The Beat Match

by Kelly Siskind

  “I can’t wait to see the video feed,” he said, his voice deliciously rough. “And I want to work on the music with you, have you in my studio when I’m there. Teach you the way I should have taught you when you blackmailed me. I want you with me as much as possible, sleeping over every night.” His request was desperate almost, like he thought she’d say no.

  Had he lost his marbles?

  “Count me in for it all. And blackmail is still on the table. I’m sure I can come up with a few things to entice you to perform your best.” She raised what she hoped was a seductive eyebrow.

  He smiled, but his expression looked strained.

  He must be worried about their impending talk. Their precarious future. All surface nonsense, as far as she was concerned. Nothing he could say would change how she felt.

  She flattened her hands on his chest, reveled in his masculine firmness. “I love that you called me Squirrel again. It’s weird, but I missed that.” A vulnerable confession. An olive branch she wanted him to grasp: no matter what happens, we won’t lose each other.

  “I’ll call you whatever you want. For as long as you let me.” He sounded downright unsure now, slightly pained.

  She kissed his jaw. “Whatever talk we need to have changes nothing, so please don’t worry. And you’re going to be late. You should get going.”

  He flinched, a small move, but her hands were on his chest. There was no mistaking that slight jolt. Something was going on with him, and it felt like a lot more than a talk about his commitment issues. His nervous energy seeped into her, a gradual churn that had her stomach hollowing out.

  He released his hold on her. “We should talk now. Before I go.”

  “Okay…” His body was all hard lines and angles, impossibly tense. “Should I sit down for this?”

  He gave his head a small shake. “I’ve only dated one woman seriously. You might remember Lila?”

  “I do.” Annie hadn’t been jealous of the beautiful redhead, per se. She hadn’t even realized they’d dated seriously, but she’d been catty about her, judging her clothes and voice and perfect skin the way envious girls lashed out.

  “I cared about her,” he said, eyes on Annie, never looking away. “I wanted things to work with us, but when she got serious, I panicked. I ghosted on her and never called again. I cut her off, avoided her calls. I hurt her deeply because I’m a disaster when it comes to personal relationships.”

  “And you’re worried you’ll do the same to me?”

  He nodded, still holding eye contact. He wanted to show her how real this was, the possibility of him pulling another runner, like he had the scrapbooking night. A disappearing act. The way Leo had disappeared on them both. His mother, too. Her parents. Death wasn’t a choice, but leaving was leaving just the same. “You’re afraid to love and lose.” The worry she’d guessed at before they’d made love.

  He gave another tight nod.

  Did he not see they were already neck deep in this? That she had just as much to lose?

  “Even if we’d never slept together, I wouldn’t be able to handle losing you, Wes. There’s no erasing our years together, or how much I care about you. And I think you feel the same. Adding sex—which was awesome, by the way.” He smiled, small but perfect. “Adding sex heightens this thing between us, but there’s still no way to protect ourselves. Best friends or lovers, we’re already attached where it counts. Like your job, in a way. But bigger. Losing each other would be like losing a piece of ourselves.”

  He pushed his hands into his pockets, licked his lips. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just taken me longer to realize there’s no fighting us. Keeping you at a distance has only made me feel…empty. Not as bad as if I actually lost you, but this week without you, knowing how you felt and fighting what I wanted, was beyond painful. I just can’t predict how I’ll react as we get closer.”

  If he freaked and ditched her, she’d have a massive hole in her heart. How she’d felt the past week, but miles worse. None of it mattered. “There’s no going back from here. You said you’re consumed by me, and I feel the same. Being with you this morning was more intense than I ever expected. And it wasn’t enough.”

  “I’m all in, Annie. I want to be inside you again, now. Every second. I want to be your everything more than I want to take my next breath.” But he was still reserved, holding back from her.

  “Then let’s do what we want.” In her mind, they only had one option.

  He was still so tense, his wide shoulders hitched high. Seducing him could help. A reminder of how great they were together. Kiss that frown off his face, let him know she’d be here if he panicked. She sauntered toward him, an extra sway in her step, and reached for him, but he gripped her wrists.

  “I lied,” he said.

  She tried to meet his flitting eyes. “When?”

  “About Leo’s death.” He looked up, his devastation plain, and she flinched.

  She jerked her wrists out of his hold. “I don’t understand.”

  Wes swallowed convulsively and started to pace. “That night, at the club, Leo and I separated and were supposed to meet at a certain time, leave before the last couple of songs. He didn’t want to get back to the shelter too late. He was always like that, making sure he got back to you at a reasonable time. And I knew what time it was, knew when he wanted to leave. But I was having fun and chose not to go.”

  Wes quit pacing and his arms fell limp by his sides. There was so much defeat in his slumped posture, so much contained agony. Part of her wanted to reach for him again, be his rock. A larger part couldn’t speak. She was frozen. She didn’t want to hear the end of this story, learn new grisly facts she’d have to accept.

  “I was selfish,” he said quietly. “I didn’t care what Leo wanted. I liked that I was on the wrong side of town. Being there was a middle finger to my father’s controlling ways. I wanted to be out past curfew, ruffle his perfectly groomed feathers. So I didn’t meet Leo and he came looking for me. That was when the shots rang out. He was hit when he stepped in front of me. He took the bullet for me, even though we shouldn’t even have been there. He died because I was a selfish bastard.”

  The plaintiveness in Weston’s voice was undeniable, his remorse palpable, but Annie couldn’t look at him. Leo, the bullets, blood, his riddled body blocking Wes’s—that was all she could see. A new image she’d have to live with. And it felt so fresh. Like he was dying all over again, the brother who’d promised to look after her always.

  Together, he’d said. I’ll always keep us together, no matter the cost. He’d begged homeless men and women to pretend to be their parents in shelters. He’d helped her with homework so poor marks wouldn’t flag teachers. He’d taught her piano to give her the gift of music when they had nothing but each other to get through each hungry day.

  He’d broken that precious promise, and she’d spent many nights furious with him, angry to the point of punching herself in the thighs, tugging out small sections of her hair. She’d been so alone, so lost. Because he’d been too loyal and wouldn’t have left Wes to fend for himself. In turn Leo had left her and now she had to relive his brutal murder because Wes had withheld the truth.

  Tears burned, a hot stab that traveled to her throat. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see through her blur of tears.

  “Annie, I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I was ashamed, too much of a coward to admit what I’d done.”

  She clutched her throat, tried to swallow through a sob.

  “Annie, baby. I’m here. I’ll help you through this. Please let me help you.” Wes enveloped her in his strong arms. Arms that had felt like heaven not so long ago.

  They were suffocating now.

  She wrenched away, dashed at her cheeks, despising that Wes was seeing her like this. She didn’t acknowledge him or his confession. She couldn’t speak without falling apart. She needed time and space to process, to grieve and be angry. She needed a lot of things right then, and none
of them were Weston Aldrich.

  19

  Time healed all wounds. The saying was a total cliché, but it had mostly held true for Annie. The days and months following Leo’s death, she’d gradually compartmentalized her grief. She’d learned to breathe through the pain, focus on happier memories, shake off the bad and let in the good. She’d built relationships online. Friends who didn’t get too personal and upset her carefully carved balance. Wes and she had never talked about Leo, either. Not outright. Not until recently. She had thought he’d sidestepped the subject out of respect for her. Now she knew the source of his avoidance: Wes had been consumed with guilt.

  Annie flipped through an old scrapbook, one of the first she’d made, thanks to her first foster home.

  June—her foster mom—had verged on being a hoarder. Precariously piled magazines and newspapers had filled the house’s every nook and cranny. Annie’s counselor had suggested art therapy as an outlet, but straight-up drawing had frustrated her. One rough day, when a magazine piano advertisement had reduced Annie to tears, she’d slashed up the page. She’d hated crying. She still did. But her hands had moved of their own accord after that, glue found, scissors unearthed, a hodge-podge assembled into a sloppy scrapbook page. At the center of her first artistic endeavor had been a photograph of Leo playing piano.

  Creating became cathartic after that. An outlet. Time to do, not think. That page was the one and only she’d ever centered around her brother. She’d avoided all things Leo and piano and clubbing afterward, until happening upon that subway busker. A piano played. Her heart revived. The urge to be a DJ like he’d dreamed so clear and true she couldn’t believe she’d wasted all those years trying not to think about him.

  She didn’t want to waste more years. She didn’t want Wes to think she hated him because he’d been a stupid kid who’d made a stupid decision. He’d texted her nonstop after his confession, pleas to talk. Apologies. She hadn’t replied because she hadn’t known what to say. By day two he’d threatened to come over if she didn’t respond. So she’d replied with a simple message: I’m okay, but I need time. Please don’t message again. I’ll reach out when I’m ready.

  Five days later she’d been going about her life, working waitressing shifts, cooking, eating, sleeping, messing around with her DJ equipment. She missed Wes something fierce, but she hadn’t done any reaching.

  She put the scrapbook away and opened her laptop. Her BOOMPop homepage flickered to life. Deaf Jam’s icon was lit. They hadn’t chatted since he’d encouraged her to hook up with a guy to help find her mojo. Their discussion had been vague then. No details about Wes shared. She could unload on him with her sad story now, or see if Pegasus was on the Punchies site, talk through what she was feeling, a computer screen safely between her vulnerability and another living soul, but that would be her wasting more time. More minutes. More years pretending she didn’t need real, live people close.

  She ditched her laptop and called Vivian before she overthought the choice. The second Vivian answered, Annie said, “I’m having a rough day. Can you come over to chat?”

  Three hours later, Vivian was on Annie’s couch, legs folded under her, compassion softening her friend’s face. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, and I kind of hate this Wes guy for stirring it all up again.”

  Annie resented him for that as well, but she didn’t hate him. She hadn’t hated sharing her story with Vivian, either. Vivian had listened to her with a sympathetic ear, asking questions intermittently, prodding when needed. Annie spilled about her parents, living on the street, her mother’s overdose, Leo’s death. She didn’t remember the last time she’d felt this immense relief, like a pressure valve had been released on her chest.

  “Wes has been the mainstay in my life, the one constant that’s helped me keep it together. And he’s obviously never gotten over his guilt about the shooting, which is sad but makes sense. What I don’t get is why the thought of talking to Wes now has me anxious. I love him. I miss him. And all this stuff with Leo is in the past, even if the story has changed slightly.”

  Vivian ran her hand up the back of her pixie hair. “Maybe it isn’t as much in the past as you think. Maybe you haven’t dealt with Leo’s death. I mean, you’ve avoided talking about any of it with me until now. Who else do you lean on?”

  The answer to that question was pitiful. “Only Wes, and we usually avoid hot-button topics. At least, we used to.”

  “Hence your vacation on Wallow Island.” Vivian’s pointed look was far from subtle. “I won’t pretend I know how you feel. Your life makes mine seem like a Leave It to Beaver episode, and I had to come out to my very traditional parents, but I spent many nights moaning about my worries to anyone who’d listen. Some people go the therapy route. I’m good griping to friends. Either way, one of the keys to solid mental health is talking.”

  “I know,” Annie said, properly chastised. She knew she dodged intimate friendships, just like Wes had actively abstained from romantic relationships. His fear of abandonment. Her fear of hurting. She should thank him for unearthing this fresh pain. Without it, she wouldn’t be dipping her toes into deeper friendship waters with Vivian. “Does today count as talking?”

  “It does. And I’m honored to be your sounding board.”

  “You realize this makes you my closest friend.”

  Vivian grinned. “If you’d told me we were besties before this went down, I’d have come over with my chocolate cheese dip.”

  Annie curled her lip. “Chocolate and cheese?”

  “Best comfort food on the planet.”

  “Or the most revolting.”

  “So is living in this disaster you call an apartment. Do you ever clean up?”

  Annie laughed. Wes had said as much and worse, about a hundred and one times. “It’s tidier than you think. I know where everything is.”

  Vivian glanced around placidly. “If you say so. But back to our heart-to-heart and your current dilemma. Are you angry at Wes for what he did? Is that why you haven’t called him?”

  Annie replayed her last five days, including her worst moment huddled on her shower floor, crying onto her bent knees. “I don’t blame Wes for what happened. He wasn’t trying to hurt Leo. He couldn’t have known what would happen. I blame lax gun laws and those assholes who used violence to settle a grudge.”

  “So what’s holding you back from him?”

  Annie had asked herself that question daily and had come up empty each time. Sitting here with a friend, her truth no longer bottled up, clarity slowly settled. “I think I needed time to grieve. I refused to cry as a kid. Aside from the night Wes told me Leo was gone, I kept my shit together. Come hell or high water, I was determined to survive, and I guess survival to me meant squashing my feelings, which is the exact opposite of what will happen with Wes. I’ll probably break down again when we finally talk, which is exhausting, so there’s that. But I also don’t want him to think I’m weak. I’m always worried he thinks of me as a charity case.”

  “Weak? You’re a freaking Amazonian Warrior.”

  Annie flexed her arm and poked at her pathetic biceps. “Hardly.”

  Vivian tossed an embroidered pillow at Annie’s face. “Don’t make me hurt you. Crying isn’t weakness. Refusing to get help, which includes talking about your issues, is weakness. We’re all human and fallible. Including your man. You need to talk to him, especially since you’re the first person he’s ever had a sleepover with. Those are not the actions of a man who thinks you’re charity. My guess is he’s going nuts with worry.”

  Annie’s heart ached at the thought, and Vivian was right: crying in front of Wes would make her stronger, not weaker. Her concerns about him seeing her through pity goggles were her insecurities, not his. She’d been choosing safety over vulnerability, wasting more of her life when she should be living boldly, like Leo would have wanted.

  She leaned forward and squeezed Vivian’s hand. “Thanks for coming over…and putting up with
my stonewalling since we met.”

  Vivian returned the affectionate squeeze. “Not a problem, especially since I need free DJ services for Sarah’s upcoming birthday party.”

  “I don’t think my skills are party ready yet, but my teacher, Julio, might be free.”

  They chatted about the prospective event and the regular customers at work who drove them batty, easy conversation that made Annie feel like a functioning human. Vivian hugged her tightly when she left, after making Annie promise she’d call Wes.

  She was ready to face him now. Embrace everything about him, including the fact that real closeness meant letting him see her at her worst. But he deserved more than a phone call. She picked up her cell and dialed his secretary.

  “Aldrich Pharma, this is Marjory.”

  “Hey, Marjory, it’s Annie.”

  “Well, thank God for that. Please tell me you two have kissed and made up.”

  Annie chewed on her nail. “He told you about us?”

  “That man keeps his personal life as secured as the Federal Reserve Bank, but he’s loved you since you sprouted boobs. Any idiot can see it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Marjory had always been observant and candid, but the boob comment was pushing it.

  “Someone around here has to be honest. And let me rephrase: he’s been denying the fact that he’s loved you since you sprouted boobs, especially to himself. And you’ve been just as blind. Which happens to the best of us, and I’d normally leave you both to your own devices. I was fine letting you get there in your own time, but I’ve never seen Weston like this. Whatever happened between the two of you, it’s killing him.”

  Annie clutched her hand to her heart. “Is he there now?”

  “He’s been here every minute of every day, thinking he can work himself hard enough to forget you. He’s here so much he brings his rabbit to the office. The rabbit, Annie. Do you hear what I’m saying?”