Better Than This

by Tia Souders

  I ran through the music and the motions in my head again. I started with B string, twelve. My fingers moved down one string, then up one fret. I repeated this, compensating with my ring finger and with my middle, but when I transitioned to the next note the move was sluggish.

  I opened my eyes to my curled hand mid-air, playing an instrument which only existed in my head. With a huff, I dropped my hand.

  “Mental playing,” as Mr. Neely referred to it, exhausted me. It would help though. I could feel myself strengthening. The movements in my mind for some of the easier to transition pieces were already getting stronger. Not to mention the confidence boost resulting from playing in my head, which alone made the effort worthwhile.

  Glancing at my cell phone, my jaw dropped. It was after six o’clock. I had been playing like this for three hours. Time flew when at the hands of a guitar, even when said guitar was imaginary.

  I scrolled down the screen and realized I had a message. Clicking the send button, I pressed the phone to my ear and listened. For the second time, I heard Laird’s voice rumble through the other line. He wanted the same thing as earlier, for me to call him, and I found myself shoving down the fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach at the sound of his voice. Despite my wanting to feel indifferent, I smiled at his parting words, “I want to see you.”

  The message ended, and I pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at it. When I left school earlier and discovered the first message, I figured his call may have been out of obligation or guilt. But now… Maybe he really did want to see me. With his callback number illuminated on the screen, I tried to think of a reason I shouldn’t call him and thought of none.

  Several minutes later, I dialed the number he gave me and waited while it rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Laird, it’s Sam. I got your messages.”

  “Finally.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “What are you doing today?”

  “Nothing, really.”

  “In about an hour, some friends of mine are all getting together to hang out. You wanna come? I can pick you up. It might be fun.”

  I hesitated, fighting the disappointment we wouldn’t be alone. But I did want to see him again and if his multiple calls were any indication, he felt the same way.

  I glanced down at my bandaged hand and bit my lip. Don’t overthink this, Sam. “Sure,” I said.

  “Great. How soon will you be ready?”

  I shrugged. “I’m ready now. How about I meet you at The Clover and you can drive from there.”

  “Cool. I’m actually already here. I was hanging out with Carl. See you in thirty?”

  “Yep.” I waited until I heard the line go dead then set down my phone. For the next fifteen minutes, I lay in bed, propped up by a mass of pillows, trying to dissect the reasons why going to see him was a mistake. But there was just something about him, and when it came down to it, there weren’t enough reasons.

  I got up and walked to my closet where I retrieved my black leather jacket. Slipping it on, I ran down the stairs and out to my truck before I changed my mind. I glanced back at June’s house, my hand already on the handle of the truck door. Tad was probably in there. The urge to go in and tell him about Laird’s messages and the impending evening hit me. I could imagine his sly smile. He’d push his glasses up on his stub of a nose and say, I told you.

  An unexpected ache at the image filled my chest. It had been only three days since I spoke to him in the hospital, yet I missed him. As much as I wanted to turn around and make my way to June’s and find him, I couldn’t. His implications I should give up burned. Or maybe it was the implication I wasn’t good enough.

  Turning, I opened the door and got in. Nerves fluttered in my chest on the drive. Three times I almost turned back and went home, but I imagined Tad rolling his eyes and calling me a wuss. At the thought, I realized the inevitability of me making amends with Tad. No matter how much his words crushed me, angered me even, I needed him now.

  I pulled into the gravel lot of The Clover and parked. With a glance in the rearview mirror, I noticed my fading makeup. No point in chastising myself for not thinking about my appearance, I thought.

  I grabbed lip gloss from my pocket and smoothed some on. “That’ll have to do.” With a shaky breath, I hopped down from my truck and went inside.

  Upon entering, the stray sounds of an acoustic guitar, keyboard, and drums resonated in the partially filled room. A band stood on the stage, fiddling with their equipment, getting it ready, and trying to warm up. About two dozen people mingled in different groups around the room. Soon, the crowd would more than triple, which is why I wanted to find Laird before the band started and the people packed in.

  I scanned the faces. No sign of him. I received a couple of hellos as I moved past the people in attendance. I answered politely, avoiding eye contact so I wasn’t drawn into further conversation with them. When I spotted Carl behind the massive oak counter, I moved forward to talk to him. He grabbed a couple sodas and handed them to a girl across the counter, and when he spotted me, his eyes lit up. “Hey, Sam.”

  Before I could say anything, the door behind him to the back room opened. Carl turned to the creaking sound. “Hey man,” he said.

  My breath caught in my throat. Laird ran a hand through his thick hair and shook his head. He wore a dark blue dress shirt rolled at the sleeves and a pair of washed out jeans. When he turned his eyes on me and said, “Hey, Sam,” my limbs went limp like noodles and my mouth went dry.

  His lips spread into a wide smile as I gawked. I could only imagine what I looked like. I’m sure I stood there, wide-eyed, mouth gaping like the proverbial fish out of water or the love-struck teenager I was.

  Ugh. The mental image broke my stupor. “Hey,” I murmured.

  Carl chuckled. “I’ve got to go talk to the band before they start. Why don’t you two go have a seat or something.”

  “Nah, we were just leaving,” Laird said.

  Carl nodded, walking around the wide expanse of the counter and moved toward the stage with a wave. “Later.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.” Laird stepped around the counter, closing the gap between us.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  He shrugged. “Ready?”

  I nodded and followed him as he wove his way through the tables and the small groups of people out into the parking lot. “I’m parked over here,” he said, gesturing to a black SUV.

  I followed him, and when he clicked the remote and unlocked the doors, I stepped around him and opened the passenger door. He halted, his arm reaching out, as if he was ready to open the door first, but I beat him to it. Because I didn’t know what else to do, I got in, and he went to the other side, frowning.

  I stared out my window. “About the other day…” I paused. I hated to bring it up, but I felt worse ignoring it. You don’t get sick and pass out on someone then pretend it never happened.

  “How are you doing?” he interrupted. “Is everything okay?”

  How did I even begin to answer his question? No, everything wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, in fact.

  “I’m fine. An infection made me sick, but they caught it early enough, so…” I shrugged. Silence stretched on. I glanced at the ground, hating myself and my constant need to tamp down my emotions. You’ve got to give him more. “I have to lay off playing for a bit. It’s too taxing on my hand with the wound being vulnerable. I’m playing in my head though. All day, I’ve been going over songs and the placement of the fingers in my mind. I think it’s really helping. When I get my hands on my guitar again, I think I’ll be further ahead. I’ll know what to do. It’ll just be a matter of running through the songs and actually playing my thoughts out.”

  “Sounds like you know what you’re doing.”

  I shook my head. One side of my mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I’m not sure I’d say I know anything, but I’m not going to let this beat me.” I’m not going to let him beat me, I almost said.


  The ride to his friend’s house was short and devoid of conversation other than small talk about the different bands being highlighted at The Clover next week. We pulled up to a large white house with peeling paint. Two front doors with mailboxes stood on either side of the home, indicating it was a duplex.

  Laird got out of the Jeep and rounded it to my side where he opened the door. I glanced over at him, nerves fluttering in my chest like dove’s wings, and before I could second guess my decision about coming here with him, I took a deep breath and accepted Laird’s outstretched hand.

  Here goes nothing…

  * * *

  The room erupted in cheers. Next to me, a boy and girl jumped to their feet, nearly knocking me off the couch. They pumped their arms in victory as they watched the wide receiver in his maroon and gold uniform spike the ball on the ground of the end zone and beat his chest like a gorilla.

  The duplex we were in was large and old. A musty smell, combined with the tangy scent of beer and pizza, lingered in the air. Thick, elaborate woodwork framed the windows and baseboards, with a multitude of colors showing through the various spots of peeling paint. Obviously a rental unit for college students, college posters littered the green and gold wall, the most prominent being one of the College of William & Mary. Presently, a torrent of about a dozen students and sports fans occupied every square inch of the outdated, secondhand furniture.

  I never understood the appeal of football, but what was worse than watching it on a beautiful Saturday afternoon was watching it in a room full of strangers.

  I glanced to Laird, who stood off in the corner of the room, talking to a leggy brunette with big doe eyes. Flopping against the couch, the girl next to me finally stopped cheering, sat back down, and nudged me in the arm.

  “You don’t like Virginia Tech?” she asked. Her long blond hair was tucked neatly under a William & Mary baseball cap. She looked sporty in her worn jeans and Virginia Tech football jersey.

  I shrugged. “It’s just football in general. I’ve never really been into sports, I guess.”

  The girl nodded. “I’m Carrie, by the way. I figured with the swift group introductions, you probably forgot. This must be pretty boring for you, then. How did you say you knew Laird?”

  “Um, I didn’t. I play at The Clover. I’m in a band, and we’re regularly showcased there.” I paused, waiting for the smart retort or smirk that often came along with revealing to people you were in a band. She did neither.

  “Cool. The place Carl owns, right?”

  I nodded, and though I cursed myself for doing so, my gaze shifted to Laird and the girl again. She wore a short jersey dress and heeled boots. Laird said something, a grin on his face, and she subsequently flung her perfect head back and laughed. I fought the urge to grimace.

  Carrie followed my gaze then leaned closer. “That’s Dakota. She and Laird were sort of a thing for a long time.”

  I looked down at my hands and back up at them again, trying to hide the disappointment on my face, then wondered why. I hardly knew him. Why did I care who he had or had not dated?

  “He broke it off about six months ago. They’re just friends now. They only see each other when they’re at get-togethers like this,” Carrie added.

  “She’s pretty,” I murmured, then cringed inside for saying it.

  Carrie huffed. “I guess, if you like that type.”

  Laird glanced away from her, over to me. Our eyes remained locked for what felt like an eternity until the guy next to me yelled at the referee, telling him where he could stick his whistle. I turned away when everyone around me started yelling a cacophony of direction and insults at the players.

  Carrie made a disgusted noise under her breath. “They suck. I’m going to get another beer. You want anything?” I shook my head.

  Several minutes passed and Carrie hadn’t returned. I found myself staring at the TV, not really seeing anything and wishing I hadn’t come. Since Miss Perfect intervened, she hadn’t let Laird out of her sight, which left me by myself.

  Across the room, I spotted a guy I hadn’t noticed before enter and speak with several people. Laird noticed him too. A frown flashed across his face. He watched the man’s movements as he congregated, greeting each group of people. He had a muscular build beneath dark jeans and a black t-shirt. Like Laird, I watched the latecomer with interest. Drop dead gorgeous, with deep, emerald eyes and dark hair that hung over his ears and brushed the back of his neck, it was hard not to.

  The man chatted with two other guys, ones I recognized as two of the avid football fans and the referee bashing culprits. He glanced from the men with whom he spoke around the room. He caught Laird’s eye and looked at him with disinterest before shifting his gaze over to the couch where he caught me staring. I turned my head and pretended not to notice but watched him in my peripheral vision. A soft smiled touched his lips, along with a confident glimmer in his eye, and before I had a chance to react, he left the two young men and walked toward me. Laird watched the whole thing. His frown deepened under tightly knit brows, and just as the gorgeous guy appeared directly in front of me, Laird began to part from Miss Perfect and approach. Before he made it, Carrie and another boy I didn’t recognize, stopped him mid-stride. Laird shot a hand through his hair, rumpling it, and sighed before speaking with them.

  The man stood in front of me, so I turned my attention back on him. If it was possible, he was even better looking up close. Shifting in my seat, I tucked my left hand under my thigh and smiled.

  “Hi, I’m Marcus.” He extended his hand, which I shook with my right. I tried to pull my hand away, but he held it longer than necessary. “Sam, right?”

  I nodded, willing the burning in my cheeks to recede. “Yeah.”

  “So what are you doing here on a Saturday watching football with a bunch of boring college guys?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  He smiled and sat down next to me, shocking me with his slightly crooked but sweet smile. “I suppose you could. But, I, unlike you, live here.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. Then added, “So you’re the one with the bad taste?”

  Marcus laughed and lifted a palm to his chest. “A girl who’s quick on her feet. I like that. So who’d you come here with? Carrie?”

  I cocked a brow. If he noticed me talking to Carrie, then he’d been there a while.

  “No, actually, I came with Laird.”

  “Are you guys together?”

  My eyes widened. “What? No.” I fidgeted in my seat and glanced at Laird, who was caught behind a group of people, watching us intently.

  Marcus leaned closer to me. “That’s a relief.” His grin spread.

  “Do you know Laird well?”

  “For just about as long as I can remember,” he said. Before I could stop him, he glanced over his shoulder and raised his beer. He then winked at Laird, who muttered something unintelligible and shoved another hand through his thick hair.

  “What do you do, Sam? Do you go to school too?”

  My gaze darted from Marcus to Laird—whose displeasure grew by the second—and back. “No. I mean, yeah, but I’m still in high school. This is my last year.”

  Marcus brought one leg up on the couch, grasping his ankle. “Nice. I’m in my third year at William & Mary.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “A little bit of everything. My major is political science, but I’ve changed it a couple times. I figure there’s no rush. What do you like to do when you’re not in school?”

  I picked at the seam of my shirt. “I play the guitar, mostly.”

  “Yeah? Are you good?”

  I shrugged, for the first time feeling a bit uncomfortable in his presence. Something in his eyes unsettled me. “I used to be.”

  His gaze almost imperceptibly shifted to my chest and back to my face. “Guitar players have strong hands.” Before I could stop him, he reached down and grabbed my left wrist.

  I watched
as if disconnected from my body while his hand slid down to mine and gripped it. Smirking, he turned my hand over in his and glanced down. His eyes narrowed, taking in the unexpected. “Oh, crap! What happened to your hand?”

  The conversation in the room ceased. Everyone stared at Marcus who dropped my arm, recoiled by the sight, and got up from his spot on the couch. “Gross. You’re missing a flippin’ finger!”

  Flames engulfed my body. I hung my head, letting my hair form a veil in front of my face, and put my hand behind my back. Melting into the furniture wouldn’t have provided enough mercy. The passing of time slowed to feel like hours, but was likely only seconds, because the minute those last words spewed from Marcus’s mouth, Laird appeared next to him and planted a hard fist in his face.

  Marcus stumbled from the blow, knocking into Carrie, who screamed and pushed him away. When he regained his footing, he stepped forward and spat blood on the ground in front of Laird’s feet. An angry bruise already bloomed over his jaw where Laird punched him, along with a fat lip. Laird moved in front of me now, a barrier between Marcus and a shield from people’s stares. When he turned to say something to me, Marcus lashed out with an uppercut, connecting with Laird’s jaw and knocking him down. In a flash, Laird rebounded and lifted his fists. He struck out with his right, grazing the side of Marcus’s cheek and knocking over one of the end tables in the process. Beer bottles fell to the floor with a crash. And before either of them could make another move, several men closed in on them. They pushed on Laird’s chest, holding him back, while others grabbed Marcus by the arms, restraining him.

  “I knew you had a thing for the girls with baggage, Laird, but a girl with only four fingers?” Marcus chuckled, a slightly wheezy sound.

  The veins in Laird’s temples pulsed. He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms and biceps bunching with the movement. The murmur of conversation from the onlookers grew. I swallowed hard, trying my best to hold in the liquid pooling in my eyes. In front of me, Marcus and Laird exchanged more words, but I heard nothing over the buzzing in my ears. An arm curled around my shoulders. I glanced up to Carrie’s soft smile, but the tension in my every muscle didn’t relax until she had me out the door.