"We, uh…"
Rogan appears and puts his arm around me. "I just ran into you, didn't I?"
I stiffen at his touch, but find that I actually like his arm there. "Yeah, that's pretty much what happened."
"What, like with your car?" Lathe laughs and punches Rogan in the arm.
"Hey, I'm not that bad of a driver!"
They joke back and forth for a minute before getting back to setting up the stage. I actually find ways to help everyone out rather than standing around like an idiot.
Rogan comes back over to me. "We're going to change, then practice." He pans his hand toward the tables. "Sit wherever you want. If anyone questions it, just tell them you're with me."
I nod. "Can I do anything else to help?"
"You can clap real loud when the place starts to fill up." He rakes his fingers through his hair, looking deep in thought.
"You okay?"
"Like I said, there could be scouts tonight. Anyone who makes it here has potential."
"They'll love you if you play anything like you did at your house."
"I hope so."
"They will. I know it."
"Thanks." His expression brightens and he heads toward the back.
"I mean it."
Rogan spins back around and smiles wider than I've seen. My insides tingle again. Before I can react, he disappears off the stage.
I make my way over to the tables, still feeling weird but at the same time beaming from his grin. I pick a table near the front and take a seat with a good view of the stage.
Nobody else is sitting at any of the tables. There may as well be a spotlight aimed at me with someone at the mic calling me names. I wish I had a phone so I could at least pretend to have someone to be texting with. I have nothing. If only Sutton could've come, but the club has a strict rule about being eighteen or older.
Luckily, my identification card is the one thing I do have. I didn't want any question about who I was if the train had made identifying me impossible.
"You're with the band?" A waiter stands next to me. I didn't notice him approach.
I swallow. "Yeah. They're getting dressed or I'd be—"
"Have a drink, compliments of the house."
"Oh, thank you."
He sets a glass of something bubbly in front of me and hurries away to another table. People are starting to come inside. At least I'm not the lone freak sitting in front of the stage.
I stare at the beverage in the fancy wine glass. He didn't ask for my ID, so it can't be alcoholic, can it? Not when people under twenty-one are allowed in here.
My heart thumps against my chest. I'll just pretend to drink it if it's alcoholic. I never want to risk turning into a monster, not when I've seen what it can do to people. My dad used to be kind of nice before he started drinking so heavily. Mom was too, before he ran her off.
I sigh. Why does one free drink have to send me on a trip down memory lane? Everyone else is happy and not questioning their drinks.
After I finish staring the drink down, I finally pick it up. It taunts me. Voices of my dad and stepbrother bounce around my mind.
I hate them. And I'm nothing like them. So I bring the glass to my mouth and allow the bubbly liquid into my mouth.
It's only sparkling cider. The taste brings images of New Years' celebrations long gone. Mom used to buy them for me when I was old enough to stay up and watch the local fireworks on TV with her and Dad.
Why didn't she take me with her when she left?
Tears sting, but I blink them away. Why do I torture myself with that question? The only answer I ever come up with is that I wasn't good enough to go with her, that I deserved to be with Dad.
But why?
Maybe I could find her and ask her. There has to be a reason I never thought about. Not that any excuse would've been good enough to leave her daughter behind.
Now I wish the sparkling cider was more. Something harder might help me forget all my pain for a few hours. It's not like one glass would turn me into my dad or stepbrother.
Flaming Combustion is back on stage, all wearing different clothes now. Rogan flashes me that grin again, sending a wave of warmth through me. I smile back, actually feeling some happiness.
He wears torn jeans and a black tee with the arms ripped off. My mouth goes completely dry, despite the cider I've just finished. His rippling biceps stand out even more now.
Screech!
"Mic check!" someone yells.
They test all the instruments and microphones, then play a song. If an agent shows up, they'll be chosen. I have no doubt. They're better than half the stuff on the radio. And I'm not just saying that because of Rogan's muscular arms, either.
After the second song, Lathe introduces me to a group of girls. I forget their names as soon as he says them. They're with the band too, and they sit at my table talking about how great the club is.
The rest of the tables start to fill, and a guy in a glittering suit introduces Flaming Combustion. Light applause sounds around the room.
Rogan's words come back to me. He wants me to clap.
I jump up and cheer. The other girls at my table do the same. The applause around the room grows louder. The vibe of the room grows more excited.
Rogan glances my way and winks.
My heart nearly gives out.
One of the girls grabs my arm. "Rogan just winked at you!"
I just nod. Trying to speak would be pointless.
"I'm so jelly! He won't pay any attention to me." She flips her wavy blonde hair and sighs.
"Yeah." A brunette with super short hair taps her blood-red nails on the table. "He's more interested in focusing on his music than anything else."
"Right?" A girl with neon-pink hair and a nose ring in the middle of her nose purses her lips. "Ashton says all Rogan does is sleep, eat, practice, and write songs." She turned to the stage and ogles him. "Such a waste. How'd you get his attention?"
All four of them stare at me.
Thankfully the band starts a new song, so everyone turns back to them. I draw in a deep breath and focus on Rogan. Every so often, his gaze drifts back to me.
For the first time in my life, I actually feel special.
Each time a song ends, I jump up and clap wildly. The other girls follow my lead, then the others around us cheer and holler.
During the band's break, I go to the bathroom, and everyone at the table comes with me. They talk about how amazing the music sounds in here, something about acoustics. All eight of their eyes are fixed on me. They're waiting for me to agree with them.
"I've never heard anything like it."
We disperse into separate stalls, then meet at the sinks. They all dig into their purses and fix their makeup.
I open Sutton's purse and pull out a little square thing. I can't remember what she did with that. Color my eyelids? Or was that bronzer stuff? I drop it back in and pull out lip gloss. At least I know what to do with that.
The pink-haired girl turns to me and blinks quickly. "Are my eyes smoky enough? The purple isn't too much?"
"Uh… no?"
She grins. "Oh, good!"
The blonde turns to me. "What about my blush? It isn't too much glitter, is it?"
I shake my head. "It's perfect."
"Oh, phew." She turns back to the mirror and applies lip color.
I stare at my own reflection. They not only like me but want my approval. My approval!
If this isn't Heaven, it's definitely an alternate universe.
Rogan
I maneuver my guitar case into the trunk and slam it shut. My mind reels from the evening.
Two agents approached us after the show. Two!
The rest of the band and I have a lot to discuss, but that will wait. First, it's time to celebrate. We're all going to meet up at Lathe's place. His parents are in Italy, so we've got the place to ourselves for the whole weekend if we want.
I climb into the driver's seat and take in the sight of Kenna. She's
breathtaking. I kind of prefer the less-makeup look, but she looks phenomenal with makeup too. Especially when she smiles at me like that.
"Thanks for everything." I start the car.
"What do you mean?"
"You cheered like mad after each song. Because of you, the entire crowd went wild. Two agents are interested in us. Do you know how big that is?"
"That's not because of me. You guys are crazy good."
"But you got the rest of the crowd excited. That's what made us stand out. If the audience didn't care about us, the agents would've walked away. Trust me."
"Don't undersell yourself. It's all you. I mean, you guys."
"I still have you to thank." I pull out of the parking lot. "You don't mind going to Lathe's?"
"It sounds like fun."
A thrill runs through me. Kenna does something to me that nobody else ever has, and I really like it. I want to ask her what her plans are, but I can't bring the words to my mouth. The last thing I want to hear is that I'm not in those plans.
And that's totally crazy. Nuts. I mean, really. I only met the girl yesterday, and now I don't want her out of my life. Flaming Combustion has multiple agents interested in us. Now, more than ever, I have to focus on my art. I'm going to have to write songs never before performed, and we're going to have to practice, practice, practice.
Yet because of Kenna, half a dozen new songs are rolling around in my mind. She's inspiring me rather than pulling me away from my music.
How is that even possible? Girls have only ever managed to distract me from my music. She's actually driving my creativity.
What's the difference? Is it me? Her? The combination of the two of us? Like somehow me saving her has somehow turned around to help me?
She's talking to me. I pull myself from my thoughts and turn down the music. "Sorry, what did you say?"
"I was just wondering if this is going to be a big party."
"They don't tend to be. Not at Lathe's place, anyway. If we were going to Ashton's, that'd be a different story. He loves to invite everyone he can. Lathe doesn't like the cleanup or the fallout of big parties."
"Okay. Just curious."
"Are you okay with going over there? If not, we can always bag it and go back to my place or whatever."
"No, it's cool. Like I said, just curious."
I pull up to a stoplight and glance over at her. She's playing with a sequin on her dress and her wavy hair is blocking my view of her face.
My pulse drums through my body. I just want to pull her close and take away all the bad things that've happened to her—everything that led her to the train tracks, making her think that was the answer.
Then my body goes rigid. If she hadn't gone there, I'd have never met her. As much as I hate that thought, I'd still do anything to remove the pain I see every time our eyes meet.
"Light's green."
"Right. Thanks." I punch the gas and force my thoughts back to the present. It's so hard to focus with her so close. She's stronger than any drug, making me feel and think things I never have before.
Finally, we get to Lathe's neighborhood. It's a gated community, so we have to wait for him to tell the security guard how many cars to let through. Actually, now that I think about it, that could be part of the reason he doesn't have blowout parties when his parents are gone—there's actual documentation of who he gives permission to come over. If he made it a free-for-all, there'd be no denying it.
"Where'd you meet everyone in the band?" Kenna asks. "I thought you'd have met at school."
"Nope." I pull past the gate. "Only Ashton and me. The others we met around. Lathe was part of another band, but they weren't serious at all, and like us, he had his eyes set on big things—like those agents tonight."
I follow the train of cars to Lathe's and park along the curb in front of his house. We make our way inside the quiet house. My ears ring after being in the club then the car.
Kenna stays close to me. I want to put my arm around her, but hesitate, remembering my bruises. If she wants affection, I'll let her take the lead.
We all raid the fridge and head outside, where Lathe and Ellis set up the bonfire. The girls pull Kenna away from me, and they get the marshmallows ready to roast once the fire roars to life.
Before long, we're all relaxing and laughing over beer and s'mores. Conversation keeps going back to the agents. We have a lot to celebrate.
Eventually, the others pair off and start making out. Kenna eyes me, scooting away.
"Want to go inside and watch a movie? Or we can just leave."
She glances over at the public displays of drunkenness. "Um, sure."
"To which one?"
"Either one."
I nod and take her hand in mine, hoping that's okay. To my relief, she not only lets me but slides her fingers between mine. We head inside. Her grip tightens.
I give her my best smile. "Lathe has more movies than I do, if you want to stay. He even has ones just released in theaters. Or we can go. Whatever you prefer. You're welcome in our guest room as long as you want it."
"What about your mom?"
"She works so much, she probably won't notice an extra person for a while, anyway."
"Okay. Well, we can watch a movie here, if you want."
"I'm happy with just—" I bite my tongue before I say 'being with you' and clear my throat. "Whatever you want."
We make our way to the rec room which has a screen bigger than the one in Mom's home theater. While I set everything up, Kenna settles on the couch. She found a blanket and has it tucked underneath her, like a layer of protection. Like she thinks I'm a monster. Or maybe she's used to monsters.
That thought makes my blood boil.
But I pretend nothing's wrong and smile. "You look comfy."
"I like blankets."
"Really?" I go into the closet and pull out an armload.
She laughs. "What are you doing?"
"You said you like blankets." I pile them on top of her and tuck them under her as best I can. "Now you'll be as warm and snug as possible."
Kenna laughs again.
A warmth spreads through me, beginning at my chest. I'd do anything to keep her laughing and happy.
I dim the lights, sit next to her and the ridiculous amount of blankets, then flip through the movie choices. "An action-adventure?"
She studies the screen. It's one recently released in the theaters that I've been wanting to see.
"It sounds good. Sure."
I press play and scoot a little closer. She doesn't scoot away. I really want to pull that lame move of pretending to stretch so I can put my arm around her, but I don't. Kenna's different from any other girl I've ever met, and the last thing I want to do is mess it up. If I'm ever going to earn her trust, it's going to take time and patience. And I'm willing to give her as much of both as she needs.
The movie opens with gunfire and an intense car chase. I sneak a peek at Kenna, and she seems to be enjoying herself. A girl after my own heart.
Things slow down on the screen and the plot starts to unfold. Kenna leans her head on my shoulder. It's a small gesture, but it feels enormous. Her cheek is so soft against my bare skin. I struggle to breathe normally and focus on the movie.
The things she does to me! My heart races. She smells so good. I can hardly think straight. Does she realize the effect she has on me?
She tenses and sits back up straight. Her eyes narrow and her face contorts into a disgusted—terrified?—expression.
I turn my attention back to the screen. One of the side characters has a woman pinned against a wall, and she's struggling to get away.
"Kenna?"
She just stares at the screen with the same horrified look on her face. The blankets are shaking on top of her.
"Kenna!"
She doesn't budge.
I turn off the movie and repeat her name. She still doesn't respond, so I risk more bruises and pull her into my embrace.
Kenna
/>
I realize the movie is off. The one in my mind isn't, however. That one replays the times when Theo cornered me, not allowing me to get away.
"Kenna!"
That's not Theo's voice. It's Rogan.
I'm freezing and shaking despite all the blankets. Rogan has his arms around me. His heart is thundering in my ear. He's warm.
His embrace isn't harsh. It's the complete opposite, actually. For the first time in my life, a male embrace is comforting. Protective.
He's whispering something, but I can't hear what. Not over the sounds of my own heart racing.
I want to struggle, but the blankets prevent me. My ragged breaths slow, and I go limp in Rogan's arms.
He isn't going to hurt me.
No, he saved me from hurting myself. Now he's here to help me. Why else would he have his arms around me?
"Kenna?"
My heart has finally calmed down. I gasp for air.
"I'm here. It's okay."
Would anything ever be okay, really? Theo is finally out of my life, but he's still in my head. I can't get rid of the constant reminders.
Tears sting my eyes. A lump forms in my throat.
No! I can't cry. Not now. Not here.
I'm shaking again. My lips waver and the tears fill my eyes.
Crying is for the weak. I never let anyone see me cry.
Why is it that in Rogan's arms—somewhere I actually feel safe—the tears are overpowering me?
A sob escapes, and hot, angry tears spill onto my face. They fall like a rushing river that had been beating against a dam for ages and finally broke it.
I'm broken.
Rogan pulls me even closer, as if that were possible. Some of the blankets loosen and fall away. I'm shaking out of control now. I struggle to breathe between the sobs.
I'm ugly-crying. I've never even done that alone, and here I am in front of Rogan. I bury my face against his chest and he tightens his grip around me. Somehow I end up on his lap and he's running his fingers through the length of my hair, whispering that he'll make everything okay.
Nothing will ever be okay, and now I'll never be able to face him again. Not after this display of weakness.
Yet I cling to him. Horrible, angering, terrifying memories rush through my mind as I continue bawling like a baby.
When Tomorrow Starts Without me Page 5
