by Gia Riley
Noelle understands what I’m like as the drummer from Midnight Fate and accepts that world. But when I leave the stage and the noise fades, I have to fight hard to keep my mind away from Sea Port. It’s so easy to get sucked into the drama, and now that Lemon’s come back into my life, it’s getting harder and harder to keep reality from seeping back into my soul, slowly and painfully. Some demons never go away, and they’re always the ones that cut the deepest.
While I may not have a clue how to make my life easier for Noelle to understand, there’s no denying the fact that I have to be honest with her if I don’t want to lose her. Although, some of my fear fades away when I walk into the foyer, and hear her raspy voice.
Thank fuck.
Assuming she’s on the phone with the salon like she said she’d be, I try to be as quiet as I can. Once I set the bags on the counter and glance into the living room, I realize how wrong it is to assume. The words I was hearing weren’t for her employees—they’re for my sister.
Noelle’s crouched in front of Lemon, helping her like they’ve known each other all their lives. I wanted to make their first meeting something special, something where they’d both feel comfortable and hopefully like one another. Never in a million years did I think it’d happen without me and be so completely out of my control.
“What’s that for?” Lemon asks her with a shaky voice. She’s scared and, from the looks of it, has every right to be. Even though I want to barge into the room and demand Lemon tell me what happened, I fight the urge to interrupt when Noelle’s so close to gaining Lemon’s trust—a gift she rarely gives away and isn’t easy to earn.
As soothing as can be, Noelle takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Your face. If I promise to be gentle, will you let me clean the cut?”
The idea of being taken care of so foreign to her, my sister can’t seem to wrap her head around Noelle wanting to help her. It’s another reminder of how deprived Lemon’s been of some of the most basic human affections the rest of us usually take for granted.
Although Lemon’s cautious, she nods and says, “I guess it can’t hurt much more than being punched.”
Noelle’s face falls as the harsh truth of Lemon’s words sink in. But with a little more resolve, she keeps going, even though her eyes are starting to water as she fights back the sympathy tears Lemon wouldn’t want to see. “It might sting a little bit, but at least it won’t get infected.”
With a touch so delicate, like a mother would be to her child, she brushes the cotton swab over Lemon’s cheek. Like I can feel the sting on my own face, I grit my teeth. They’re practically the same age, but my girl is everything Lemon needs right now.
Seeing their undeniable connection, despite what Lemon took from her only hours ago, reminds me just how special Noelle really is—she’s everything and then some. And what amazes me the most is that she doesn’t have to be here. She doesn’t have to help Lemon. Yet here she is, asking for nothing and giving it all.
When she’s satisfied with her doctoring, she situates the blanket over Lemon’s body. The need to be near Noelle and to find out what happened to my sister is so strong, I can’t stay away another second. The groceries still need to be put away, but they’ll have to wait.
I walk into the living room and both their eyes fall on me. Lemon starts to sit up but Noelle stops her. “Rest.”
“Lane might not want me here.”
“You wouldn’t have come back here without a damn good reason, right?” I ask her.
“Right,” Lemon whispers, trying to turn the bruised side of her face away from me like I haven’t already gotten a good look at it.
There are easily a million things I want to say to my sister, but I keep them inside as I sit down on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. Instead of laying into her the way someone who just stole from you deserves, I take a softer approach and tell her, “You can stay, Lemon.”
“Thank you.”
“Why’d you leave in the first place? I told you I’d be back as soon as I found Noelle.”
Like she’s ashamed to admit it, she says, “Because when I’m gone too long, Rusty tells Trey I’m fucking around behind his back.”
“Are you?”
“Not this time,” she says, with enough conviction that I believe her without knowing the full story.
“What happened to your face?”
She blinks slowly, biting her lip the same way she used to when she was hiding a secret she didn’t want me to find out about. A few seconds later, after she gathers enough courage to keep going, she continues. “When I left here, I went to see Trey so he’d see for himself that I wasn’t with anyone else like Rusty would say I was. But I figured Trey would think I’m lying no matter what I told him because he knows I haven’t seen you in years. That’s why I took the stuff—I needed some proof. The more proof I could give him, the better, so I took as much as I could fit in a shopping bag and left.”
I believe that answer, too. She might not have gone to college or gotten straight A’s in school, but Lemon’s as street smart as they come. I just hate she has to play that game at all. “Did you need what you took?”
Like she’s ashamed of the way she lives, she can’t even look me in the eye after I ask her, but she answers me honestly at least. “I don’t have much at Rusty’s place, but I shouldn’t have taken your things.”
“If Trey believed you weren’t with someone else, why was Rusty so upset when you got home?” It doesn’t take much to piss off Trey, but if he bought her story, why wouldn’t Rusty?
“Because when I got back home, Rusty was really drunk. No matter what I said to him, he still called me a liar and a whore. His mind was made up before I ever walked in the front door.”
“Rusty fucking Travers hit you?” I didn’t like him when we were kids and I hate him even more now. So much that my fists clench, the urge to get even with that motherfucker so strong all I want to do is give him a taste of his own medicine. To show him what it’s like to be hit by a real man.
“He wouldn’t have touched me if he was sober. He’s just gotten really protective of me.”
I hate the way she makes excuses for him, like it’s okay that he fucked up, especially considering there’s a damn good chance he’ll do it again. “He shouldn’t touch you whether he’s drunk or not, Lemon. You don’t have to be sober to figure that out, or to be a decent human being.”
“Lane, Rusty’s usually pretty nice to me. I owe him for taking me in.”
If I knew she wouldn’t run out the door, I’d try to talk some sense into her. But if I go too hard too fast, she’ll only get even more defensive and make more excuses. I just never thought there’d come a day when Rusty would be her savior and I would become the outsider. It’s a hard pill to swallow, and it pains me even more to ask my next question, but I do anyway. “Is this the first time he’s ever hurt you?”
Lemon pauses, and while she’s thinking about the right thing to say to me, she doesn’t realize she’s already giving away the truth. Luckily, she doesn’t lie to me and says, “No. This isn’t the first time.”
All I can do is hang my head in shame, feeling like a complete and total fuck-up. I failed my own sister—the one person in this world I swore I’d always be there for. Even if she was headed down this path before I left town, I had the chance to pull her away from Sea Port and didn’t take it. Now, she’s so far gone I don’t know how to save her.
When I look at Lemon, all I see is the little girl I swore I would keep safe. The sister I wanted to protect, even when I had no clue how I was going to take care of myself. I’m right back to being an eight-year-old little boy and she’s still my six-year-old sister, begging me to bring Mom back and asking me to do things only a superhero would have the ability to do.
“Lane,” Lemon says, barely above a whisper.
I raise my head and look into eyes almost identical to mine. “Why didn’t you tell me to stay?”
She reaches up
to catch a falling tear before it gets near her cut, the tissue in her hand too scratchy to even wipe her eye without seeing the pain on her face. “I was barely eighteen, Lane. I thought I had it all figured out, but I didn’t understand what it was like to have a job and responsibilities that didn’t revolve around homework and school. All of a sudden, I had bills I couldn’t pay, a job I couldn’t stand, and friends who all escaped to college. The ones who stayed in Sea Port were in the same boat as I was—depressed and hopeless. It didn’t take much time until I stopped giving a shit about life altogether. I’d make a quick buck the easiest way I could and numb myself the rest of the time.”
“You’re so much smarter than that, Lemon. Maybe we didn’t have the money for college, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t start over someplace new like your friends did. You don’t have to go to classes to deserve a new beginning.”
“I’ve always wanted to get out and see the world like you did, but I guess it was easier to accept my fate than to fight for more.”
The Lemon I once knew, the little kid with more determination than she knew what to do with, wouldn’t have ever given up. If you told her she couldn’t do something, she’d prove you wrong. If you told her she couldn’t hang with the boys, she’d try to outdo them. It’s just the way she was, and when she got hurt trying, I took the responsibility for her mentality because I practically raised her—and I was proud of who she was. But this version in front of me, I can’t be proud of. Not when she’s capable of so much more.
Before I went to New York, I made sure Lemon had a decent job. It wasn’t her dream job, and she wasn’t thrilled about it, but it would be steady money in her pocket. And if she stuck with it long enough, the owner even promised she’d move up the ranks until she became a manager. Even though it was ten years ago, I still ask her, “How long did you stay at the diner before you left?”
“Three weeks.”
“That’s it?” I thought finding out how she got into this mess in the first place would make it easier to help her get out, but she wasn’t kidding when she said she gave up. I guess I figured it would take longer than three weeks for her to implode.
“I didn’t like the hours. I’ve never been a morning person, and you got me a job with the earliest hours known to man.”
“I got you a job, Lemon. One that would pay your bills as long as you showed up for your shifts.” My next question scares me even more, but I ask it anyway. “How long after you quit did you end up at Lola’s?” It’s no secret that’s where the money is if you have the right look and the guts to get on the stage. They practically recruit straight from graduation, not wanting to waste a single second to get fresh, new faces on stage.
“Two days,” she admits.
The realization that she’s been dancing at Lola’s all this time makes me sick to the stomach. All those days and hours she’s spent putting her body on display for assholes like Rusty to get his rocks off—it disgusts me. My little sister has been bouncing from couch to couch, eventually living with a man who abuses her, all while becoming a product of Lola’s. “Jesus, Lemon. Didn’t anything I said to you stay between your ears?”
She sits up, holding the blanket close. I expect her to get defensive, but she surprises me when she says, “It didn’t matter what you told me or who you warned me about, Lane. They were my mistakes to make. I’m the one who made shitty decisions, even when I heard your voice in the back of my head telling me it was the wrong choice.”
“It didn’t have to be like that,” I tell her with so much regret.
“Do you really think I wanted to fail? That I wanted to disappoint you if you ever came back to Sea Port to see me?”
“I did come back to see you, but I couldn’t find you. It was like you had the whole damn town covering for you.”
“I guess I did, but can you blame me? I was too ashamed at what I’d become to own it, so my only choice was to do whatever I had to do to keep it from you—including hiding.”
“I came back for you, Lemon. For you!”
“And I was too ashamed for the one person in this world I admire to see me failing so miserably. No matter how many nights I wished you’d save me from myself, I still had to do what I had to do. Even if it made me the dirty whore I am.”
“You’re not a fucking whore, Lemon. Don’t even say that shit.” She may not blame me, but I’ll never forgive myself for leaving her behind. It would have made life with the band harder, but at least she would have been safe. But even though I’m a decade too late, now that I found out Rusty’s been knocking her around, there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting her go back to that life.
Even though she’s been honest with me so far, there’s gotta be more to her story than keeping Trey happy and Rusty being drunk. There’s always a motive with that asshole. “You said Rusty was drunk, and that he didn’t care what you said.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if he isn’t always like that, and he’s usually nice to you, what tipped him over the edge this time?”
She laughs like I have no right to ask her that, which I guess I don’t. Once I bailed on her, I lost that privilege. As her brother, I’d like to think I can earn some of it back.
She came here because it was a safe place, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be for her. That’s why I don’t let her off the hook with a simple laugh and a nonchalant shrug. I tell her, “If you’re going stay in my house, you need to be straight with me, Lemon. I can’t help you if you lie to me and steal from us. Tell me the truth. Why did Rusty hit you?”
“Because I’m pregnant.”
All the air leaves my lungs.
Although Noelle’s been quiet, letting me do all the talking, she still covers her mouth with her hand, the shock consuming her, too. But no matter how caught off guard Noelle is, she’s able to reach for Lemon’s hand in a supportive way while I stand up and slam the door to my bedroom behind me.
She can’t be pregnant. She just can’t be.
Pacing back and forth, it takes all I have not to punch another hole through the wall. Lemon has next to nothing—hell, she’s stealing shit from my house to stay alive—and she’s going to bring another human being into her little circle of Hell. Accident or not, mistake or no mistake, it’s a child—a child who doesn’t deserve to walk the same winding road we had to suffer through as kids. Kids don’t have a choice, but adults damn well do.
The knife gets shoved in my gut a little harder when I can hear the sounds of Lemon’s sobs through the closed door. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to be okay—happy even. But every bit of happiness I seem to find pushes her farther into a darkened corner. The darkness isn’t going to be happy until it’s completely destroyed my entire family. One person at a time.
The second Lane’s door slams, Lemon breaks down. As each wave of sadness washes over her, her faith in him slowly starts to fade away like her confidence did all those years ago.
I want to make it better for her, but all I can do is hold her in my arms, rubbing her back and consoling her like a friend would do—even if I don’t know what I’m doing any more than she does. Regardless, we cling to each other, our connection suddenly so strong I feel like I’ve known Lemon all my life. Probably because a small part of me understands what it’s like to want to be loved so desperately that you’d do anything for that tiny bit of acceptance you’re searching for.
“What can I do?” I whisper against her long strands of blond hair.
“Nothing,” she responds hopelessly. “He’ll never forgive me for this.”
That’s where she’s wrong. Lane can be quick to lose his temper, but that’s only because he never learned how to manage his anger. He always comes around once he’s had a chance to think things through and realize there’s a way out of everything if you want a solution bad enough. Granted, we’ve never had a child to deal with, but together, the three of us aren’t going to fail. That’s why I tell her, “He’s only angry because h
e loves you so much. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have had to walk away.”
Half laughing, she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, toughening up a little bit more. It’s a good thing because, if she’s going to be a mother, she’s going to need nerves of steel once her heart starts walking around outside her body.
“Noelle, I shouldn’t even be crying. I should be used to this. People have been walking away all my life.”
“Well, today’s a new day. Lane’s not going anywhere and neither am I, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, how long have you known about the baby?”
“Since yesterday morning. That’s how this whole thing started. I took a test and Rusty found it in my drawer. I shouldn’t have saved it, but I felt like I needed to hang onto the proof that I wasn’t imagining it.”
“You need to see a doctor.”
“I can’t. If I go, Trey will find out because I’ll have to ask him for money. It’s not like I have insurance.”
“Why are you so worried about keeping Trey happy? Isn’t he locked up?”
“He is, but he still calls all the shots—even from the inside. He has people watching me.”
“Do you love him?” It’s probably a stupid question, but I ask it anyway, trying my hardest to figure out what we’re dealing with. Because if love’s the root of this, it’s going to get a whole lot messier before it gets any better.
Lemon’s twenty-seven years old, a woman old enough to fend for herself and take care of a baby, but inside, she’s still the little girl she was when her mom died and her dad stayed away at sea when she needed him the most. She’s the same girl who’s so familiar with death and the scars of abuse she doesn’t think there could possibly be a world beyond it.
It’s time to break the cycle. It’s time Lemon sees life doesn’t have to be all about who you owe and what you can give them. I want her to discover that there’s so much more.
