by Kacey Shea
Frustration at both the situation and myself for not calling Coy out on his shit explodes within and I slam my fist against the counter. “Shit! Fuck!” That fucking hurt. I shake my hand out and reach for the refrigerator door, grabbing another beer for myself. Fuck it, I grab two. Setting them on the counter, I rub my palms over my face and through my hair.
“Hey, you coming back out?” Trent steps into the kitchen.
“Yeah. Just a minute.” I blow out a breath and twist the tops off both beers.
“What the fuck are you doing in here? Jacking off?” He laughs.
“No, asshole. Just thinking.” My gaze flits to the open doorway, and at the sound of Jess’s voice I can’t help but smile.
“Dude. No.” His warning is clear and he shakes his head.
“What?” I pretend like I don’t understand his meaning and tilt back my beer for a long swallow.
“No fucking way, Sean. You can’t. She’s not yours.”
“What are you talking about?” I know damn well he’s referring to Jess, but I play it off like I don’t. At least I attempt to.
“After all the shit we’ve been through the past few months? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You can’t, bro. I don’t care how much you like her. Stay away.”
“I’m not doing anything. Swear, I’m not.” But that’s not really true. I crave her attention. Her smile. Her conversation. I take every opportunity possible to bask in her presence. I realize that makes me a total fucking loser, and yet I can’t seem to give a shit. I want her so much that I’m happy with whatever scraps I can get.
“Tread carefully, my friend. I sure hope you know what the fuck you’re doing. ’Cause we can’t lose another drummer.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go finish the game.” Beers in hand, I walk away, pushing my way back into the room with a fake easy grin plastered on my face. “We doing this or what? I’m ready for my big comeback!”
I take my seat, play by the rules, and joke between swallows of beer, as if everything is peachy. But the game I’m playing is dangerous. I want to break all the rules with Jess. I shouldn’t be thinking of making babies with her for a real life minivan. She’s not mine. She’s not. It’s against every rule. A good man would follow those rules, and while I always strive to be a good man, this woman has me thinking maybe I should be bad.
I can’t fight the hope she might want to break them too.
52
Jess
It’s all I can do to return to the living room, sit back down next to Coy, and paste a smile on my face like his words don’t sting. We don’t talk about the future. Ever. But that was when we were living paycheck to paycheck. That was before he hit it big. It was never practical to think or hope for a family of my own. Hell, I know first-hand how horribly wrong that can go. And Coy’s always been enough for me. More than I deserve.
But as I sit here inserting minuscule plastic twins into the back seat of my game piece, I realize things have changed. I knew they would, but I never expected I would be the one with growing expectations. At Coy’s next turn I sneak a glance at Sean and find him staring back with eyes that promise more. More of what I want. Gifts without guilt. Friendship with meaningful conversations. Sexual connection that’s more pleasure than pain. This isn’t the first time I’ve imagined what it would be like to sleep with Sean. He’s kind, but more than that, he’s sincere, and I can’t imagine him anything other than generous in all aspects. And that’s so, so wrong. My face heats with the shame of my inappropriate thoughts, made worse by the fact I’m sitting next to my boyfriend while staring at another man.
Just because he told me I’d be a good mother someday doesn’t mean he’s volunteering to be the father. And none of that negates the fact I’m with Coy—the man who knows the dirty parts of my life and loves me anyway; someone who saved me from my own personal hell, expecting nothing in return. So Coy doesn’t want children? I’ll have to accept it. Besides I can’t really picture him as a father.
“Your turn, Jess.” Trent snaps me from my thoughts.
“Sorry.” I spin the dial and move my piece across the finish line.
“Damn!” Austin chuckles, shaking his head, “We got our asses handed to us by a woman.”
“Well, this is the game of life, Aust. That’s generally how it goes.” Trent winks and leans back into his chair, tipping back his beer.
Austin rolls his eyes and picks up his cell phone to glance at the screen. “Oh, fuck.” He knocks the table and jostles all the game pieces, sending a few cars and dollar bills flying in the process. “Shit! I’ve gotta go!”
Sean’s brow furrows as he watches Austin shove his cell in his pocket. “Bro, where do you have to be?”
“Dude, it’s two in the fucking morning.” Trent laughs and shakes his head.
“Oh, uh . . . I’m . . . just . . .” Austin pulls his phone out to check it again. “I just remembered I have something to do.” He glances back over his shoulder. “In my room.”
“You make an appointment to jack off your dick?” Coy teases and it sends the guys into a fit of laughter. Well, all except for Austin, who still looks more like a boy who’s hiding candy or fireworks or a girl in his room. I actually laugh at the probability it’s one of the three.
“That’s it! He’s got his cock on a regular schedule!” Trent slaps his hand on the knee of his jeans.
“Fuck off!” Austin turns away and throws up his middle finger. “You guys are stupid.”
Sean calls after him. “Make sure to lotion up, bro! Helps with the chafing! Don’t want any disruptions for your next session!”
“Fuck you!” he yells, now out of sight.
Even I have to laugh, the mood lighthearted the way it was when we first started the game. I can almost pretend Coy didn’t make me cry, or that Sean comforted me in a way no one else could.
“I think my life is ruined.” Trent laughs at his play on words, picking up his game piece from where it landed on the floor.
I sit up on my knees and reach out to help reorganize the money and collect the pieces of the game back into the box.
“Another round?” Sean holds up his empty bottle with his offer. It’s to all of us, but once again his eyes fall to me.
“I think we’re gonna turn in now.” Coy slides his hand up my leg to where his fingers brush under the frayed threads of my cutoff jeans. It’s an intimate gesture, and one that tells everyone in the room what he wants. He might as well announce it with a bullhorn.
Sean continues to hold my stare and I have to look away. Not that Sean and Trent don’t expect us to sleep together, but it’s embarrassing when Coy’s fingers are skimming the edge of my panty line to an audience.
It’s not because I’d rather go to bed with Sean tonight. I know it’s a lie, but I tell it to myself anyway. The truth is so much more painful. I won’t give in to the admission that I have these feelings for Sean, because they’re so implausible it’s ridiculous. He’s just not that into me. We’re friends. That’s all this is, and all it can ever be.
“Dude, remind me never to take your girl on. She’s a fierce competitor.” Trent breaks the silence and reaches over the table to offer me a high five. I smile, relieved and appreciative of his ability to put everyone in the room at ease, and meet his hand with a light smack.
“She’s a winner.” Coy grins and tugs me to his side so I’m practically sitting on his lap.
I shrug and feign nonchalance. “I’ll accept my prizes now, thank you very much. Wait. What exactly were we playing for?” I tap my chin.
“Sorry, looks like the only prize you get is me,” Coy says, his voice low. I tip my chin up to meet his stare. His hand is ready, sliding up my neck and gripping the back of my hair. Before I can react, he tugs hard and presses his lips over mine.
My body tenses and at first I resist. I’m uncomfortable with spectators. Even more so that it’s Sean sitting only a few feet away. Coy has every right to kiss me, but this feels wrong. Hurtful
and spiteful. And the fact I don’t immediately give in to his kiss causes Coy to push his dominance. He pulls my hair so hard tears form beneath my eyelids while his other hand twists at my hip until I climb on his lap.
Trent lets loose a long whistle. “And that’s our cue. ’Night.” There’s a shuffle of footsteps along with the clink of beer bottles, and I don’t dare try to pull away from Coy’s assault on my lips.
With relief that they’re no longer watching, I relax and give in to the power of Coy’s touch, at least enough that I’m no longer fighting against him. His hands guide my hips, forcing them to grind against his erection.
His lips leave mine for a short breath. “Bedroom. Now.”
The command doesn’t leave room for discussion and I stand up, glad to see Sean and Trent aren’t anywhere to be found.
“Looking for someone?” Coy’s tone is hard and mean, and my gaze snaps up in return.
“No. I just . . .” I glance around the mess we’ve made—the game, empty bottles, and half eaten bags of chips. “We should put some of this away first.”
Coy rolls his eyes and tugs me to his chest so I have to look up to meet his gaze. “Jess, you’d rather clean than let me fuck that pretty cunt? That what you’re saying?”
“No,” I whisper and drop my gaze.
“Then if you don’t want me to fuck you right here, right now in this room, you’d better get that ass upstairs.” His confidence builds with each command and it’s clear that this is what he needs from me right now. To have control. He gives my ass a sharp smack. “Now.”
I give a little jump and turn toward the hall. Coy is on my heel, but I don’t look back as my feet carry me up the stairs and toward the room we share. The minute we’re inside, door locked and lights off, I squeeze my eyes shut and give in completely. He takes, but I let him. It’s the same as it always is, but at the same time it’s not. Our axis of power and control has shifted. Something has changed. It’s me. And I don’t have the mental headspace to examine exactly why that is.
The bristles of my toothbrush dig against the tender flesh of my gum, but I rub even harder with a futile, obsessive need to clean my mouth. I’ve showered, too. And while my body might be fresh and clean after an especially rough sexual encounter with Coy, it’s my mind that struggles to wash away dark thoughts that streak mud across a once clean surface; to erase the doubts that threaten a once acceptable existence. I don’t always take pleasure in sex, but tonight’s the first time with Coy that I found myself wishing it were over before we even began.
Coy’s never been tender or sweet, not when we have sex, but he always holds me afterwards. Apologizes when he takes it too far, like tonight. He can’t always rein in his power in the heat of the moment, but afterwards he always makes sure I’m okay. Only this time I wasn’t. I wasn’t okay with giving over my body to his will. Not when every touch, kiss, and thrust was about him. Not when I kept closing my eyes and wishing I were somewhere else.
Taking a mouthful of water, I rinse out the residue of toothpaste with a determination to get things back to a normal I can live with. To pretend I’m okay. It’s a survival skill that’s kept me sane most of my life, and I slide into the role naturally. “I never won at anything before tonight. That was fun.” My lips pull into a smile that doesn’t resonate with how I feel, but even I’m fooled by my own reflection.
Coy eyes me from the shower, having shut off the water moments before. He wraps his towel around his waist, and water droplets rest on his skin as he meets my gaze in the mirror. “Really? You think? Kinda boring, in my opinion.”
I squirt lotion into my palms and rub them together before coating my arms and legs. “I never got to play games like that when I was a kid. I don’t know, maybe that’s why it was fun.”
Coy drops the towel and pads over to the attached walk-in closet to retrieve a pair of boxer briefs. “It’s a little strange, don’t you think? These guys are supposed to be these badass rock stars and what do we do on our Friday night? Play kids’ games. Lame.”
His words only make me feel worse inside. Maybe it was ordinary, but I liked it. I found the guys to be more endearing, too, after seeing a side to them that wasn’t about fame or pretense. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“I’m not complaining. It’s just, this isn’t what I signed up for.” Coy stops by the mirror to finger comb his hair. “That reminds me, we need passports.”
Fear knocks the breath from my gut like a sucker punch. “What?”
“Yeah, for the tour.” Coy grabs his toothbrush and paints a seam of minty white paste along the bristles as if he didn’t just shatter the well-crafted safety net around my life.
“But I thought you’d only be in North America.” My eyes are wide in the mirror’s reflection and my fingers grip the counter until my knuckles go white.
Coy scrubs his teeth, his gaze never leaving his own reflection except to spit. “We were, but they added some festival in Canada.”
“Coy, I can’t get a passport!” My pulse thrums so hard it feels as if my heart’s beating inside my neck. The oversized T-shirt and boy shorts I’m wearing suddenly stick to my skin like a winter coat in summer; everything’s too heavy and restricting.
Coy rolls his eyes, sets his toothbrush on the counter, and rinses his mouth before turning to me. “Jess. Chill out. It’s not a big deal.”
“It kind of is! How am I supposed to get a passport without my birth certificate? Tell me that.” I’m never so sharp, but the anxiety of my past propels past my self-preservation.
Coy’s brow pulls to a scowl and he glares. “Chill the fuck out. I’ll handle it, Jess.”
“I can’t go back . . .” I lift my hand to my throat, a need to feel my own pulse beat and reassure myself I’m here. Living in the now.
Coy steps forward until his arms wrap around my waist. “You won’t have to. I already spoke with the PR rep at the label. They’re on it.” His words are meant to comfort, but anxiety gets the best of me. I can’t have people knowing about me. I can’t face them if they do.
“You told them? Did you tell everyone in the band, too?” I know better than to question him, and the minute the words fly from my lips I regret them.
Coy’s hands leave my waist and he takes a step back. “It was seven years ago, Jess. Let it go.” Huffing a frustrated exhale, he stalks out of the bathroom.
Let it go. As if there’s a time frame for such a thing. As if letting it go is so simple. As if guilt and shame and embarrassment simply disappear with the passing of time. I wish it worked that way. God, how I wish I could move past this without having to revisit it ever again. But that’s not possible and Coy’s blasé attitude only frustrates me further.
I follow him to our room where he’s already climbing into bed. Standing at the edge, I speak the truth. “I don’t want anyone to find out.”
“Anyone, huh?” His patience is done. Eyes narrowed, his words cut sharp as any knife. “You mean you don’t want Trent and Austin to know what a slut you are? Don’t want Deb to realize her protégé isn’t nearly as innocent as she leads everyone to believe? Or is it Sean you don’t want to disappoint with tales from your humble beginnings. Before you hitched a ride out on my back.”
“Coy.” I blink and take a step back as if somehow that will help soothe the pain from his accusations. “Don’t.”
“That’s what they all think, you know. That you’re riding a free ticket to a life of fame and fortune on my hard work.” He shakes his head and drops his gaze as if he can’t stand to look at me. I don’t blame him, though. I wouldn’t want to either.
“Oh.” My heart sinks and I sit at the edge of the bed. I try to calm my racing pulse with a few deep breaths.
“You didn’t know, did you?” He laughs, but the sound comes out cruel and it only magnifies my hurt.
“I didn’t.” I’m so stupid. So naïve to believe people like Sean and Deb are actually kind and accepting when the entire time they’ve been judging me behind my ba
ck. If they knew everything, they’d probably kick me out of this house.
“It’s fine. I don’t care what they say about us. You know that, right?” Coy reaches across the mattress and grips my hand in his, weaving our fingers together. “They can think whatever they want because I don’t give a fuck. It’s you and me against the world. Always has been. Always will be.”
“Us against the world.” I speak aloud the phrase we’ve always shared. But while it used to fill me with pride and strength, now it only picks further at my doubts. Coy used to be enough for me; with him I didn’t need or want for anything. But ever since we moved here and he started playing with Three Ugly Guys, I’m not only lonely, I’m bored. My mind races through the conversations I’ve shared with both Deb and Sean this week, reading between lines in search of distrust or judgment, but I come up empty. Are they really that good at being two-faced or am I a complete fool, so easily duped?
“I’ll always take care of you,” Coy says.
“So, the people at Off Track, they’ll get my birth certificate? And social security card too?”
“Yeah. I said they would take care of it.” Irritation creeps into Coy’s tone but I feel unusually bold at the moment.
For once I ask for me. “I’d like to go back to school. And get a job.”
His frown pulls at his brow. “You don’t need a job, Jess. I’ll take care of you.”
“I know you will, but I want to do this. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what kind of career I’d like to pursue—”
