The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set

by Katrina Abbott

  But the word was perfect because that kiss really was setting me on fire.

  Which is why it was doubly dangerous—Ted could be states away by now, the aftereffects of last night already fading into a memory that was just that—a memory. Chances are I’d never see Ted again, while I slept in a bunk just inches from Max’s. This was going to get complicated. Really complicated.

  Except while my mind was panicking, my body had other ideas.

  “Max,” I said, somehow pulling back away from him. “This...this isn’t a good idea.”

  I glanced up at him, and he looked so damn sexy and hurt at the same time that I had to look away, or I was going to either go back for more or burst into tears. I sort of wanted to do both. God, he made everything so confusing.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said because while it had been his idea, I sure hadn’t stopped him. I may even have participated willingly. But I couldn’t help but wonder, why me? Why now? Was he looking for an easy rebound girl to make him forget his dead girlfriend? Had seeing me with Ted make him think I’d be up for a random hookup? He wasn’t allowed to get with groupies, so was I a ‘safe’ choice to cleanse his palate?

  He wiped his fingers across his lips, like the whole idea that we’d kissed suddenly surprised him. “I can’t believe I did that,” he said.

  I tried not to take it personally, but he must have read it on my face. “Not that I didn’t like it,” he said, his eyes darting down to my mouth again. “Just...” he sighed before he worked his jaw for a long moment. “Marie...”

  The mention of his girlfriend’s name set me aflame in a whole different way, stoking the embers of my anger and turning it into a full on bonfire.

  “What the hell?” I demanded. “You can’t just use me to get over Marie.”

  He stepped closer, looming over me. “You think that’s what this is?”

  I looked up at him, defiant. “Isn’t it?”

  He blew a quick breath out his nose and then shook his head. “You don’t get it. You have no idea.”

  “How could I?” I said, my anger still roiling, but now mixing with confusion. “I’ve never lost someone like that. Plus, you won’t tell me anything, Max. You wind everything up so tight in yourself, how can anyone understand what you’re feeling?”

  His eyes narrowed at me but then he sighed and looked down. “This isn’t about Marie. Well, maybe it is a little; everything comes back to her. She was my whole life.”

  I understood that he had a ghost on his shoulder, but I hated it at the same time.

  “But I... I kissed you and then...” he trailed off into a string of curses. “Maybe I was using you. I’m really sorry.” His shoulders slumped, and I felt worse for him than I did for being used by him.

  “What’s going on?”

  He swallowed and then his lips parted, but as I waited for him to speak, he just took a few deep breaths, looking through the trees.

  “Max,” I reached for his arm but stopped myself before I touched him. “Talk to me.”

  He was frozen, not moving or doing anything other than breathing. I wanted to scream at him to make him tell me, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t force him. I can’t fix him, I kept telling myself.

  “I’m...it’s all...dammit, Sandy, I’m so broken,” he finally said, as though he’d heard my thoughts. “I...I can’t...I don’t know how to go on without her. Sometimes I don’t even want to. It hurts so goddamn much....and then when that fan—I got so mad that she would do that. That she would make it like I was done with Marie. Like she never even existed.”

  “You can’t let that get to you,” I said gently. “You can’t give fans like that any space in your head—you know that.”

  He nodded and then as I watched, his face crumpled a second before he dropped his chin, hiding his eyes from me. I fought the emotions that slammed into my chest, squeezing my heart like it was in a vice.

  “Max,” I said gently, putting my hand on his upper arm, unable to stop myself from connecting with him physically. “When you say you don’t want to go on. Do you mean...are you...I mean, do you ever think about hurting yourself?”

  I held my breath, waiting for him to go nuclear, shake off my hand and freak out at me because how could I ask such a stupid thing? How could I even think it? But instead, he kept his eyes cast downward and nodded. “Sometimes.”

  My knees almost buckled at that one devastating word. Oh, God. What should I do? A thousand things started whirling around in my head. Plans of action, who I should tell, what I could look up on the internet. How I could help.

  You can’t fix him, I reminded myself. But you have to help. You can’t not help. I couldn’t imagine what might happen if he was left on his own with this burden that was beginning to drown him.

  The simple fact that he’d actually just admitted it to me seemed like it was his desperate way of asking for help but at the same time, signaled he was at the end of his rope.

  “Max,” I said, careful to keep even the tiniest hint of judgment out of my voice because I knew if he thought for a second that I thought less of him or pitied him, he’d balk and flitter off like a sparrow. “I know it’s hard and probably the last thing you want to do, but you can’t keep on like this. You need to get some help. Wanting to hurt yourself is beyond just grief. This is bigger than you.”

  “I know,” he whispered, but still wouldn’t look at me. He was so fragile, so vulnerable and every molecule of my body wanted to reach out and make it all better, but I was also terrified of making it worse.

  “I can’t bear the thought of you suffering like this. I want to do whatever I can, but you have to find help.”

  He just stood there breathing, processing, I guess. My heart was breaking for him, but at the same time, this felt like a corner he was turning, if he took steps in the right direction.

  “Can I hug you?” I asked, sorry for uttering the words the second they were out of my mouth, sure he was going to recoil from me.

  But he surprised me again when he didn’t move except to slightly nod his head.

  It was enough. I stepped forward toward him and pulled him to me, standing strong as his arms came around me. It only took a second for me to know he wasn’t just enduring my embrace, but welcoming it.

  Something inside me sighed in relief because I’d wanted to do this for so long—comfort him, hold him, the guy who seemed to need it so badly at the same time he dodged away from it. This is what he needed, not a kiss or a hookup—he needed the contact of another human who cared.

  I pulled him in a little tighter, not just because he needed it, but because I did, though I worried it would be unwelcome, the move that would make him step back and away from me.

  But no. Instead, the opposite happened when he practically crushed me to him, the desperation of his embrace suddenly evident in the trembling of his body.

  He bent and buried his face in the curve of my neck.

  “Max,” I said, acknowledging his pain as the weight of his grief came to my shoulders. It was so heavy, and I got a sense of how hard it must be for him, carrying it around every day, being pressed down into the earth by it.

  I felt overwhelmed with my own guilt for every time I had belittled his feelings, calling him surly or crabby, even just in my own head. He wasn’t broody, he was hurting.

  “It’s okay,” I crooned in his ear as his trembling turned into sobs. First a few hitching breaths, and then a full on ugly cry. Part of it had to be the booze talking, but I also recognized that the alcohol had brought his emotions to the surface, the ones that would never have made it there on their own. And he needed this. Desperately.

  I rubbed his back, holding my own emotions in check, just being there for him, being what he needed as he let go.

  Several long moments later, the sobbing began to ease and his arms loosened by degrees. I didn’t move, let
ting him determine what to do next, when to end the embrace. Finally, he pulled away and straightened, taking a big, long breath.

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” I interrupted. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

  He looked up at me, his red-rimmed eyes seeming bluer than ever. It was like a gut punch when he wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, not bothering to hide them now.

  I swallowed hard and cleared my throat before I said, “I’m not kidding, Max. You don’t need to apologize for your feelings. You have every right to feel all those emotions. You’ve been through a lot and whatever it was that made you want to drink today is telling you you’re not okay. You may have been successful at faking it for a while, but it’s not working anymore, is it?”

  I held my breath, scared he was not going to like my tough love.

  He stared at me for a long moment before fresh tears fell and he shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “It’s not working. I think I was kidding myself that I thought it ever did. Can you help me, Sandy?”

  “No, I can’t, Max,” I said, and his eyes widened as he misunderstood. I quickly grabbed his arm. “No, that’s not what I mean. I want to help you, and I’ll do whatever I can, but I’m not the right person to really help. I’m sorry to say, but we need to get Tony involved. You need to talk to a counselor or someone who knows what they’re doing. I’m just a friend; I can be here for you, I will always be here for you, but you need real help. Qualified, professional help.”

  He nodded again as I reached up and brushed away his tears with my thumbs. I planted my palms on his warm cheeks, holding him, so he had no choice but to look at me when I said, “I’m here, though. I told you before that I care, and I meant it.”

  “Are you mad?” he asked, looking so afraid of my answer. “Because I kissed you?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll only be mad if you don’t help yourself get better.”

  His eyes softened. “Thanks.”

  I let him go, and like his head was on a spring, he looked away, out toward the bus. “I really thought I was doing better. I...” He blew out a long breath and turned his lips up into what was more of a smirk than a smile, before saying. “For the first time since I lost her, I thought maybe I could move on. It made me crazy, but what you said before, about how she wouldn’t want me moping around, I heard you, Sandy. You were right.”

  I’m not going to lie, I loved that what I’d said helped. But, obviously, something had changed. “So what set you off?”

  He looked down at his hands and shrugged.

  “Max?” I said and bent down to look up at him. “We’ve come this far, no point holding back now.”

  His eyes flicked to mine, but only for a second. “Seeing you making out with Ted.”

  I’m Not Sorbet

  Oh.

  So maybe I’d gotten a little cocky about my helping and hadn’t expected or needed to hear that. Or maybe I had needed to hear it, but that knowledge didn’t make it easier to swallow.

  “What?” fell out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Never mind.”

  That he didn’t want to answer was no deterrent. Not now when he’d already opened up so much to me. And, well, because it was me. “Do you...” I took a breath and powered through because if I didn’t ask now, I never would. And it was important to know really what had been behind that kiss, even if I couldn’t imagine it was more than what I’d first thought. “Do you like me, Max?”

  He didn’t say anything, his eyes suddenly laser-focused on mine, which was pretty much saying everything.

  “I thought you were just trying to cleanse your palate.”

  He screwed up his face. “What does that mean?”

  It felt kind of stupid now that it was outside my head. “Like, you wanted Marie not to be the last person you kissed before you move on. That you were looking for someone random.”

  A bunch of emotions washed over his face as he seemed to process that. “No,” he said. “That wasn’t it at all. There was nothing random about that kiss.”

  “I really thought you hated me,” I said. “You...you always seemed so...hatey toward me.”

  He looked contrite when he said, “I didn’t...I don’t think I ever hated you specifically.”

  I laughed. “Funny way of showing it.”

  “I know.” He worked his jaw before saying, “And I’m sorry. It’s complicated, Sandy. At first, when I met you, there were some things about you that really reminded me of her and I hated that.”

  That was slightly alarming to hear. “Things like what?”

  He shrugged. “That you love horror movies. How you push your hair behind your ear using your pinky finger. Little things.”

  It felt weird that he’d noticed tiny details about me like that.

  “But then I started to get to know you and those things were all that you had in common with her. I began to get to know you and realize you are a totally different person. And I guess...I guess I liked that person.”

  My heart was pounding, but I couldn’t think of even one word to say as I stared at him, listening to his enlightening confession.

  “I hated that you made me feel like I didn’t want to think about Marie anymore. That...that made me conflicted, you know? But I never hated you.”

  “Oh,” was all I could come up with as a response because what he was saying was big. Confusing and flattering, but at the same time ginormous and heartbreaking.

  “I know. Sorry. If I was...no, when I was a dick to you, it was because you made me see the truth about myself. It wasn’t easy to accept that I was only moping around, half-living and not knowing how to go on.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I understand now. Looking back, it makes a lot of sense.”

  “But...” he said, and then seemed to get stuck.

  I wanted to reach for his hand but didn’t want to confuse things, so I put it in my pocket to keep from inadvertently making it weird(er) with my desperate need to connect. “Tell me, Max.”

  He swallowed and shoved his own hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground. He kicked some twigs, dithering. “Sometimes it hurts so bad that she’s gone, you know? And it’s the little things that blindside me most. Like when we have a great show and my first instinct is to call her and tell her about it but have to remember all over again that she’s gone. Then it all comes back what happened. Or even the stupidest things, like how I see cake or even cookies and think about how much she loved them and feel like I don’t even deserve to enjoy food without her.”

  Keeping my face even, I tried not to think too much about how many meals we’d had when he must have been fighting his demons over something as basic as food. No one, not even Tony, I was sure, knew how deep his grief ran. It was a wonder he hadn’t completely melted down before now.

  “But it’s different now,” he went on, giving me a little smile. A very rare smile for him, which made me want to throw my arms around him again. But I kept my distance, not wanting to interrupt. “You made me want to move on, not just because of what you said, but because of you.” His face, which was already a little blotchy, got even pinker. That, along with his words, made my heart lurch and not just because this was all so unexpected.

  “At the same time, I feel like I shouldn’t. I...you know, in some ways I feel like I should suffer forever. Even though rationally I know I shouldn’t. But if I don’t, I feel like I’m disrespecting her memory or demeaning what we had somehow. Like it would be sweeping our relationship under the rug as though it never existed.”

  “No,” I said emphatically. “Nothing you do now can change what you had with her.”

  He nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  “It’s like a photo—you take a snapshot of a moment but what comes after it doesn’t change the picture, right? It’s always that same ca
ptured moment in time. You have it forever. And while it may fade, what you do from that moment forward doesn’t change it.”

  His lip quivered again, but then he squared off his shoulders and blew out a breath, looking somehow lighter. I was getting through. Take that, Doctor Freud.

  “You’re right. That’s actually a nice way to think about it, especially because I have some really great pictures of Marie. Her and I together.”

  “I’d love to see them sometime.”

  He took a deep breath before he said, “Not yet. I can’t look at them yet.”

  Ugh. That was so not what I meant. “I’m not rushing you, Max. I...whatever you need. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you...” I sighed. “Just ignore me, ‘kay?”

  “It’s okay.” He nodded, seeming to understand. “But Ted...”

  I shook my head, closing my eyes, so I didn’t have to look at him. “Ted was...I don’t know, a distraction?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  My face heated up. How was I supposed to admit this to a guy? Especially this guy? A guy who seemed to have been totally in love and monogamous with his long-time girlfriend until she was tragically killed in a story that belonged on Lifetime (and maybe would be someday, thanks to his newfound fame).

  I shrugged casually and dropped my eyes again. “He’s nice, and we got to talking the last few days and I...I guess I wanted just some fun. To cut loose a little. You of all people know how busy and stressful it can get.”

  “So, like, just a one-time thing?” he asked, his tone more curious than judgy. Actually, it wasn’t judgy at all, which was surprising. Instead, he sounded...hopeful?

  “Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “I’m going back to my boarding school with Nessa in the fall, and he’s off to Australia on tour. It’s not likely, even if I stayed on tour with you guys, that I would cross paths with him over the summer, so...” I shrugged again because there was no point finishing my sentence.