Do nothing…because he’s walking out of the classroom.
I sit there stunned for a few moments because the audacity. Here I am trying to help him so he can graduate and he just up and leaves without so much as a thank you or a fuck you.
Irritation simmers in the pit of my stomach, and I storm out after him.
I’m tired of people mistaking my kindness for weakness. Tired of assholes thinking they can just walk all over me because I don’t look like an Instagram model or wear a size two.
Tired of accepting shitty behavior that I don’t deserve.
Phoenix is gone by the time I reach the end of the empty hallway. I debate running out to the parking lot, but why bother? If he doesn’t want my help—and he’s made it crystal clear he doesn’t—I’m not going to waste my time.
Gritting my teeth, I make my way back to the classroom so I can collect my things and go home. I’m approaching the door when the melodic sound of the piano fills my ears. The notes are familiar, but it still takes my brain a second to realize it’s a stripped-down version of the song I was singing earlier.
And then I hear it.
My heart stops cold before awakening with a great big thump that sends everything inside me spiraling.
There are good voices.
And then there are once-in-a-lifetime voices.
The hypnotizing kind that holds you hostage and demands every ounce of your attention…every piece of your soul.
The kind that makes you follow the sound like a moth to a flame.
A craving you can’t ignore.
My skin prickles as I enter the band room where I find Phoenix sitting at the piano with his eyes closed and his head tilted toward the ceiling as he sings.
Although singing seems like the wrong word for what this is.
It’s like he’s siphoning every note into his bloodstream so he can spin it into something even more beautiful with his vocal cords.
I feel like I’m watching a spiritual experience…a metamorphosis taking place.
His low, raspy voice envelops me like a thick fog. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, even if I wanted to. He’s utterly mesmerizing.
Like he was born for this.
The song ends and I’m not sure he’s even aware I’m standing there.
Not until he snarls, “I don’t want your help.”
I should be insulted with his rejection and the harsh edge to his words. Instead, I blurt out, “You come alive when you sing.”
I don’t get a response, but it doesn’t matter. I take a step in his direction. “Your voice…watching you do that…” Inching closer, I inhale a deep breath. “You have a gift, Phoenix.”
I don’t even realize I’m next to him until I hear the legs of the piano bench scrape against the wood floor and he stands, towering over me.
He’s like the sun. The energy radiating off him pulls you in and you can’t help but get closer. Aching to feel the heat on your skin. To make contact with something so powerful. So beautiful.
Even if it burns you.
“I don’t want your help,” he says again.
His low, raspy voice is a turbulent current of water, pulling me under. However, it’s the haunting, desperate look in his eyes that’s my undoing.
“But I need it.”
CHAPTER 3
PHOENIX
If someone told me Lennon Michael would be the key to my freedom, I would have asked them to pass me the good shit they were smoking.
Despite attending the same school for the past four years, I’ve never talked to the girl. Hell, I don’t think anyone talks to the girl.
They’re too fucking busy talking about her.
I’m not blind, Lennon isn’t skinny by any means. Ergo her appearance doesn’t warrant any interest or attention from guys. The chicks at this school, though. They’re like flies on shit. Especially Sabrina.
That girl practically makes it her life’s mission to bully Lennon.
Probably because she’s jealous.
While Sabrina’s hot as hell on the outside, she’s weak as fuck on the inside. It’s painfully obvious she’s desperate for people’s approval.
Lennon’s not like that, though. While the girl doesn’t hesitate to help out others—even my ass on account of her offering to tutor me—she’s not a pushover.
I’ve never seen her so much as shed a tear from Sabrina’s—or anyone else’s insults. She takes everything in stride, like she genuinely doesn’t give a fuck what they think.
That alone is appealing.
So is her voice.
While not conventionally perfect—the hoarse, sultry tone is a slow tug on my cock. There are these tiny cracks in it that make you think her voice is going to give out, and she’s about to dive off a motherfucking cliff…but it never happens.