Butterfly Weeds Read Online Free

controlled awe as the girls on the other side of the fire joined in the next verse.
     
                  Then, Will grew quiet, as his fingers strummed the last chorus on the instrument cradled in his basketball-conditioned, muscular arms. And as his guitar fell silent a few moments later, Rachel and the other girls joined me in speechless amazement – our eyes on Will.
     
                  “Wow, Will,” Rachel exclaimed first. “I’m not going to lie. I was really expecting a voice from the boy who starts a band in his garage only to still be in his garage 40 years later with a beer belly and a mullet. I wasn’t expecting a rock star.”
     
                  Will’s eyes darted toward me, but quickly hit the ground by our feet again before they could catch my awestruck stare. His bashful smile was contagious, though, and it helped to break my frozen expression.
     
                  I glanced at Rachel with a face that held a million questions.
     
                  “Well, I can see that maybe you two have something new to talk about, so…we’re just going to get some more hot chocolate,” Rachel said before motioning for the other girls to follow her away from the fire.
     
                  Within a moment, Will and I were alone again. There was a slight pause before either one of us said anything, but it didn’t last long. I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
     
                  “Will, that was really good,” I gushed – near awestruck again. I was surprised at how easily the words just kind of fell out of my mouth. I was usually scolding him, not flattering him.
     
                  “Really?” he questioned me sincerely. I could tell he wasn’t just fishing for more compliments.
     
                  “Will,” I said, half laughing. “All these years…How didn’t I know that you could play the guitar – or sing?” I questioned him. “And that good?” I added.
     
                  He continued to smile, and his eyes remained tantalized by the fire’s flames.
     
                  “Not many people do know, I guess,” he confessed softly. “I’m pretty good at keeping secrets around here.” He winked in my direction as he rested the base of the guitar against the log next to him.
     
                  He still came off bashful, but I could see glimpses of his old confidence slowly coming back. I kept my eyes on him even as his attention turned back toward the flames. I knew I had a look planted on my face of something between intrigued and baffled, and I knew he could read me like a book, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t help it. He was good – really good, and I found myself fascinated by a side of Will St ephens I had never before seen.
     
                  “So, I see,” I said, smiling wildly.
     
                  “Do you write songs too?” I asked. Maybe there was still more I didn’t know about him.
     
                  “I try, when I get a chance,” he said modestly. “Writing’s the best part really. It’s the words that change people’s lives in the end, right?”
     
                  I paused to take in his question. He played the guitar, sang and wrote his own songs, and now he was talking about changing people’s lives. I was beginning to realize quickly that in all the years I had known him, I had never really got to know Will Stephens.
     
                  “Hmm, I guess that makes sense,” I said in reply to his question. “I’ve never really thought about it,” I confessed.
     
                  I watched his eyes follow the dancing flames in the fi re. I could see he was smiling.
     
                  “I’ll have to write a song for you sometime,” he said – almost inaudibly – as his eyes met mine again.
     
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