I have plenty of fun.”

“Not anymore.”

She was going to turn this into a lecture. I could already tell. For the last two years, Phoebe has taken every opportunity she’s had to try to help me. The problem was her idea of helping. She wanted me to be the same person I was back then, and that just wasn’t going to happen. I’d changed. A lot. And no amount of going out and partying and having fun was going to change who I was now.

She meant well, but she’d never understand, not without experiencing the hell I’ve been through, and I prayed she never would.

“Look, you don’t go out. You go to class, study, sleep, and go back to class. Maybe watch a football game once in awhile. That’s it. You need to get out of the house, do something fun, and maybe a little crazy. It’s been two years, and I know it won’t go away, but you’ve got to live your life.”

Blood started to leak onto my nail. I forced myself to leave the cuticle alone and started tapping my thigh with my fingers. A little orange kitten wandered into the room and leapt onto the side table.

“Get down, Honey Bun,” I scolded, even though I knew he wouldn’t listen.

“Lilah.”

I scooped the fuzzy kitten from the table and deposited him back on the wood floor. He headbutted my knee, asking for attention.

“Delilah!” Phoebe snapped.

Her tone of voice told me everything I needed to know.

I was either going to fill in for this band or catch hell from Phoebe.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Yay!” Phoebe squealed before rattling off the address - a relatively popular bar just outside the college district - and time. “I’ll be there in thirty to help you get ready.”

The line went dead. I dropped the phone to floor with a groan.

True to her word, Phoebe barged into my apartment a half hour later and went straight for my closet. I wandered in after her, finding items of clothing being tossed on my bed.

When she reemerged from the closet, her face was closed off, only the barest hint of emotion leaking through. Her hazel eyes flickered back and forth between me and the clothes, never fully making eye contact.

She was hiding something.

“Wear this,” she commanded, waving a hand at the clothes and disappearing back into the closet.

I picked through the pile, finding black jeans, a singlet, and my leather jacket. My combat boots were on the floor by the bed.

By the time she reappeared, I had dressed and applied a little makeup, which I hoped Phoebe wouldn’t decide to touch up.

“You’ll need this tonight,” she stated, handing me my violin case.

“No.”

She let out a sigh and placed a hand on her hip. “Yes. It’s time, Lilah.”

“Not like this, Phee.”

Phoebe nodded her head, blonde curls falling over her face. “You have to do this, Lilah.”

I recognized the gleam in her eyes.

There was no way I was leaving this apartment without my violin case.

Whether I played or not, she wouldn’t have to know.

“Fine,” I forced out, slinging my jacket over my shoulder and sliding the strap to the case over that.

“And before you consider it, I’ll know if you don’t play tonight, Delilah.”

“And if I can’t do it?”

“You can.”

I let out a breath and stood. “We’ll see.”

The bar was only about twenty minutes from my apartment. A lump grew in my throat at the sight of the small brick building. The few windows were grimy from years of cigarette smoke and sloshed alcohol, the varnish on the doors chipping in places.

It was still one of the most popular establishments in the college district, and a place I had been many times before, although not in recent years.

“You can do this, Lilah,” I whispered as I parked my car in the gravel lot.

I took a final deep breath for courage before entering through the back door. The dimly lit hallway was familiar to me, and I immediately recognized the faded sign for the dressing room. Only one bare bulb lit the corridor, not quite enough to chase away the darkness. The crowds were already in full swing, if the noise from the far door, leading out into the bar itself, was any indication.

Just as I reached for the door to the dressing room, it swung inwards, and I was face to face with a man I hadn’t seen in two years. Those stormy gray eyes hadn’t changed a bit, still as troubled as they’d been the last night I’d seen him. Coffee-colored hair was ruffled, and for once, a gently angular jaw was clean-shaven. I still remembered the story of how he broke his nose, long before I ever met him.

“Keenan,” I breathed, letting the door close behind me.

Four pairs of eyes flicked between us curiously, the room now silent enough to hear a pin drop.

“Please, Delilah,” he whispered, his face grim. The sound of my name on that deep, almost gravelly voice caused an inner turmoil that I couldn’t begin to sort out. I felt pain, delight, and pain again as my heart raced and my stomach fluttered. “Please do this. Not for me. For Whitney.” He gestured towards a small blonde sitting on a coffee table.

I swear my heart shattered in that moment. I willed myself not to cry.

I couldn't cry.

I’d agreed to this, and there was no way I could back out now.

“Fine,” I finally whispered, not meeting his gaze, “But when this is over, we need to talk, Keenan.”

He nodded stiffly and turned away from me.

Regaining my composure took longer than I wanted, but when the pain had dulled to a deep ache and the tears welling in my eyes had dried, I asked for a setlist.

The only other girl in the room, a redhead with brown eyes just barely taller than my own five-foot-two, handed me a handwritten sheet of paper. “We’ll go all covers tonight, and only songs you know, of course. I’m Mariah, and that’s Randy--” She gestured to a guy sitting on another table, drumsticks in hand. “Put my sticks down before I take them to your thick head, Randy! And there’s Mitchell.” He was tuning an acoustic guitar, smiling lopsidedly at me.

He reminded me of a puppy, to be honest, with brown eyes, floppy hair, and an almost submissive posture.

“And I see you already know Keenan.”

I nodded, doing my very best to keep my face neutral, though I’m not sure how successful I was.

“I play drums; Randy, bass; Mitchell, keyboard and guitar; and Keenan’s our lead guitarist. He sings some, too.”

“More than me,” the blonde muttered, shooting him a glare.

Keenan sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

Mariah rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about those two. They’re always fighting now.”

Just like we did, I thought sadly, not letting myself finish that thought. If I did, I’d become a sobbing mess and be no use to the band at all.

Keenan spoke up again. “Just let me know what songs you don’t know or what you need to switch around. We had to do this on pretty short notice tonight, since someone didn’t bother to let us know she couldn’t sing.”

“I thought I’d be fine tonight!” The blonde, Whitney, snapped, her voice hoarse, and I knew from the sound of it, she didn’t have laryngitis or any other illness.

It was from pushing her limits too far, something I’d learned not to do way back in elementary school, when I was in Mrs. Reese’s choir class and forced to sing a solo at nearly every recital. Back then, I didn’t enjoy singing in front of people, and I didn’t now, even though there had been a time when I had, somewhere in between my childhood and my present.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and it actually worked pretty well.

“Guys, c’mon,” Mariah cut in, eyes shooting daggers at Whitney and Keenan.

I didn’t know what was going on with them, and I was damn glad that I would never have to see them again after tonight.

I dropped onto the couch and skimmed over the list. Surprisingly, I knew all but two of the songs, and only one had to be moved to later in the set.

Keenan crooked a smirk when I mentioned that. “Still listening to the same music, I see,” he murmured.

“You seem to be as well.”

“Do you have your violin?”

My heart clenched at the question. I wasn’t sure if I could handle playing tonight, not in front of all those people, and most certainly not in front of Keenan.

“That’d make a good addition,” Mariah commented, pointing out a couple of songs that I knew could benefit.

The only questions were whether I could do it and whether I was still good enough to play by ear, even to songs I knew.

Phoebe’s words echoed in my head.

She was right; it had been too long since I had last played.

But I still wasn’t sure about trying again.

“Lilah?” Keenan queried, seeming to see straight through me, just like he had two years ago.

I arched a brow at him.

“You don’t have to. I just thought it would be a nice change of pace.”

Something about that sentence, whether it was the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, or just the words he had said, got to me. I still don’t know what exactly affected me so much, and I’m pretty sure I never will, but whatever it was pushed a knife deep inside my heart. The tears welled up again, and it was everything I could do to just keep them from falling. I couldn’t push them back, but I was determined not to let them fall.

He didn’t think I could do it.

For some reason, Keenan didn’t seem to think I would be able to handle playing my violin, and that broken, petty side of me wanted to prove him wrong.

And maybe, I wanted to prove myself wrong.

I nodded and went to retrieve my violin from the car. When I returned to the dressing room, it was time to go on stage.

My heart was in my throat for the short walk down the hallway. I was first on the stage, taking the microphone at the front. My senses took in the bar, filled with people drinking and conversing. Keenan joined me and cleared his throat.

Seats were taken and a crowd full of eyes stared up at us expectantly.

My vision spun slightly before I pushed the nerves down as far as they would go.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I would actually be able to do this, but then Keenan’s voice broke into my nervous haze, and I was able to ground myself.

By the time I had slowed my heart rate and regulated my vision, he had greeted the bar and was explaining why I was there.

He handed me the microphone and leaned close to me for a moment. “You’ll do great, Lilah,” he whispered.

I couldn’t deny the tingles that swept down my spine at his hoarse whisper. I also couldn’t deny the deep ache that blossomed in my chest.

His guitar eased into a melody I knew well, and my nerves disappeared as I sang the verse.

Even though it had been so long since I’d last been on stage, it felt natural to be up here with this band, regardless of who the band members were.

In the time we spent on stage, I didn’t think about Keenan and how badly he had hurt me. I didn’t think of the past we shared.

And I didn’t think about the one thing that had kept me from my violin for so long.