“It’s not that bad of a concept.”
“Yes it is. And it’s time for me to grow up.” I pause. “And why are you even lecturing me? I know you kissed a ton of girls before you came here.”
It’s just a guess, but when he doesn’t deny it, I assume I’m right.
Grief engraves into his face. “Don’t do that—change your dreams over some guy or belief based on other people. That’s not the Lyric I know and love. Besides, you hardly even know the guy. You’re way too trusting sometimes.”
I sigh, because he’s got me on that one. “Fine, I’ll reconsider the kiss, but I’m still trusting him enough to go out on the date, because that’s what I do.” I back up for the door, knowing that’s not true. I’ve passed up chance after chance of getting kissed, because my expectations are too high. “You know, if it really bothers you, you could always come with us.”
“On your date with you?” he says dryly. “Yeah, that sounds like a lot of fun.”
“No, to the party we’re going to.”
I know he won’t. He made a commitment to do family movie night tonight, and Ayden hardly goes back on his commitments to the Gregorys, like he thinks he owes them for adopting him or something. Honestly, sometimes I believe that’s exactly what he thinks, which is sad.
“I have band practice tonight.” He drops the guitar pick onto the pillow and sits up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed as he stretches his arms over his head. “And then movie night afterward.”
I try not to stare when his shirt rides up, but it’s always difficult. On top of having a beautiful face, Ayden’s body is ridiculously amazing. Not super muscly or anything, just lean and toned.
One of my friends, Maggie, asked me how I can stand being friends with him without wanting to “get some of that.” I tell her it’s simple, because I don’t look at him that way. Just as a friend. She looked at me as if I’d grown a third eye, which I had shrugged off. Yeah, Ayden is hot. That’s a huge obvious given. And he’s the best friend I could ever ask for. But I haven’t felt the butterflies around him or the desire to kiss him. I haven’t felt that with anyone yet. Maybe it’s because I set the bar too high, but I’m contemplating lowering it tonight.
“So what.” I sigh when Ayden finally adjusts his shirt back over his stomach. “Blow off movie night and come after practice is over. Sage and Nolan will probably be there anyway.”
He pauses. “Where is it at?”
“Up at Maggie’s house.” I grip the doorknob, feeling upbeat at the idea that he might go. “Are you seriously considering going?”
He stands up and winds around his bed and over to me. “Yeah, maybe. If Sage and Nolan go there, I might catch a ride with them.”
“Good.” I have to stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He flinches, like he always does whenever I touch him, but at least he allows me to. With almost anyone else, he freaks out. The only exception to this being Fiona, and sometimes Lila. “You need to do more fun things in your life, shy boy.”
“No, I don’t,” he says in all seriousness. “I’m just going to keep an eye on you.”
I ruffle his hair. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Yeah, you kind of do, and I have an endless list of reasons why. You think too much with your heart, Lyric, and not with your head.”
“All right, I’ll give you that.” Shooting him one last conniving grin, I open the door and strut out of his room, calling over my shoulder, “See you tonight, babysitter.”
I halt as I step over the threshold, realizing I still have the papers in my hand. “Oh, wait. There was actually a real reason why I came over here.”
“You mean other than make another declaration of love,” he jokes as I spin around.
“Yes, my friend.” Sucking in a huge breath, I hand the papers over. “I found something out about you on the internet.”
“About me?” The papers crinkle as he unrolls them.
“Yeah.” I release a deafening breath, worried how this is going to go, but there was no way I could keep something like this from him. “It’s about your tattoo.”
He glances up from the papers, his grey eyes filled with terror. “I don’t understand.”
I move around to stand beside to him. “Well, I was typing in random things that I thought might help us figure out stuff about your brother and sister. Then I started typing in homemade tattoos just to see what came up. After scrolling through an assload of images, I found this.” I tap my finger against the paper. “I guess it’s a pretty common thing to do—put tattoos on yourself. But the one you have belongs to some crazy group of people who believe the tattoo represents some kind of soul cleansing thing. I don’t know. It sounds weird to me, but that’s what all the articles say. And I guess they’ve done a lot of bad stuff, too.”
He stares at the ink staining the paper in his hand. “Like what?”
“Like . . . kidnappings and things. You said a couple of months ago that you were taken by people with strange beliefs . . .” I trail off, hoping he’ll explain more to me. I don’t want to push him.
His fingers strangle the paper, the edges ruffling. “I wasn’t necessarily taken . . . I was given away.”
“By who?”
“My mother.” His tone is sharp, his eyes cold, lost. He looks like a scared little boy.
My breath catches in my throat. “She gave you to those people?”
“Left us with them,” is all he says. He folds up the papers and chucks them on the desk. “I have a bunch of stuff to do before I head to practice.”
I instantly regret showing him the paper, but there’s not a whole lot that I can do about it now.
“All right, I’ll see you later maybe.”
He doesn’t respond, so I leave the room, praying that I didn’t break him.
I HAVE ABOUT AN HOUR until date time and should be getting ready, but instead I end up getting distracted with my notebook. A lot of the stuff coming out of me today is strange and mainly centered on my worry for Ayden, but since I still don’t completely understand him or everything he went through, I feel as though my words are lacking. My lyrics usually do.
Honestly, I’m nowhere near where I want to be in any music area. I’ve yet to decide which instrument I want to focus on, haven’t performed at all, and the idea of performing in front of anyone makes me want to hurl. It gets frustrating. Ayden, who barely talks to anyone, is perfectly fine standing up on stage and playing the guitar, while me, Miss Chatterbox, suffers from stage fright.
Go. Fucking. Figure.
About fifteen minutes before date time, I start the process of getting ready, moving slower than usual as I keep glancing out the window toward Ayden’s bedroom. His curtain is shut, so I have no clue what he’s doing.
Finally, after going through all of my clothes, I end up stealing a thin-strapped black dress from my mother’s closet, and then slip a leather jacket on since it’s fall and sometimes the nights can sometimes get a little breezy. I dab on some kohl eyeliner and pink lip gloss, then top off the look with my favorite pair of boots before I go downstairs to wait for my date.
I find my dad lounging on the living room sofa, jotting down lyrics in his own notebook. He glances up when I enter.
“Where are you headed to all dressed up?” he asks, setting the pen and notebook down on the sofa cushion beside him.
“To a party.” I drop down in the chair across from him and kick my feet up on an antique trunk that acts as a coffee table.
He puts on his interrogation face. “And where is this party?”
“At Maggie’s house.” I check my watch. “Mom already went over this with me, Dad.”
“And who are you going with?” he continues, ignoring my last statement.
“With a guy from school.”
“Which one?”
“Someone you haven’t met yet.” I lower my feet to the floor. “His name’s William Stephington.”
“And what does this William do?
” he asks, reaching for his soda that’s on the trunk.
“He goes to school with me.” I fiddle with one of the leather bands on my wrists. “He’s on the football team, too.”
His grip constricts on the soda can as he frowns. “Football? Really?”
“What? There’s nothing wrong with football guys.”
“Yeah, but . . . it just doesn’t seem like your type.”
“I don’t even know my type yet.” I resist an eye roll. Jesus, he’s getting weirder and weirder about guys the more I go out on dates.
He places the can back on the trunk then rests his arms on his knees. “Is Ayden going to this party?”
I shrug, feeling a lump swell in my throat as I remember the coldness in his eyes when I left his room. “I invited him, and he seemed like he might show up, but with Ayden you can never be sure. He might end up feeling too guilty about missing movie night.”
Maybe I should go check on him before I leave?
Or at least text him.
I just need to know that he’s okay.
My dad ponders over something then sticks his hand into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m going to call Ethan to see if I can find out.” He presses a button then puts the phone to his ear while I retrieve my cell from my jacket pocket to text Ayden.
“Yeah, you do that.” I jump to my feet when I hear a horn honk outside. “That’s my ride. Have fun with your phone call.” I scurry for the door with the phone clutched in my hand.
“Lyric Scott, get your butt back here.”
Dammit, so close.
I spin around and smile innocently at him. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Don’t you ‘yes Daddy’ me.” He nods his head toward the window at the driveway where the engine of William’s car is rumbling. “I have to meet him before you get in that car with him.”
My shoulders slacken. “What, you don’t trust my judgment?”
He dithers with indecision. “No, not really. You are my daughter after all.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Fine. You can walk me to the car and meet him.” I aim a finger at him. “But don’t be weirdo, strict dad.”
He rolls his eyes as he stuffs his phone back inside his pocket. “Lyric, when it comes to you dating guys, I will always be weirdo, strict dad, but only because I love you.”
Sighing, I lead him out to William, knowing my dad’s already docking points for the Mercedes he’s driving. William appears wigged out when I stroll up to the driver’s side and rap on the glass.
He rolls the window down. “What’s up?” He casts a glimpse over my shoulder at my dad. His appearance is going to be strike two—blonde hair slicked back, a polo shirt, and his somewhat cocky grin isn’t going to impress him.
“William, this is my dad.” I motion back and forth between them. “Dad, this is William.”
My dad eyeballs the sleek lines of the car with his face screwed up tight, like he just tasted something bitter. “How long have you had your license?”
“For about a year.” William flicks a what the hell look at me.
Things only continue to go downhill as my dad fires question after question at him. By the time we’re pulling out of the driveway, fifteen minutes have passed since I first walked out of the house.
“Sorry about that,” I say as I buckle my seatbelt. “I’m not sure what got into him today.”
William squirms in his seat as he adjusts the mirror. “No worries. I just didn’t expect your dad to be so uptight.”
“What do you mean by your dad?”
He shrugs as he shifts gears and speeds up. “I just figured with as laid back as you are that your parents would be pretty chill.”
I feel a little bit defensive, which is really out of character for me. Usually I try to stay all peace, love, and sunshine. “He was just making sure his daughter wasn’t driving off with a psychopath.”
He laughs, kind of snidely. “He seemed a little overly intense, if you ask me.”
Okay, maybe Ayden was right. Perhaps I should spend more time with a guy before I proclaim that I’m in love with him.
“Sorry,” he quickly says when he catches sight of my disappointment. “I just don’t do well with parents.” He reaches across the console and wraps his fingers around my bare knee. “Let’s drop it, though, and have some fun tonight.” He flashes me his infamous dimpled grin.
I smile back, but I’m suddenly not feeling him.
As William starts rambling about sports, I slide my finger across the screen of my phone and send Ayden a text.
Me: Hey, so I just wanted to see if u were ok. U looked super upset when I left and I feel like maybe I might have pushed u a little too far . . . If u need to talk or want to meet up later, I’m totally down for it. William might be a bust anyway.
I slide my phone into my pocket, waiting for a reply. By the time we arrive at the party, I’m still feeling super down and a bit anxious, so when William offers me a drink, I take it, even though I’ve tried to avoid alcohol since the whole scotch incident.
William flashes me his pearly whites as I guzzle down half the cup in one gulp. “Hell yeah!” he cheers over the pop music I loathe, blasting so loudly I can feel the bass in my chest.
I lick a drop of the spiked punch off the bottom of my lip, slightly more at ease as the alcohol settles into my system. “Want to dance!” I shout, figuring anything will be better than talking about sports some more.
Without waiting for him to respond, I hand him my drink, wiggle out of my jacket and shake my ass toward the dance floor, twirling around and around.
I waggle my fingers at my friend Maggie, who’s dancing in the corner with a guy that looks old enough to be in college. She winks at me and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively right as someone places their hands on my waist.
“You dance fucking amazing,” William whispers in my ear, his breath hot on my skin and reeking of Bacardi.
I smile at myself then whirl around and really show him what dancing is, rocking and grinding my hips against his. He moves with me, rubbing against me as his hands travel all over my body, gripping at my flesh.
“God, you smell so fucking good.” His teeth graze my neck as his hand cups my ass.
The music suddenly screams at my eardrums to the point where I can’t stand it anymore.
I’m so not ready for this tonight.
I tense and push back, putting room between our bodies. “Maybe we should slow things down just a bit.”
He seems a little pissed, but calms down and says, “How about we go out back where it’s a little bit quieter and talk. There are people out there, too, so we won’t be alone.”
I nod, relieved that he’s not being pushy about my stiffness. That’s pretty much the only thing he’s done right the entire night, so I take it.
He pours us both another drink in the kitchen area before he slips his fingers through mine and steers me through Maggie’s house. I’ve never actually been to her home before, not her father’s house anyway. William seems to know his way around as he maneuvers through the throng of people drinking, dancing, laughing, and playing pool. Some I go to high school with, while others look old enough to be in college.
“This house is huge!” I yell over the music as we veer down a narrow hallway lined with shut doors. The lighting is dim, the music softer.
He peers over his shoulder. “Drink up,” he says, nodding at the cup in my hand. His expression is darker than it was minutes ago. Oddly enough, he seems extremely relaxed. It makes me hesitate. Red flags go up.
All of a sudden, he’s tugging me into a dark room with a bed and a dresser. He doesn’t turn the lights on as he closes and locks the door behind us. A little too late, I painfully realize that Ayden might have been right about William. And myself, too. I do think with my heart too much. Do trust people too much.
And now I’ve walked head-on into trouble.
I HATE PARTIES. GROWING UP in the midst of them gave me an ugly outlook on what can come
from too much partying. My mother was a hardcore partier. Her drug of choice was everything and anything she could get her hands on. It aged her quickly and turned her into a nasty person, one who was incapable of loving and did the most awful things to people, including her own children. And that’s how she died, a doped-up druggie who hated the world and left scars on her offspring. It was a sad, pathetic waste of a life. At her funeral, I vowed that I would never turn into her.
I almost did, though, as I got lost in the system, getting bitter with each home I was passed through. But then I lucked out and ended up with the Gregorys, who showed me that people could love one another unconditionally and gave me hope that maybe trusting people was a possibility. That perhaps even love was a possibility. That’s what my therapist is trying to convince me.
“You’re too afraid to feel all the horrible emotions you shut down as a child.” He told me that today while I sat in his office, fidgety as usual. You would think after nine months of monthly visits with him I would be more relaxed, yet I never am. “That fear is blocking out all of the good emotions as well as some of your memories.”
I hadn’t responded.
Part of me agrees with him, but I am doing better with dealing my emotions, not shutting down so much and keeping my feelings to myself. Then I saw that damn paper and was reminded of stuff forgotten. I snapped at Lyric, which is gnawing at me more than anything.
“Ayden, tell Kale to stop teasing me!” Fiona shouts from the kitchen table as Kale throws a pencil at her.
I tear my attention from my thoughts and the cookie I’ve been nibbling on for the last ten minutes.
Fiona is probably the most spoiled by all of us. I once heard Lila and Ethan talking about how they ended up adopting her. She was born by a mother who was doped-up on heroin. She had a lot of health problems because of this, so no one wanted to adopt her. Like me, she was passed through many homes until she ended up here four years ago. Other than the fact that she’s a bit small for her age, she seems normal. Spunky even.
Unraveling You Series: The Complete Set Page 8
