“What’s wrong, baby girl?” Tate asked, his voice laced with concern as he made his way over to me. He stepped over pieces of wood that had been thrown across the bathroom from the sheer force of his foot.
I was still trying to process why the freaking bathroom door was now splintered into tiny pieces all over my bathroom floor. But Tate’s strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, throwing my thoughts of the door out of my mind as my body melted into my brothers.
Tate slowly sat on the floor, pulling me onto his lap as I placed my head on his chest. His arms acted like a cocoon as if he was shielding me, this was home. There was no talking, only the sound of my sobs as Tate rocked me slowly. It reminded me of the day I was rocking my mom that same way.
I didn’t know if it was minutes or hours that had passed when I felt Tate’s body tense, lifting my head I looked at him wondering what was wrong.
“My ass has gone numb.” He whispered, breaking an unexpected chuckle from my lips.
“Your shirt.” I said as I noticed tear stains in his crisp white shirt.
“It’s okay, I have others.” He replied, laying his cheek on top of my head as he stroked my hair away from my face.
Nodding, I melted back into my brother, noticing he still hadn’t moved even though he complained about his ass going numb. Tate’s chest rose and fell quickly against my cheek before he sighed.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” He asked, clearly saddened that whatever I was going through I couldn’t tell him.
“No.” I stated, as I slowly moved my weight from my brother’s lap and stood up on shaky legs. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“I know that, Neva, but you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” He asked, but I had to look away from him. What he just said wasn’t exactly true. I couldn’t tell him about Logan nor could I talk to him about dad.
Ever since dad died, Tate had just seemed to block it out. I don’t remember him ever crying. I just remember a child who grew up very quickly in a short space of time. Tate was my rock, but I could see he was close to crumbling. It seemed I was grieving for both of us.
“I know.” I nodded, trying not to break and tell my brother everything.
“Whatever it is, Neva, it will be okay.” He said as he got back on his feet, wincing as he rubbed his ass, trying to get some blood flow back.
I could only smile at him, if only he knew.
After an hour of reassuring Tate and Low that I was fine, they reluctantly left the dorm. I hadn’t told them about Logan but I had a feeling Low knew, her ‘we will talk later’ face told me all I needed to know.
Finally on my own, I fell on to my bed with a hard thud as I ran over the past 24 hours in my head. Logan’s hands, lips and body against mine; the way he touched me delicately, as if I was fragile and breakable. But the images of Logan’s naked body against mine was soon washed away when the memory of his face this morning took over. He had pleaded with me and declared his love for me and I couldn’t find the strength to tell him that I loved him too. But what was worse was that even when I was curled up in Logan’s arms, I didn’t once think about Angel.
Angel … Fuck.
What the hell was wrong with me? I had a perfect boyfriend who was hot, sexy and sinful, but also funny and intelligent. The more I thought about how perfect Angel was, the more apparent it became that I was so imperfect, so fucked up. There was no way I could tell him about what had happened between Logan and me. I just couldn’t do that to him, I won’t do that to him.
I had already shattered two hearts, I wasn’t going to shatter a third.
Suddenly my phone started ringing, leaning over my bed to the bedside cabinet I picked it up before staring at the screen.
Angel …
Shit, I knew I had to talk to him but did it have to be right now? Angel definitely thought so as my phone would not stop ringing. Tentatively I ran my finger across the screen before putting it to my ear.
“Angel.” I rasped, my voice trembling.
“Shit, Neva, where are you? Are you okay? I have been calling you all night! I have been worried sick.”
“I’m sorry.” I said quickly. “I felt sick and went to my brothers, I crashed there last night.” I cringed at my lie.
“You’re sick?” Angel asked, clearly still concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine now. It must have just been a bug.” The lie was pouring out of my mouth, and it just wouldn’t stop.
“Do you want me to come over?” Angel asked.
“No it’s okay, I’m going over to see my mom today so I might just crash there until class on Monday.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it will give me some time to get the assignment done for class too.” God I was such a bitch.
“Okay baby, I’ll see you Monday. Call me if you need anything.”
“Yeah, see you Monday.”
I chewed my lip hard as the call disconnected. I had just lied through my damn teeth to my boyfriend because I didn’t have the backbone to tell him about where I actually was. Tears quickly formed in my eyes as I swallowed the distinct taste of copper. Releasing my lip, I wiped at the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand to find a streak of blood against my skin. It was time to do what I knew best.
Run.
Pulling out my suitcase from the closet, I threw it onto my bed, tossing enough clothes inside for the weekend. I was going to take my own advice and stay at mom’s for the weekend. I needed some time to understand everything and make some decisions about what the hell I was going to do.
Turning to my bedside cabinet I opened the drawer, finding my black leather notepad and pencil I quickly ripped out a page and wrote a note out to Low.
Gone to mom’s for the weekend, be home soon. Neva x
A single tear dropped on to the note before me, the words I had haphazardly written taking me right back to ten years before.
Dad had asked me if I wanted to go with him for a trip to the store. He had dangled his keys to the truck in front of me. His secret sign that only I would understand. He was going to show me how to drive again. A devilish twinkle appeared in his eyes as it always did when we did something mom didn’t approve of. Mom didn’t know dad had been teaching me how to drive for the last six months. We knew she wouldn’t be happy, but we still did it anyway, it was our little secret.
It was one of my favorite memories of my dad. He would take me to an old parking lot just a couple of miles outside of Spring Water and put the truck in park while I climbed onto his lap. I wasn’t tall enough to work the pedals but I could steer. Dad would work the gas while he guided my hands through the steering wheel.
But that night, I decided to stay home. Frost had started to creep onto the edges of the windows in the house as Christmas approached closer with each passing day. I slowly shook my head at my dad smiling before turning my attention back to the TV, my dad chuckled before sighing.
“I’ll just have to get a cold butt on my own then.”
“Daddy, you won’t get a cold butt. It’s warm in the truck.” I giggled as I turned back to my dad.
“What if I sit on the ice cream?” He asked in mock horror “My butt might just freeze and fall off!”
“Daddy, that sounds like a good idea. Your butt stinks!” I said laughing hard at my own joke.
“Young lady! Have your smelled yours? You most certainly take after my side of the family.” He winked before taking the few strides into the room, pulling me into his arms and kissing me on the head. “We will prove that to your mother later. Now go and get your homework finished so we can eat some ice cream when I get back.”
I simply nodded and turned my attention back to the TV once more, hearing my dad chuckle and walk out the room making his way to the front door.
“Be home soon.” He shouted over his shoulder, which in turn had us all replying a swift ‘okay’ in unison.
Tears streamed down my face as I
recalled that last conversation with my dad before the accident. Why did they take my dad? Why didn’t they take the scum bag who had killed him instead?
Shaking my head, I placed the note on Low’s pillow before throwing my phone on my bed. If I was going to stay at my mom’s I needed complete peace and no doubt I will be inundated with texts and phone calls from Low checking up on me. I loved that girl like a sister, but sometimes she could be a little overbearing.
Once I was finally happy that I had packed everything I had needed for my weekend at mom’s, I walked back over to the closet to pick up my guitar. I wasn’t sure how mom would feel with me bringing it to the house, but I decided I needed to take a piece of my dad with me.
Quickly slinging the guitar over my shoulder by the strap, I picked up my suitcase from the bed, turning around in a full circle. When I was sure I had everything I needed, I took a deep breath. I walked out of the dorm and right off campus.
After making sure no one had spotted me, I started walking in the direction of my mom’s house, my luggage secured in my right hand while my guitar hung over my shoulder. I placed my headphones into my ears, an old Motown record that my father loved to listen to played through the speakers. I stared out into the sunset, taking in the crisp, cool air, wondering what the hell to do.
“Your dad used to drive me nuts with that thing.” My mom’s voice pulled me out from my day dream as I stared at the house.
“I remember, you threatened to cut all off the strings.” I smiled to myself at the memory.
Mom had been finishing off some work for her job as a project manager at the time and dad was trying to teach me how to play the guitar, I was never any good. Where my dad’s fingers would lightly stroke the strings and produce a beautiful sound, mine would strum hard, creating a screeching noise that would put a drowning cat to shame.
I remember her stomping into the living room with her paperwork in one hand and her reading glasses in the other, her shoulders showing signs of stress and her nose wrinkling from the horrible noise I was producing.
“Brandon, dear.” She said sweetly. “For the love of all things holy will you please go and play that thing somewhere else so I can get some work done?”
Dad chuckled at mom’s little outburst. She was a bit stressed lately after she was promoted to project manager at work. She was working for an interior design firm and loved it. Our house was all the evidence you needed to know her love for interior design.
“Come on, Neva, let’s give your mom some peace and quiet.” Dad said as he led us outside to the porch swing. Sitting down, he started to strum a tune I hadn’t heard him play before. It was soft and sweet mixed with a gritty edge and I loved it.
I embedded the sound of the song in my head. Even though I didn’t know how to play the guitar, I was adamant that one day I would learn that piece of music.
“Brandon!! I will cut the strings off that thing if you don’t go away!” Mom shouted from her office window.
“Yeah, I did. Didn’t I?” Mom laughed softly, pulling me back from the memory.
“Is it okay that I brought it with me?” I asked, I didn’t want to cause mom any more pain that she had already endured. She had been through enough.
“Of course I don’t mind sweetheart, but it wasn’t the guitar that concerned me.” she said as she raised an eyebrow at me.
“Can’t a daughter see her mother at the weekend?” I asked in mock horror.
“Sarcasm is so unbecoming of you, Neva.” She replied with a soft chuckle.
With that, I picked up my suitcase from the sidewalk and followed my mom into the house. Shutting the door behind me, the scent of cranberries hit me as I made my way down the hall. Mom was always lighting candles during the day, she said it helped with her designing.
Looking around the hallway, I smiled as I noticed all the family pictures hanging inside beautiful frames. Most of them were of Tate and me when we were kids but after every two photos of us there would be a photo of us all with dad. Somewhere we had been on our fishing vacation, mom had groaned at the idea while dad, Tate and I smiled.
Walking further down the hallway, I placed my suitcase and guitar at the bottom of the staircase before making my way into the kitchen where mom was making coffee.
“You look just like him, Neva.” Mom said while stirring her coffee.
“I don’t know if that is a good thing.” I replied as I took a seat at the dining table.
“What? Why?” She asked as she placed my coffee in front of me before taking a seat opposite, holding her cup in her hands.
I shrugged, I wanted so much to apologize for looking so much like the man she lost. I can’t imagine how she felt looking at me every day and seeing her dead husband.
“I am so grateful for it, Neva. I am grateful that a part of your father lives in you. I am grateful that you act so much like him without even knowing it and I am grateful that you didn’t go with him that night.” I watched as mom’s eyes glossed over with unshed tears, her face a picture of pain.
“Me too.” I said as I placed my hand in hers, squeezing it gently.
“So, are you going to tell me what brought you here?” She asked, changing the subject and eying me suspiciously.
“I just wanted to see you, mom.” I lied. It seemed I was doing a lot of that lately.
“Okay.” She replied, shaking her head slightly.
“What? You’re not going to even try and get it out of me?” I asked, shocked. Usually she would pry and pry until I broke and told her.
“No, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” She said as the edge of her lip formed into a small smile.
“Who are you and what did you do with my mom?” I joked. This was so out of character for her. What was going on?
I watched as she threw her head back and released a hearty laugh; a laugh so pure that it took me a couple of minutes to remember the last time I had heard her laugh. It was before the accident.
“I’m still here, sweetheart, trust me, so don’t be getting any ideas of getting drunk and pregnant just because I’m not pushing you for information about your social life.” She chuckled.
“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted before dipping my hand into the cookie jar on the table.
After giving my mom a kiss good night I made my way up the staircase to my old bedroom. The house had three bedrooms, each having their own en-suite. Opening my door, I stepped inside finding it just as I had left it. The far wall in front of me was a deep scarlet while the other three were an off-white. My large, king sized bed sat against the scarlet wall. The metal frame was a brilliant black with matching black silk sheets. The bedroom furniture was a perfect dark tone of black, while my carpet was an off-white, matching the three other walls.
I had missed my room. Mom had decorated it for my birthday three years ago and I couldn’t have been happier with it. Making my way over to the bed, I placed my suitcase and guitar at my feet before running the palm of my hand against the silky soft sheets on the bed and smiling. Turning to face the wall behind me, tears filled my eyes as I stared at the photo of dad and me. He was cradling me in his arms. I was just hours old, but there was no doubt even then that I was a daddy’s girl. As my tiny hand wrapped around his index finger, you could see the love in my father’s eyes as he looked into the camera smiling.
Sighing, I turned to my guitar. Picking it up, I sat on my bed and cradled it in my lap. I remembered something my dad had once said about the perfect way to hold a guitar.
“You need to cradle it gently like a newborn baby, but strum it like you would a woman.” I laughed as I remembered my reaction.
“Ew, daddy!” I said as I crunched up my nose.
Taking my dad’s advice, I slowly started to strum the chords, wondering what to play; but before I could decide, my fingers did it for me. The unmistakable tune that my dad had once played to me on the porch swing all those years ago graced my ears. The tune brought back beautiful memories of my dad. How determined he
was to teach me to play and how he taught me never to give up when I failed.
I quickly became frustrated like I did every time I played the chords that were forever embedded in my mind. I could never finish it nor could I put a name to it. Dad had never finished the song that day on the porch and I regretted every day that I never asked him to play it for me again. I regretted a lot of things when it came to my father.
Sighing in defeat, I placed my guitar by my bed before opening my case to change into some pajamas. I came across an envelope. It was folded down the middle and when I opened it up, I noticed it was addressed to me. It was the letter that I had stuffed into my pocket when I was here last. Curious as to who would send me a letter, I quickly sat on the bed and tore it open. As I pulled out the letter, I felt something drop into my lap. Fumbling on the bed, I searched for the mysterious object, wondering what the hell it was. Finally I managed to grasp it between my fingertips, bringing it up to eye level to inspect it.
I gasped. It was a guitar pick, my dad’s guitar pick. It was an electric blue with inscriptions on both sides in cursive script. On one side, it read Brandon and when I flipped it over, it read James. Gripping it in my palm I turned to the letter, why had I been sent dad’s guitar pick? I slowly opened the letter. My hands were shaking and my breathing loud as I started to read it.
My sweet baby girl,
If this letter has reached you then I am so sorry, I could only hope that it doesn’t come to much of a shock.
First I want to explain. I know that you’re wondering what is going on, so I will try my best to tell you what this is all about.
Do you remember Mrs. Scott? She was the sweet lady down the street that used to have the biggest apple tree we had ever seen. We used to ask her for some of those delicious apples so we could eat them when we had picnics. Well, she had a son named Khai, he was such a fearless little boy, a boy any father would be proud of. But one summer, he was too fearless. He had climbed the same apple tree in their backyard and fell. He died right there in his mother’s arms. It broke her heart into millions of pieces and all we could do was watch as she grieved.
Finding You Page 14
