Sequel: If Only Until Morning

Pictures on Silence

Chapter 62

"You know, I kind of need those ribs," Spencer commented, squirming in my grip.

I let him go and grinned playfully. "Please, you don't even need both your arms." He, Brendon, and Ryan all gave me the same pie-eyed look.

"But he's a drummer," Brendon said, voice jumping an octave. Hey, I guess Beth was right.

"Exactly." They still gawked at me. I heaved a sigh. "You young people and your disregard for good music. Haven't you ever heard of Rick Allen?"

They all shook their head simultaneously, like in a cartoon. I shook my head reproachfully. "Shame on all of you. And to think I thought I was educating you."

Ryan shrugged casually. "Better than being trained."

His friends laughed. "Man, she had you whipped months ago," Spencer cackled.

I looked up at the ceiling, suppressing the urge to laugh in agreement. Ryan, however, looked incensed. "I am not whipped!" he protested.

"Yes, you are," I corrected, grinning. He grimaced and kissed my cheek. That had Brendon and Spencer practically falling over. "Stop laughing," I ordered.

And what do you know? They stopped. I patted them each on the head and grinned widely. "Good boys."

Ryan and I sat in one and a half uncomfortable plastic airport seats, each wearing a speaker bud in an ear. I opened my eyes, song switching to the Smiths, and looked at our fingers laced together for a long time. My life had changed so drastically from how it had been, and now I could barely even remember what it was like any other way. Without the band, without meeting Panic!, without Ryan.

His hand tightened around mine, and I looked up. He smiled wordlessly. I guess there wasn't anything to be said. Not that we needed to. I smiled back and attached our lips.

I laughed to myself as Ryan and I stood on opposite sides of the boarding line. We'd ignored several people making disgusted noises at us as we made some serious public displays of affectation.
I mean affection.

Anyway, I guess I finally had to admit to myself we were one of those sickeningly cute couples, and when I mentioned this, Ryan laughed, shook his head, and quoted, "Cute is no."

I groaned, laying my forehead flat on his shoulder. "And to think this started with me covering your song," I muttered, moving up in line.

"Technically it started with your friends being loud and you making a strange request," he corrected, running a hand through my hair.

I smiled in remembrance, but it soon faded as I gazed at him. Ryan smiled sadly. I opened my mouth, probably to say something stupid, but he cut me off with another kiss. When he pulled away slowly, he whispered, "I love you, Rhi."

Eyes fluttering open, I breathed back, "I love you, George Ryan Ross the third."

He rolled his eyes. "Always with the full name," he complained. "Why do I put up with this?"

"Because I'm the new cancer," I reminded him. "I've never looked better and you can't stand it." I knocked his chin sideways. "Told you it wouldn't be the last time I used it against you." Ryan shook his head, covering a grin. I laughed and hugged him tightly, glaring at the ticket-taker who coughed emphatically.

On the plane ride home, I mostly stared out the window, watching the world go by beneath us. My mind was stuck back in Vegas.

As we descended into SFO, I flipped open my lyric book and scribbled down, "We don't need words, because our musicians' hearts paint pictures on silence."

I shook my head in laughter when I spotted the guys waiting for me. Matt was holding a piece of binder paper with "Cancer" written on it in Sharpie. "You're going to give someone the wrong impression," I informed him.

"Nuh uh," he protested, taking my bag and giving me a one-armed hug, "We were waiting for our disease that can't be cured."

I pinched the bridge of my nose but laughed along with the three of them. As we made our way to baggage claim, my phone beeped twice, informing me I had a text message. I flipped it open and a smile crept onto my face.

"She's grinning like one of Sean's fan-girls," Jesse pointed out to Matt and Sean, who rolled his eyes.

I mimicked our English friend and snapped the phone shut. "It's from Ryan," I said dryly, taking up my suitcase before any of them could grab it. "There's nothing fan-girl about it."

Matt whistled. "See, loverboy already misses you." I raised an eyebrow at him and turned towards the exit. After a few steps, they caught up and Matt slung a conspiratorial arm around my shoulder. "Jesse and I had a bet going that you'd be walking crooked even after the flight. So I guess I win. Pay up, Jess."

Sean wrinkled his nose. "Tha's disgusting."

"Actually, it's human," Jesse commented. "And I'm not paying you a dime. Just because her legs still work doesn't mean they didn't--"

I coughed over the rest of his sentence and glared, sending them into chuckles. "But seriously," Matt asked in quiet anticipation, "...Did you?"

"You're like a pubescent girl," I said, laughing.

He poked my side, and I slapped his hand. I tossed my hair and lifted my chin. "As a matter of fact," I began airily as we walked into the parking structure, "...It's none of your business."

"Ha!" Jesse exclaimed, voice echoing. "Pay up, bitch!"

I glanced at Sean, who shrugged, and rolled my eyes. "I guess this doesn't change a damn thing, does it?"

"Not really, no," he replied, opening the passenger door of his car for me.

"Hey! I called shotgun!"

"Mental projection doesn't count, Matt!"

"It should! You're the one who claims to be psychic!"

"Don't be a sore loser. You got it on the way up."

"You shut your face! You're up twenty bucks!"

"Only because you're a moron!"

Oh yeah. Not a damn thing. And I wouldn't have it any other way.