I Stopped Waiting for the Man I Loved for Ten Years Who Never Stood by Me Chapter 08

I Stopped Waiting for the Man I Loved for Ten Years Who Never Stood by Me Chapter 08

The girl’s voice wasn’t bad.

She was so nervous she missed several notes in a row.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the spot right next to me.

I knew the “crush” she was talking about was Dylan, sitting beside me.

He seemed to be quietly listening.

The hand with the ring tapped lightly along to the beat.

Then he turned his head and looked at me.

Asked, seriously, “She’s singing those two lines wrong, isn’t she?”

I froze.

Then I realized.

This was the song he’d written and sung when he confessed to me.

His original. He’d only sung it that one time. Never released it. So I’d only heard it once.

If my memory weren’t so strong, I probably wouldn’t have remembered it at all.

Dylan smiled at me.

“Yeah, I figured.”

“You’ve probably forgotten it.”

Then he stood up.

The wind caught his coat and brushed it in front of my face.

By the time I could see clearly again, he was already on the stage.

The girl was so nervous she could barely make a sound.

She gripped the microphone, closed her eyes, and rushed out the confession. “Dylan, I like you.”

“I don’t care that you’re thirteen years older than me.”

“I don’t mind that someone else lives in your heart.”

“From the first time I saw you—”

The voice stopped.

Because Dylan had walked up and taken the mic from her.

“You’re singing it wrong,” he said. “That’s not how the song goes.”

He pulled a stool over, sat down, adjusted the microphone, and picked up a guitar that was sitting nearby. Then he started playing and singing. The melody and voice that had played in my head a thousand times.

Flooded back into my ears.

The girl stood there frozen, her mic taken. Finally, she walked off the stage with red eyes.

I think she understood she’d been rejected. A silent rejection is the worst kind. Just like after that music festival. I could never bring myself to go to another one.

The girl sat down in the empty seat next to me. After a moment, I handed her a tissue. “Honey, he’s not worth it,” I said softly.

Getting upset over someone like Dylan.

Not worth it.

She took the tissue and wiped her eyes, but it was like she hadn’t heard me.

She just listened closely to every word Dylan sang.

A moment later, she grabbed my sleeve. “Ma’am, he—he’s looking at me.”

“Is he looking at me?”

I looked up.

And met his dark eyes directly.

After a beat, I stood up and walked away.

It was pointless.

His behavior just exhausted me.

I left the B&B that night.

The next day, when I went to clean up the little stage, the girl came over. “Ma’am, do you know Dylan?”

My hand paused on the rag I was using to wipe a chair.

I didn’t answer. I just kept cleaning.

She came over and sat down on one of the chairs.

“After you left last night, Dylan didn’t finish the song. He just kept staring at the direction you walked away.”

“That’s when I realized he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at you, sitting next to me.”

Her voice was heavy.

But I didn’t have it in me to comfort her. “His eyes are his own. He can look at whoever he wants. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

She looked up at me.

Studied my face.

After a moment, she said, “So you’re the one he’s been in love with all this time.”

“You’re really beautiful. No wonder he can’t let go.”

Then she paused and asked, “You don’t like him back?”

“He’s been in love with you forever. And he’s so successful.”

“Mature. Handsome.”

It was the first time I’d heard anyone use “mature” to describe Dylan.

It felt strange.

But I stopped what I was doing and answered her seriously.

“I don’t know who he loves. But I don’t love him.”

The girl looked confused.

“Why?”

“Because we have a history.”