“I texted him after lunch and he said that was fine, as long as you were willing, he’d be waiting.”
“If I was willing? He’d be waiting?” She scoffed.
“Becca, I know you’re not his biggest fan, but the bus has already left. I can ask Meekai to drive you home if it’s upsetting you that much. I’ll just let Wyatt know,” I offered. I hadn’t realized how much she actually disliked him.
“No. It’s fine. I’m a big girl. Almost eighteen, in fact. Not a fucking kiddo!”
“Becca, I know he’s teased you in the past, but I promise, he won’t treat you like that now.”
“Won’t he? Because I’m not so much of a kid now, right?” Her voice was monotoned, ice.
“Yes?” I said, a question not a statement because I had no idea what the hell was happening or how to handle the situation.
Just as I’d said that, Wyatt got out of the driver’s side of Betty and searched for us, his face morphing into a look that screamed struggle. It wasn’t anger. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t happy. He was at war with himself.
I looked over to Becca, and she had transformed from icy and pissed off, to totally blank and unreadable.
As we approached, Becca was quiet and hopped into the back of Betty, not even taking the front seat or leaving me with a goodbye.
“Hey,” Wyatt said with hesitation.
“Wye, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, Boo,” he said quietly, his hands clasped behind the back of his neck as I waited for a better explanation than nothing.
“Wyatt,” I demanded. “What the fuck is going on with you and my best friend?” I pushed.
“Leave it, Radley,” his voice grit, a period. No room for argument. “I’ll see you later. Gamma said to call her when you get a chance. Uncle Ben wants a word, too. Said to Facetime him when you get home.”
With that, he turned away, got into the driver’s side, slammed Betty’s door and pulled away. It felt like a bomb was about to drop, and I had no idea of when and where.
Before I could fall any deeper into the unease that pulled and nagged, a warm arm wound itself around my waist and moved my hair aside, leaving a path to traipse warm lips up the length of my ear. I couldn’t help the involuntary shiver that ignited my body from top to toe.
“Hey, Violet,” Meekai rumbled against my ear. He took in a deep, controlled breath, savoring me, tasting me with a single open-mouthed kiss as he moved to the slope of my exposed neck. “Ready to come help me find that sock that went M.I.A. in the great washing load incident of 1854?” he joked, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. “Let’s go, baby.”
I called Gamma on the way over to Meekai’s to let her know I’d be having dinner at his place. She insisted that I turned on speaker phone so she could give us the birds and the bees talk and tell us a story about Gampa, and how he was hungry like a wolf.
This had Meekai howling to the point of tears as she spiraled into a rendition of Duran Duran’s hit from the eighties. I yelled over the top of her, begging her to stop. Generally, when you asked Gamma to stop, she took that as a green light to continue, and so went the highly detailed story about Gampa’s persistent courting.
“Ohhh, Sugarnuts,” she dramatically moaned. “Your Gampa had me lost, found, and left gagging. Is that what you young ones call it these days? Gagginggg,” she dragged out. “Whatever the case, I like Meekai. Let’s keep it that way.” Lecture and humiliation over. For today.
We sat in Meekai’s driveway, my face flushed with embarrassment. He continued to laugh, and I took the liberty to threaten him. “You won’t be laughing if you screw up and hurt me, punk. She has quite the gun collection. Tells me she’s old enough that prison isn’t enough of a deterrent to keep her from pulling the trigger.”
“Violet, I’ve heard about Milly will bury-ya. She’s already threatened me in the street while simultaneously telling me to go for it, in regards to you.”
I dragged out a long groan. “No, she didn’t. Please tell me you’re kidding. Please tell me you heard about street Gamma some other way.” My head was buried in my hands as I repeated no. Instead of comforting me through the humiliation, his laughter returned for a second wind. “You laugh now, but I still have to FaceTime Dad. I’m sure Gamma’s told him about you, and he’ll no doubt like a lengthy introduction. Wyatt said to FaceTime Dad when I got home, but I think it’ll be way more fun to do it now, don’t you?”
I arched a brow, smug as fuck, but instead of turning pale and spouting out all the lame excuses as to why that wasn't an option, he agreed with a smile on his face. Asshole.
So followed another half hour in Meekai’s driveway. Both he and Dad talked about how Black by Pearl Jam, was hands down the best song ever written, and Eddie Vedder was a fucking genius. Dad wanted Black played at his funeral, Meekai, the song for the first dance at his wedding. They even air-fived one another, ignoring me for twenty-eight minutes of a thirty-one-minute conversation.
By the end of the phone call, we’d organized for Meekai and me to take a few days off and drive to Adalita in the next few months. Meekai said we could organize the visit with a scheduled trip to see his little sister. Dad also wanted to talk to me about a few things and give me a real hug. "No more Facetime hugs. They suck.”
“Okay, Daddy. I suppose we’ll see you in the next couple of months.”
“Can’t wait, baby girl. I’ve missed you so much. Amy’s excited to see you, too. Wants to have a little bit of girl time if you can manage it.”
“Sure, we’ll see what we can do.” I faked through a smile. “I’ll call you again in a few days.”
“Well, you two have a nice evening and we’ll talk soon. Great talking, Meekai. Can’t wait to show you the Triumph.”
“That’d be awesome, Mr. Cooper, sounds good. Right now I’m off to cook your daughter something to eat and make her fold laundry with me.” After a few more goodbyes and Dad asking Meekai to call him Ben, we eventually hung up.
“How come you haven’t added Black to our playlist, Meekai Lannister? I mean if it’s your favorite song of all time, why wouldn’t it be there?” I questioned with mock offence.
“Baby,” he addressed in a low rumble. “The day you see Black added to our playlist will be the day I ask you to marry me.”
“Marriage? You wanna marry me?”
“I do, one day,” he smirked.
“So, what? I get a proposal by way of a link? Really not the way I expect to be proposed to. Can I say no?”
“No, you’ll say yes.” Confidence reflected back at me. “It’s not just a link, baby. All the songs I send to you, they’re a part of me because they remind me of you. If I add Black, you better be ready to say yes or I’ll tickle you until you give in.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said with a twinkle in my eye. But he didn’t return my smile. I thought he’d jump the console and tickle me. Nope.
“I won’t have to tickle you because you’ll be in love with me, Radley. There’ll be no place for you to go accept to me. I’ll be your home, and you’ll be mine. So, keep checking that playlist, Violet, because you and I are forever. Fact.”
I had nothing. There wasn’t a reply I could give him. There was no sarcasm to serve, no fear to be felt. It was so absolute that I had no reason not to believe him. So, I reached for his face and ran my fingers across his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch, hungry for the slightest whisper of affection. My thumb landed on his bottom lip, and he opened his eyes.
“Okay,” I simply said in agreement. “I’ll keep my eye on that playlist.”
He kissed my thumb and nodded his head, saying nothing. He silently got out of the car, came to the passenger side, opened the door, and took my hand. I’d never held a boy's hand before Meekai, and I didn’t think I’d ever get sick of it. He threaded our fingers together and guided me up the pathway. I felt . . . normal. Such a mundane action to some, a lifetime of waiting for me.
He couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder,
a huge grin on his face as he dragged me along. A few seconds and three heart flips later, we stood face to face on Meekai’s porch, the enormity of where we were bristled and spiked. The reality of not only where we were the catalyst, but the fact that we were alone. No Gamma or Becca, no Linc or Brooks. We’d finally made it here.
Meekai gently let go of my hand, stepped forward and wound his arms around me, holding me tight to reassure me.
“This is just me cooking you dinner, Violet. No expectations. You’re in complete control. You will have to help me fold my laundry, though. Totally wasn’t kidding.” He chuckled as I playfully slapped him on the arm and told him to suck it.
I couldn’t stop laughing when I saw Meekai tumble from the refrigerator with his hands full of ingredients to make that pineapple pizza I promised he could buy me if we ever saw one another again. He told me homemade was better and a shit ton more romantic.
I laughed even harder when he lost control of the pizza dough he’d taken to throwing in the air like a professional, only to watch him pick it up off the kitchen floor with a defeated look on his face. I warned him not to be a hero, to treat the dough we had left with humble hands. He stuck out his tongue like a first grader and told me he’d rather have his hands all over me.
Meekai was right, homemade pizza was better. We sat on the lounge room floor finishing off the last few bites as we sorted through Meekai’s CD and huge vinyl collection. One thing I was learning was that music was Meekai’s passion. A baby grand piano sat in the large space of the loungeroom. He told me that his mama was a piano teacher and had taught him how to play. He had gravitated towards the beautiful, sleek black instrument and demanded to be taught, so that one day he could play for his purple-eyed girl when he found her. This boy undid me.
His house was beautiful. I could see how once upon a time it would’ve been the perfect family home, full of happy birthdays and perfect Christmas mornings. He showed me pictures of his mama, her long black hair, beautiful cheekbones and delicately placed features, Meekai’s eyes a mirror of hers. Deep, honest and full of love.
Emotion tugged at my throat as I thought of the one thing we had in common. Both of us had mamas we loved who we could never get back. They only existed in framed pictures and worn memories, that with time would begin to fade. The scariest of thoughts, forgetting them completely.
There were no pictures of Meekai’s father and only a few of him and his baby sister when she was a couple years old. You could see the love emanate from the pictures, Meekai proudly holding and doting on her. It was only then that I stopped to truly think of how alone Meekai must have felt in this house; in his heart.
I tried to let go of the hurt I felt on his behalf, so I could be more present as we rummaged through his CD collection. I spotted a John Legend CD and laughed to myself as it took me back to the night we met. The stress of that night hadn’t left me, the repercussions ever present and overwhelming because I had no idea what I’d left behind or how he’d reacted. Even so, I would choose to remember that night as one of the good ones. I preferred to see it as the night I let go of one life and began another.
A goodbye had become a second chance, and I was looking at my second chance, his back against the couch, legs crossed at the ankle, his eyes tracing every curve of my body like he was silently memorizing every part of me. I wasn’t sure it would ever be something I’d get used to. Once I was a joke, a person to avoid. Now I was his, and he wanted to do anything but avoid me.
In the background, You and Me by Lifehouse played, a lazy, melodic thrum that Meekai hummed along to. He transformed the low and deep timbre of his voice into an easy flow of notes and words that weaved themselves intricately around my heart. His voice was beautiful, his tone like molasses, a rasp caught on every note, not one misplaced.
He sang about how he didn’t know why he couldn’t keep his eyes off of me, his stare loaded with intensity, pointed and direct, taking me as it’s willing prisoner. A smile crept across his lips and curved up into a question. This boy was so perfectly relentless.
“So,” he said casually. “When are you gonna kiss me?”
I laughed at him as butterflies exploded in the pit of my stomach, but I wasn’t scared. I knew he was trying to make me squirm. He might’ve said that the pace we set was my choice, that I was in control, but he also told me that he couldn’t be held accountable for the stupid things that left his mouth when it came to me.
I tried to keep my breaths even, unaffected. I wasn’t making this easy. He wasn’t playing fair, but there was only so much self-control, and his was slipping. I couldn’t help but love the rush it gave me, his need the building desire that thrashed between us. A desperate storm circled within the deep black pupils of his eyes. The calm flickered in and out like the static of an old television, his chest rose and fell, harder, faster, deeper.
“Never,” I informed him, eyes still focused on sorting through the CDs.
“Never, huh?” A rumble of laughter laced his voice with temptation, a threat, a need and a promise yet to be fulfilled. A promise he wanted desperately to make payment on as he took a relaxed sip of his soda.
“I won’t kiss you. I’ll wait for you to kiss me. I also promise to kiss you back. I promise that the fear you have in your eyes right now won’t last forever because you’ll want me to keep kissing you. And just a heads up, I’ll kiss you for as long as you want.”
“Yep,” I confirmed. “We’re friends. Friends don't kiss. BFF’s for life, remember? Maybe a pillow fight or two,” I told him, still refusing to meet his eyes, opening and closing CD cases like I had a purpose, trying desperately not to give away the fact that every word out of my mouth was a complete lie. I wanted to kiss him.
He uncrossed his ankles and moved to perch himself on all fours, slowly crawling toward me, invading my space. “Who says friends don't kiss? I wanna kiss you.”
“Becca. Becca would say friends don’t kiss. She’s already rejected me once, not unlike you,” I countered.
He drew back and took a fake bullet to the heart before his features sobered and lingered back towards me, all humor gone. “What would happen if you kissed me?” he questioned with genuine curiosity.
“Things would get complicated, that's what.” I wasn’t lying, they would, but I was ready for the complication. Hell, I tried to complicate things twenty-four hours ago, but he refused me like a gentleman. The sting of his refusal wounded me, even though I agreed with the reasoning behind it.
“Complicated doesn't mean wrong, it just has its challenges,” he argued.
“It’ll get weird, and I'm not up for weird.”
He leaned forward, back on all fours, edging closer. Too close. I stopped breathing. I couldn't move. The banter had suddenly teetered off, I could feel the shift as it turned the room upside down, my heart inside out.
“Well, I want to kiss you,” he pushed. The hairs on my arms flared and stood to attention as his energy invaded my own. “I want the awkward bits. I want the we can't leave one another alone bits. I want to know what you taste like. I want to know what you sound like when you moan your complications into my mouth. I want to get really weird with you.” He kissed the tip of my nose, asking one more time. “Pretty please, Violet. Let’s get really weird and a whole lot complicated.”
“I never planned for you, you know? The things you make me feel.” I gave it to him, the truth. It was an admission he deserved. He’d become a necessary part of me, and I needed him just as much as I wanted him.
He kept eye contact as he stood up, offering me his hand once on his feet. I took it, a question knitted across my brows. But he just looked at me with a tilted smile as he led me to the piano stool. We sat down, our hands intertwined. He leaned in and fused his lips to my temple, lingering there before slowing backing away and turning me to face him.
He let go of my hand, took my face into both of his slightly trembling palms and pressed our foreheads together, his hot breath caressing my skin as he c
onfessed to me.
“I’m here, you know? I’m here because I’m never anywhere else. Wherever you are, my mind’s at. All I see is you. Me? I’ve been planning for you my whole life, and God knows you make me feel everything.”
He ran his nose along the length of my jaw and breathed in a deep and unsteady breath, his warm hands left my face to settled on the delicate white keys of the piano. He began to play mellow, sweet, and familiar key notes that threw goosebumps like confetti over every square inch of my body.
He was playing Feel for Me by Foy Vance, he’d added it to our playlist today. It was totally fitting, because he was always telling me to feel, to feel for him. The melody sounded just like Meekai, honest and true, not a lie hidden, his heart on full display and so easy to fall for.
He’d asked me to close my eyes, to breathe in each word as if they were his own, and it was then that I felt it. I felt everything without him laying a finger on me. And right then, as the low and deep seduction of his voice worked through each line, passion caressing each one, I felt it again. It felt like his hands were all over me.
His eyes were shut, head thrown back delivering each word not just for me to hear, but to taste, to feel, to know. My heart felt desperately awake as I watched him in wonder, the free flow of the chorus hit and he opened his eyes to look at me. Joy shone back, a smile so enormous I wondered how it was possible for him to sing at all.
Eventually, he faded out the last words, played out the last notes, head bowed as the resonate sound drifted into silence. He slowly raised his head and turned to me, a gentle smile flickered over his lips as he pulled me into him, one arm around my waist, the other tenderly stroking my cheek.
“What are you thinking about, Violet?”
“I’m thinking I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you could play, or sing. I’m wondering about all the things I don’t know about you. You’re so beautiful, Meekai.” And he was. I still couldn’t believe I was the one he chose to feel for. “But now I understand the quote inked on your shoulder. Where words fail, music speaks. You really do send all those songs to me on your behalf, don’t you?”
Thirteen Hours To You Page 23
