Keep (Seaside Pictures Book 2)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Tuck me in, Zane?” Mrs. Angel winked, pulling her ratty blonde hair back into a ponytail. On the outside, she was the perfect foster parent. A nurse by day and a fantastic mother to six foster boys at night, her husband was a cop.

  They were perfect.

  The perfect family.

  In an old ranch house in Texas.

  The agency called us the lucky ones.

  And maybe, the other boys were, we had acres and acres of land to roam on, but I wasn’t lucky.

  I had never been lucky.

  Because she was a bored housewife with a job that left her too much access to pills.

  And her husband had been cheating on her for ten years.

  Which left me.

  The eye candy.

  Her ticket to pleasure.

  Or so she thought.

  “Zane,” She pouted, her red lips pressed together in a smirk. “I won’t bite.”

  I quickly pushed her toward the bed and very crassly shoved her in then pulled covers over her.

  “Stay.” She grabbed my hand.

  “No.” I jerked back.

  “You need an older woman…”

  “No.” I licked my lips. “I need a mom.”

  Her face paled.

  “So if you can’t at least be that to me, then we have nothing more to say.”

  “Don’t be a little bitch.” She scowled. “It’s just sex.”

  “Then why are you so upset about it?” I said as gently as possible. “If it was just sex, you should laugh it off, move on. Don’t use me to make you feel better.”

  With a furious yell, she reached up and slammed her hand against my face. “You piece of shit! How DARE you talk to me that way!”

  I stumbled back, just as the door slammed downstairs.

  “Tawny?” Bill was home, her husband, my foster dad. “Tawny you okay?”

  Her eyes narrowed in on me, and then with venom in her expression she tore at her own shirt revealing cleavage and pulled down her bra then burst into tears.

  Dumbstruck I stayed on the ground.

  It happened in slow motion.

  Bill walking in the room.

  Seeing the state of his sobbing wife.

  Me on the floor, looking guilty as hell.

  Luck shifted.

  Lucky to be alive after such a beating.

  Lucky my face didn’t break in half.

  Lucky.

  Lucky.

  Lucky.

  Lucky to spend the last three months of my seventeen years, at an orphanage.

  Lucky.

  That on my eighteenth birthday.

  I no longer belonged to the state.

  Lucky.

  That I spent the very first night of my freedom, sleeping under a bridge with the rats.

  Lucky.

  I was so damn lucky.

  I kicked the wall with my shoe and fumbled for more marshmallows, cursing my entire existence as my hands shook, fingers trembling as memories continued to replay over and over in my head.

  I had no idea what brought them on.

  Just that I hated them. I hated me. I didn’t find out until two years later, at one of my first concerts—Phillip had grown into a good-looking fifteen-year-old.

  And she’d hurt him too.

  Only this time, justice was served.

  Because Phillip turned her in.

  Stomach recoiling, I ran into the bathroom and puked up marshmallow like I was hung over, then wiped my mouth.

  My phone buzzed.

  My agent’s number flashed across the screen.

  I hit ignore.

  He called two more times before finally texting. Persistent.

  Brees: Where are the songs? You’ve sent me two. We need twelve more for a full album. Call me.

  With a sigh, I texted back.

  Saint: I’m doing some mind cleansing today and will get the next four songs to you by tonight, I’ll stop at the studio.

  Brees: Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole, but you need to get your shit together. I’ve given you time. The record company has given you time. The whole damn world has given you time. Now get it done.

  Saint: Heard you loud and clear.

  Brees: Good.

  I was tempted to throw my phone against the wall. Instead, I quickly put on clothes and grabbed a bag of marshmallows before running out the door.

  There was only one thing that would make me feel even marginally better about my shit night.

  And unfortunately, she thought I was a complete player, a man whore of the first order, president of the slut club.

  Great, just great. I avoided needy women all my life only to find one who doesn’t need me—hell, if anything I needed her more.

  I needed something.

  I couldn’t blame my foster mom for wanting love.

  I was jaded enough to get it—for just one split second, it was tempting, and then I felt the marshmallow in my pocket, it had been hard from being stuffed there all day.

  Grandma would be horrified.

  I would be horrified.

  It wasn’t worth it.

  My love was worth more than that, I had more to give than that—I had everything.

  The only problem?

  I’d never found anyone, who really wanted it, scars, past and all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fallon

  “SO, CANON BEACH HMM?” Mom’s eyes penetrated through to my guilty little soul. Because for the past few days, I’d convinced both parents that Zane’s visits meant nothing.

  Right. Dinner with my parents five nights in a row.

  Nothing.

  Coffee with my mom because he just happened to be hanging out in the neighborhood and noticed she was out of creamer?

  Nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  “Yup.” I blew out an exasperated breath. She was still staring at me, her eyes boring into my body like she was trying to create little holes through my skin. Finally, I turned around. “Just say it.”

  “What?” She couldn’t lie to save her life.

  “Whatever it is you have to say.” I checked my phone. “He’s picking me up in five minutes.”

  “He’s been over a lot.” Her casual tone wasn’t fooling me, not one bit. “Are you sure this is still a friendship?”

  “Of course.” I rolled my eyes. “Mom, he’s a rockstar.”

  “That rockstar offered to go hunting with your dad.”

  “He was cornered!” I threw my hands into the air. “It was either hunt or be hunted!”

  Mom burst out laughing. “Oh honey, you’re father’s not that good of a shot, just tell Zane to zigzag.”

  “Good talk mom.” I tried walking past her, but she reached out and gently grabbed my hand. I paused.

  “Just be careful,” she whispered. “I like him. So does your dad, it’s just…we don’t want to see you hurt when he leaves.”

  And there it was.

  The reminder.

  That my “friend” would leave me.

  Honestly, I should be thankful that he was going before I was too attached, but all I could do was stare at the stupid spot he’d sat at our dinner table the night before and wonder what it would feel like when it was empty for longer than twenty-four hours.

  When he forgot me.

  When he returned to his fabulous life.

  I shivered at the thought just as a horn honked outside. “Bye, mom.” I kissed her on the cheek and went out to meet my friend.

  Just a friend.

  A really hot one.

  Sexy.

  Oh, who am I kidding.

  Zane waved and then flashed me a grin.

  Friend my ass.

  SOMETHING WAS WRONG.

  He was fidgety, his smiles forced.

  And when I started talking about his music, he completely shut down, his face a mask of indifference, like he didn’t care about anything, not even the fact that I was complimenting him on the lyrics to his newest love song.
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  Finally, after two hours of shopping in downtown Canon Beach, I snapped.

  “What’s your problem today?”

  Zane blinked over at me, his ice cream cone melting all over his right hand. “Huh?”

  “You have marshmallows.” I pointed. “On your ice cream.”

  Another blink. “Okay?”

  “And you let them fall to the ground, like at least four marshmallows lost their lives on your watch, and you just let it happen!”

  A smile cracked through his indifferent façade. “Fallon, listen to me very carefully. Marshmallows?” His blue eyes twinkled. “They don’t have souls, ergo, if one falls onto the ground, it’s not going to hell.”

  “Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “Because that was my concern, their salvation.” I handed him a napkin. “It’s wasteful.”

  “Why do you care?” he snapped, I could tell it surprised him because his eyes widened before he hung his head and mumbled out, “Sorry.”

  He took the napkin and slowly cleaned off his hand then, the shock of all shocks, tossed his entire cone into the trash and put on his sunglasses.

  “Wow,” Suddenly sick to my stomach, I threw mine away and wiped my sticky hands, “Is this about yesterday?”

  Zane tilted his head. “Yesterday?”

  “Last night,” I whispered, as heat stormed my cheeks. “Look, I told you I was sorry okay? I’m not wired that way. I can’t just sleep with you then cheer happily when you get your next Grammy. Do you realize how bad it would suck to tell my grandkids, oh look that guy? The one in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? We had one great night together.”

  He didn’t speak for a really long time, just stared at me with his jaw hanging open, his black Ray-Bans only showing me my own pissed off reflection. “You really think you’d tell your grandkids about me?”

  “That?” I threw my hands upward. “That’s what you fixate on?”

  “Well…” He shrugged. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  He stood quickly, nearly bumping into me as he crowded my space with his nearness. I refused to back away or run, even though both sounded like stellar options. “It means you’d remember me.”

  “You would be hard to forget.”

  “You mean that.” He said it like he was in awe or something.

  “Of course I mean it. And before you go getting all arrogant, it’s a compliment. Okay? Something people say to other people, so they realize how great they really are. Which brings us back to the main topic of discussion. Right now you get this.” I held out my hand. “You get friendship. Now shake on it, and get out of this weird funk. It’s freaking me out and ruining your happy-go-lucky vibe. Meaning, if you keep acting like someone killed your dog, you aren’t going to be creative enough to even write a chord let alone a few more songs.”

  His smile grew, his hand wrapped around mine. “I’m sorry, Fallon.”

  He sounded sincere, my eyes narrowed. “A real apology?”

  Somehow, he went from shaking my hand to wrapping an arm around my body as we walked back to the car. “I did think about last night.” He stopped walking and faced me. “Up until I fell asleep.”

  His hand went from warm and strong to clammy as he tried to tug it away, there was a story there, something he wasn’t telling me.

  “And?” I prodded.

  “And, none of your damn business,” he said in a cheerful tone that told me it was okay to push, maybe not a lot, but more than I was.

  We bypassed the car and started walking out toward the beach. It was big enough that he wouldn’t be noticed; at least I hoped not. I knew an area that had a few secluded caves. If the tide was out then we would at least have a bit of privacy, which he needed. Sometimes I needed it too.

  Life was like that.

  No matter your age or experiences, everyone needed a breather. Everyone.

  We walked in silence, occasionally jumping over the small streams of ocean water. Finally, as the wind howled around us through the rocks, we made it to the first cave, and then around the cove.

  I sat down first.

  He followed.

  Wind whistled in an eerie cadence as sand danced around our bodies, most likely getting into every crevice possible.

  But he was already more relaxed.

  Visibly, he had more color.

  Though he’d gone from pissed to defeated.

  “I had some bad dreams.”

  “I used to have night terrors,” I offered. “They sucked, my parents would come running into the room thinking I was getting murdered, only to find me wide-eyed, on the floor, screaming at the top of my lungs.”

  “That’s terrifying.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Don’t you grow out of that?”

  “I did.” I shrugged. “Around eight or nine, which even then, it’s rare to have them that late in life.”

  He frowned down at the ground. “Did you remember the dreams?”

  “Never.”

  “I remember mine.”

  I held my breath, my chest built with pressure as it swelled inside my body, threatening to shake my careful control, I steeled my expression. “Last night’s? Do you remember it?”

  He gave a silent nod.

  “Are we talking nightmare where you’re getting chased by a giant marshmallow—you know, something that won’t ever happen—or something real?”

  “Real.” He swallowed, his hands started to shake like the day before, only this time, I knew he wanted comfort—not a sugar fix.

  So I held Zane Andrews’ hand.

  Like I was important.

  Like I was enough to keep him grounded.

  And he squeezed it back—like that was true.

  I stopped digging.

  Instead, I focused on our hands, on the warmth of our bodies touching, and wished that we were two different people, that he was just a boy and I was just a girl.

  Both going to college.

  Both ready to start their lives.

  Apart? And maybe together.

  It would be nice.

  Better than nice.

  It would be everything.

  “I was in seven foster homes,” Zane whispered. “After my grandma died.”

  A thousand emotions slammed into me at his disclosure. I gathered them all and pushed them down, refusing to let them show on my face. It was hard, and eventually I looked away, worried something would show. “Well, that completely sucks.”

  He shrugged. “I was a good student. So as long as I had a bed to sleep in…” Another shrug. “They don’t like splitting up families, but after she died, it didn’t matter anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Girls always liked me, gave me attention, I ignored them, focusing on music to get me through the night, and school to get me through the day.” He squeezed my hand, I looked up. “I think it turned into a game, the more I turned them down, the more they wanted me.”

  Yeah, I could only imagine.

  “Is that why you do what you do?”

  “Pardon?” He pulled off his sunglasses; his eyes worked like laser beams, tracking my every movement.

  Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, I cleared my throat and tried to keep the teasing in my tone. “You know, the sleeping around, is that why you do it? The whole Saint thing, the Confess Your Sins tour—”

  “Someone really needs to take the power of Google away from you.”

  I laughed. “Until you, the only thing I think I’d ever typed into the search engine was how to not fail biology.”

  “Too bad I didn’t know you last year. I could have rocked that course for you.”

  I warmed all over with awareness. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “And what does the tour name have to do with anything? With me?”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Zane, the hashtag #zanewatch has been trending for the past year. And the pictures associated, you kissing girls, you touching girls, them touching you, w
ith more hashtags of confessions, even the girls who have been with you say you’re the best they’ve ever had.”

  He burst out laughing.

  “What!” I laughed with him. “I mean I’m sure it’s good for your ego.”

  “You have no idea, how good. Gives a man confidence and all that.” His head fell back as he laughed harder. “Wow, those little liars.”

  I frowned, my smile fading. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, Fallon. I mean, who knows, you may tell your grandchildren one day…”

  I slugged him in the arm.

  “Ouch!” He chuckled darkly as I kept pounding him in the arm. “Fine, fine, I’ll confess one sin, but you have to confess one first.”

  “Ugh, you suck.”

  He winked.

  This was why Zane was magnetic, why people were obsessed, because he made you feel like you were his world, not just a part of it. “Okay, my confession is—”

  “Make it good or it doesn’t count,” he sang in a taunting voice.

  I shushed him and closed my eyes.

  “Oh wow, things just got real folks, the eyes are closed.”

  I burst out laughing and then took a deep breath. “Okay, my confession,” I stole a peek at his expression, he was leaning forward expectantly. “I’m terrified of animals.” I sighed. “I mean that’s not why I don’t eat them, but seriously, they terrify me, birds, bees…” I shuddered. “Antelope.”

  “Who the hell is scared of an antelope?”

  I cringed. “They have horns.” I pointed to my head and made a gagging noise. “And I mean, it’s just not normal, the look animals get in their eyes. Like they know things.”

  His expression sobered and then he burst out laughing so hard a tear fell down his face.

  “Okay, that’s it.” I tried to stand. “We can’t be friends anymore.”

  “Sit down.” He tugged my arm, but I wasn’t able to catch myself, so instead I fell against his chest, my legs sliding on either side of his body in a perfect straddle.

  I shuddered.

  Ugh, my physical response to him was ever so helpful.

  His grin grew as I felt his arousal through his skintight jeans.

  Sorry, Grandma.

  Sorry that I loved the feel of him.

  That I loved the fact that it was me! I did that to him.