by Carian Cole
She kisses my shoulder, then rolls over onto her back, stretching her arms over her head. The comforter slips down her body, exposing her perfect naked breasts and I want to roll over on top of her and ravish every inch of her, sink myself deep into her until she whimpers and drags her nails down my back.
I don’t.
I can’t use sex with her to fill the vacancies of my addictions anymore. I wonder if she’ll notice and I’m afraid she’ll think I don’t want her as much as I used to. The jump created fear and doubt where there wasn’t before. My fault. Mine to fix.
Balance is a bitch.
“How about breakfast in bed?” I suggest, grabbing the room-service menu from the bedside table.
She sits up with a drowsy smile on her face. “That sounds amazing.”
Half an hour later we’ve got two trays of waffles, bacon, fresh fruit, and toast spread out on the bed between us.
“This is good, but I really miss your breakfasts.”
“I do, too. I haven’t cooked in forever.”
She tilts her head and sips her orange juice. “I just realized I haven’t seen you smoke one cigarette since I got here.”
“I don’t smoke anymore.”
Her lips part in surprise. “Wow! That’s great.”
“It’s kind of fucked up, actually. When I woke up in the hospital, I had zero desire to smoke. It never came back. It wasn’t even hard.” I shrug. “I just...stopped.”
“That is strange. Did you lose interest in anything else like that?”
“I no longer feel the need to walk to the ends of the earth.”
Relief flashes in her eyes. “That’s really good, too.”
I nod. “It is. Different, but good.”
I keep waiting for the urge to walk away from everything to come, like it always seemed to, but it hasn’t. I hope it never does.
After breakfast she disappears into the shower and I join her five minutes later, unable to resist her wet and soapy body. The fiery desire in her eyes when she sees me naked under the water with her is exactly what I need. She likes the new me. At least physically, which is a start.
“You want to go for a walk in the park?” I ask her when we’re both dry and dressed. My doctor keeps telling me I need to go outside in the fresh air. I think he forgets I spent most of my life outside.
“I was hoping you’d ask that.” She glances over at my old guitar case in the corner. “Do you want to bring your guitar and play?”
She doesn’t know that I haven’t touched the guitar since I jumped because I’m afraid I won’t be able to play anymore. Sometimes the new meds make me feel blank. It’s an odd feeling I can’t put into words, but I’m afraid I’m going to pick up that guitar and my fingers are going to be lost on the strings. I’m afraid I won’t feel the lyrics and the melody in my veins anymore.
I had the same fears with Piper—that the intense love and wild attraction I’ve always felt for her would be killed by the meds. Thank fuck that isn’t the case. If anything, my feelings for her are stronger.
I’m still worried about playing and writing songs, though. So, I’m avoiding it until I’m ready to find out.
“Nah,” I reply, turning away from the guitar. “I just want to focus on you.” I tie my hair back and put a black baseball hat backwards on my head to deter people from recognizing me, since I ran into two fans at the airport yesterday. Former fans, I should say, as they stopped me just to tell me how much I suck for breaking up their favorite band and ruining their lives.
Even though they’re a trigger, I’ve read the ongoing shitty comments online, but having someone say them right to my face in public was like getting hit by a truck. People walking by stared at me with accusing eyes as the two girls went off on me. It made me want to never touch my guitar again. The thought of running to the airport bar and drinking their words away was temping. So was taking my rental car to the seedy edge of this town, a place I knew like the back of my hand, and buying tiny plastic bags of powder and pills and forgetting all this crap.
Yeah, I thought of all those things, but I didn’t do any of them, and I didn’t feel any regrets.
Instead I went to the hotel, drank a bottle of water, called Reece, took a long shower, and focused on what that really matters to me—Piper, Lyric, and my future with them. All the other bullshit faded away.
Now that I’m walking through the park holding the hand of the most precious and beautiful woman in the world, I know without a doubt that I can do this.
I beat the monster.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Walking through the park holding hands with Evan feels strange, but not in a bad way. In a good way. It feels both familiar and new at the same time. I guess much like a first date would feel with someone you’ve known your entire life.
“Seeing you sitting there every day was the best part of my day,” he says as we walk past my bench.
I smile up at him. “Really? Seeing you was the best part of mine, too.” It seems like just yesterday I was watching the clock waiting for noon to come, and I’d walk to the park with the feeling of a thousand butterflies in my stomach.
Continuing down the path, we pass the picnic table we used to sit at, and go down the dirt path to the old stone bridge. He stops suddenly, and takes a few steps backwards until he meets the wall of the bridge. Leaning back against it, he smiles and pulls me against his chest, bending down to kiss me softly at first, then deeper as his hands circle my waist and slide down to cup my ass.
“There’s no way I could walk by this spot without kissing you,” he murmurs.
I clasp my hands behind his neck. “Oh! Is this where….” My voice trails off as I look around us, remembering.
“It is,” he says, rubbing his nose along mine, awakening the butterflies again. “I still have your panties from that night. And the ones you were wearing the night before I left.”
“I’m not sure if that’s sexy or disturbing.”
“Probably both.”
Still holding my hand, he leads me down a short path through the woods until we come to a road, and I realize with surprise that we’re at the end of the dead-end street where the house with the shed is.
His house.
We stand at the end of the driveway and stare up at it quietly together. I’m not sure if being here is good or bad for his recovery.
“Ellie told me you used to live here,” I say softly. “How come you never told me?”
He shrugs after a few moments, with his gaze still on the old house. “I honestly don’t know, Piper.”
“That’s okay.”
He takes a deep breath and looks down at me. “Do you want to go inside?”
“Um….” His question is the last thing I expect. “Do you want to?”
“Yeah. I think I finally do.”
“Then I’d love to go inside with you.”
“It’s probably going to be dirty and smelly,” he warns as we walk up the driveway.
“That’s all right.”
We walk around the house and enter through the screen door of the porch. Everything is exactly as it was the last time I came here looking for him.
“When was the last time you were inside?” I ask.
“I think I was around twenty.”
“You bought a lot of notebooks,” I observe as we walk past the piles.
He stops in front of the door leading to the kitchen and looks back at the notebooks.
“Actually, I didn’t buy them. My mother ordered them. Apparently, she thought she was buying a pack of twelve and she somehow ordered twelve hundred.”
“Shit. That’s a lot.”
“Yup. At least I never run out.”
I watch as he bends down to move a large ceramic planter near the door, and plucks a key out from under it.
“I lost my set of keys a long time ago,” he says, unlocking the door.
Being inside the house is like stepping back in time. The refrigerator and sink are avocado
green. There’s still wood paneling on most of the walls. The kitchen chairs have plaid seat cushions. The air is stale and musty, but at least it doesn’t smell like something died in here.
Evan sighs deeply and slowly walks farther into the room. “It’s exactly like it was,” he says with awe. “I’ll bet there’s still food in the fridge.”
“Let’s not look,” I advise.
He grins. “Good idea.”
Taking my hand again, we walk through the dining room, through the den, then to the living room. The rooms are huge, and everything looks as if his mother just ran out to get milk years ago and never came back. It’s all untouched, still waiting. A teacup, a pair of reading glasses, and an old book, open but lying face down, are on the table at the end of the couch. I wonder what happened to her. Did she go crazy here alone? Did Ellie ever come back to visit her? Were there other relatives to look after her?
“Are you okay?” I ask. “I don’t want this to—”
“Fuck my head up?” he asks.
“Well, yeah. I know you weren’t exactly happy here.”
“I’m fine. And living here was just like every other part of my life. Some days were good, some days sucked. But it wasn’t all bad. Ellie made it seem all bad, didn’t she?”
I nod.
“When my mother was good, she was fun to be around, and then my father wasn’t such a dick. When she was having a rough time, it was hard to be around both of them. He drank and yelled and she cried and ranted. So I escaped into my own head, and into my music, and I talked to the birds. It became my normal.”
“Evan….”
“What? I’m not going to hide it anymore. You already know I’m nuts.”
I frown and cross my arms. “You’re not nuts. I don’t want you to hide anything, I just feel bad.”
“Don’t feel bad. C’mon, let’s go upstairs and look at my room.”
I follow him up the wide wood staircase, where there are four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The house must have been gorgeous in its time, before everyone left. Vaulted ceilings, crown molding, lots of windows, the wood trim and accents and angles known in the Tudor-style homes. I feel sorry for it, being abandoned for so long.
A bedroom door with a skull and crossbones painted on it is closed.
“Guess whose room this is?” he teases.
“I’m not surprised.”
He swings open the door and it looks exactly as I pictured a teenage Evan’s room would look. Rock posters cover almost every inch of the walls and ceiling. A small mattress is on the floor with an old black blanket thrown over it. There’s only one dresser, and its drawers aren’t closed all the way. Clothes stick out of them. An old radio and cassette player sits on top of the dresser, surrounded by candles dripping long-hardened wax. Empty cigarette cartons are thrown all over the place. Next to the bed is a stack of rock and guitar magazines and more notebooks.
Not surprising.
“No naked girl posters?” I tease, peering around.
He laughs and opens the closet door. “Nah. I was never into ogling women.”
After digging around in the closet, he comes out with a guitar case.
“Look what’s still here.” He lays the old dusty case on the bed.
“What’s that?”
“My first acoustic guitar.”
“Oh. I thought the one you always have with you was your first.”
“That was my second, actually.”
I’m shocked, and confused, when he opens the case and the guitar inside is in absolutely pristine condition.
“It’s pretty,” I say. “It looks brand new.”
Smiling ear to ear, he gently pulls it out of the case and turns it over in his hands.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks, clearly excited. “This is a 1934 Gibson Jumbo.”
I blink at him. “Is that good?”
“Good? It’s fuckin’ amazing, Piper. They’re wicked rare and worth a shit ton of money, not that I’d ever sell it. I just can’t believe it’s still here.” He runs his fingers lightly over the strings before placing it back in the case. “I’m taking it back with us.”
“Why did you leave it?” I ask.
“I only played it a few times. My mother bought it at a garage sale, she had no idea what it was, or what it was worth. Neither did the guy selling it. I knew, though. I was afraid to play it. It’s just too…good. Ya know?” He snaps the case closed. “I bought my other one so I could save this one. Protect it from getting destroyed. I didn’t get a chance to take it with me. I moved in the shed with Acorn, and then we just left. I never came back inside.”
My heart still tugs at the mention of sweet Acorn.
“I’m glad it’s still here. You should put it with your others. It deserves to be out, not shut in an old closet.”
“You’re right. I’m going to put new strings on it. I can’t wait to show Lyric, I think she’ll love it.”
Lyric loves everything he shares with her.
We go back downstairs, and I’m relieved this visit isn’t upsetting him. He looks happy, and excited about the guitar. I wait as he rummages through a kitchen drawer, then turns around and hands me an old photograph.
I take it from him gingerly, and when I hold it up under the light from the window, my heart jumps with joy.
It’s a photo of Evan at about five years old, hair to his shoulders, and a tiny blue bird sitting on his shoulder. He’s smiling like he’s the happiest little boy in the whole world.
“Can I have this? Please?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
“Of course.”
“You look so adorable. And happy.”
He winks at me. “Told ya.”
I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, leaning my head against his chest.
“I love you,” I say softly.
He holds me with his free arm. “I love you too, baby. Thank you for doing this with me. I wasn’t planning on coming here, but I’m glad we did.”
On our way back to the hotel we stop for ice cream cones in the park and sit at our usual table. Our little traditions mean the world to me and one of the things I love most about him is how he never forgets about them.
He’s quiet for the rest of the afternoon, and I start to worry that visiting the house wasn’t a good idea, after all. Perhaps it held too many bad memories that are now gnawing away at him. Later, over dinner in the hotel restaurant, we talk mostly about Lyric and things going on in my life, but he still seems a bit more distracted and subdued than he did earlier. I wonder if it’s an effect of the medication.
“Are you okay?” I finally ask him when we’re back in our room. “You seem quiet.”
Sitting on the bed, he bends down and pulls off his work boots while I step out of my black heels.
“Yeah… I’m just thinking about something.”
Worried, I move to stand in front of him and gently run my fingers through his hair.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly.
Wrapping his hands around my waist, he leans forward to kiss the spot between my breasts.
“I’m thinking about the house.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have gone in there. Did it bother you?”
“I wasn’t sure how I’d feel, but actually it didn’t bother me. I just feel bad the place has gone to hell, just sitting like that. It belonged to my grandparents, did I tell you that?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“They died before I was born, but my mother told me she grew up there. My grandfather had it built for my grandmother as a wedding gift.”
“Wow. That’s quite a gift. It’s a beautiful house.”
“It could be,” he says. “When I left the hospital, my doctor told me to ‘go home and start your new life’ and I realized I didn’t even have a home.” He pulls me down as he talks, until I’m sitting on his lap. “Reece moved out of the house in Seattle, and we were never there enough for it to feel like home, anyway. It was basic
ally just a hub. And your place is nice but it’s kind of a reminder that I was a fuckup for so long that you and my kid had to buy a house alone. It’s weird. For the first time I want a real home.”
It’s funny that I wondered the very same thing about where he would want to go when he left the band, and then, where he would go when he left the facility. It’s something we never talked about, even when we were discussing wedding plans.
“I think I want to completely remodel the house and live there,” he says. “But I want you and Lyric and Mickey and Archie there, too. I don’t want to live there alone. I think that house has had too much loneliness.” When I don’t say something right away, he continues to talk nervously. “It’ll be like a brand-new house when it’s done, not like it is now. We could pick out everything we wanted and make it ours.”
My brain starts to twirl like a whirlwind with the unexpectedness of this conversation. I assumed he might want to keep some distance between us for a while to give himself time to think since he just got out of the hospital. I wasn’t looking forward to that, but I was prepared for it.
I definitely wasn’t prepared for him to be talking about moving in together.
“Evan….” I’m overwhelmed with all the things I want to say.
“Shit. It’s too soon, right?” He plops me down on the bed next to him before he stands and crosses the room to stare out the window. “I fucked it all up again. Us. Our trust. Everyfuckingthing. You need time to figure it all out.”
I walk over to him and hug him from behind, and he covers my hands with his over his chest.
“All those years you were waiting for me?” His voice is so low I can barely hear him. “I was waiting, too. I always wanted everything with you, I just kept tripping over myself and fucking it all up. But I want it all. I want to marry you and have another baby.”
My heart wrenches at the thought that this sweet, vulnerable side of him has been buried under all his demons for years, trying to get out and be happy.
“You didn’t fuck it all up. I think things happened the way they were supposed to happen. And in case you didn’t notice…” I turn him around to face me. “I’m right here with you, and I still want all those things with you, too.”
