“Was this before or after that?”
“After.”
I turned my head. “Shit.”
“What?”
“So he got out and was doing good,” I said. “Then you gave him money and he got all fucked up.”
“He told me he was going to use it for a place for you and him. I thought…”
“He always says that,” I said. “That’s his best excuse. Me. All he has to do is play the wanting to change father and people just melt.”
“I didn’t melt, Foster. I cared.”
“You cared. You should have just saved him the extra step and bought him the shit directly.”
I threw the words at Frank who really couldn’t defend himself.
Frank stared at me with hurt in his eyes.
I gritted my teeth and refused to back down.
He pushed from the building and held his chest. He took a few heavy breaths as he steadied himself without touching anything.
“You listen to me,” Frank said. “You punk. I saw your father that night throwing back shots that people were buying for him. I grabbed that son of a bitch by the shirt…”
“You know what, Frank? Save the story. I don’t really care. I made it clear to Rose already that he can’t bother me anymore.”
Lie.
“Right,” Frank said.
“Let’s walk back to the house.”
We walked in silence. I had nothing to really say to Frank. Next thing I knew I was inside his house and I was making him lunch. Like he was a child. The entire time I kept thinking the worst thing possible.
What could have been?
That’s what the entire basis of my life was. What could have been if my mother hadn’t taken off? She probably could have helped settle my father down. Or maybe not. Same with all of the families that took me in and kicked me out. What could have been… if I hadn't been such a jerk to everyone? Or a couple of the families that cared about me. What could have been… if my father hadn’t shown back up and taken me away?
But the one that stuck with me was what Frank had done. I remembered that time. My father had been out of jail for a little while. He actually had a real job. He got paid a shit wage, which was perfect for him. Barely enough to scrape by. He lived in a halfway house, had a room with a roommate. But that little bit of cash that Frank gave him… it was like putting the devil in his hand.
Rose checked in through texting, which was good. I wasn’t in the mood to talk. To anyone. I asked her how she was feeling and she said fine. She wasn’t sleeping. She was working. I took that as a good thing. At least she wasn’t throwing up and unable to move.
When I heard Frank’s phone ring, I knew it was Rose before he took the call.
“Yeah, I’m fine here,” Frank’s voice said. “Just fine. Yeah, he’s here. I don’t need anyone here, Rose. I’m fine on my own.”
The conversation ended shortly after that.
I ended up standing just outside the living room. “Frank, do you need anything else? I have to get going in a few.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. If you need anything…”
Frank looked at me. “Hey, Foster. I know how it feels. To want something that will never happen.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My father was like yours. He was a really bad alcoholic. Rose and Vivian never got the chance to meet him. No matter how hard I tried, he just hurt me. Hurt everyone in his life. Until we just stopped caring. I’m not telling you to stop caring or trying, Foster. I’m just telling you I know the feeling. That hopeless, yet hopeful feeling. It drains the pit of your stomach.”
“Did someone give your father money to go and get wasted and arrested?” I asked.
Frank sighed. “Right. If I could go back I wouldn’t have done that. I thought I was helping you, Foster. Helping Rose. You two…”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Frank. You keep resting. Get back on your feet soon.”
I left that as my goodbye and exited the house. My chest felt heavy. My gut twisted up.
I knew one thing for sure.
I wanted to be alone tonight… hopefully just for tonight.
I sipped the warm whiskey from the glass as I sat in a metal folding chair in the basement of the church turned coffeehouse. If Stephanie knew I was crashing there and getting drunk she would have been pissed off. But what the fuck did I really care? I played a quick five song set and told her I needed to get some work done. So she told me to finish up and lock up when I was done.
I just didn’t want to go to my place. Even if my bed was empty of Rose, I didn’t want to crawl into the bed and smell her on my sheets. She’d done nothing wrong to me, but my heart was messy again. The right thing was to distance myself so that I didn’t end up hurting Rose.
But sitting alone with a bottle wasn’t the right thing either.
I strummed my guitar for a little bit, but traded it for the glass of whiskey. When I killed it off, I grabbed my guitar and my laptop. I opened my recording software and just started playing. For a few minutes it was almost like an out of body experience. Playing a song as I wrote it. Something that had been burning inside me for the last couple months. Getting close to Rose again. Teetering on that dangerous edge where we’d offer each other forever and then find a way to fuck it up and lose each other. And now this bullshit with my father again… getting out, showing up, bothering myself, bothering Rose, and then her father saying that he gave my father money that one time…
See, what nobody understood was that that time my father got arrested, I was shipped off to a house right outside of town. Which meant a new school. Not that I gave a shit about that. Being the new kid sucked. Being a foster kid sucked. I stood my ground in school. But at that house… no. There were three of us and we took turns taking beatings. I stood in more than once for the only girl in the house. Her name was Dani. She lost her parents in an accident and was thrown into the system. She wasn’t a bad kid but was forced into being one. I took three of her beatings because I didn’t like to see her cry. After the last time, she checked on me and confessed that she loved me. That I was her protector. That she and I should run away together. All we had to do was lay low for a little while and then we’d be old enough to do whatever we wanted. The crazy part was that she really believed it all. She believed she loved me. She believed I could get her out of the hell we were in.
I had to explain to her about Rose. There was nobody else but Rose…
I didn’t mean to break Dani’s heart that night. I didn’t mean to make her walk into the bedroom we were all forbidden to be in. I didn’t mean for her to have a knife and decide to take her stand that night. I didn’t mean for her to take her own life…
Shutting my eyes, I whispered the last few apologies and then shut off the recording. I let the guitar slip from my hands and it hit the floor with a gong type sound that echoed through the room.
If Frank hadn’t given my father that money… he would have never gotten himself into trouble and I wouldn’t have been tossed into that house of hell…
I gritted my teeth as I ran my hands through my hair. I turned in my chair and exported the new recording and sent it to Carl. I sent him a text and within minutes, Carl text back.
Brilliant, Foster. We need to get your schedule cleared as soon as possible. I have a few sessions lined up. Say goodbye to that shithole town and shithole coffeehouse.
I didn’t reply.
Instead, I grabbed the whiskey bottle and tossed my phone to the table. I heard it vibrating more than once. I knew it was probably Rose checking on me. I told her I was taking care of some stuff and would get home late.
I wasn’t going to get home at all.
My comfort was the bottle. So I could wash away fate. Because fate put me in that house of hell. Fate put me as my father’s son
. Fate put Rose in my life.
And fate wasn’t done messing with me yet.
27
What Are You Doing Here?
Rose
I had a two day rule with Foster. I knew what it meant to push at him when he was in a mood. If I did it too early, it would make things worse. So I gave him space. And time. Two days. That was the rule. After two days, it was time to track his ass down and figure out what was bothering him.
All I could think about was myself getting sick in front of him. But he had acted so romantic about it. Even though I didn’t need to spend the day in bed that day, I did. Since then, I’ve felt fine. The stupid text message that Molly sent, teasing me, I deleted and wiped the thought from my head.
The only forever I would have with Foster was the forever lingering tension between us, waiting for someone to take the final risk.
So that’s what I did.
I was tired of texting Foster. Tired of the two second conversations on the phone.
I stood outside the door of his apartment and knocked. I grabbed the doorknob and tried to twist it but the door was locked.
I growled.
“Foster,” I said and knocked again.
When I put my ear to the door I heard music. His music. It was muffled by the thick wood.
Then I heard him approach the door.
I backed up a step and waited for it to open.
When it did, he stood there looking like hell. Like he hadn’t slept in a couple days. Like he hadn’t showered, changed, anything.
“Foster,” I said. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just organizing some stuff. For Carl. I have a big writing session coming up.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said.
He didn’t seem too happy about the idea though. He reluctantly stepped back. As I entered the apartment I looked around. Like some nosy woman trying to find evidence of… what? Booze? Drugs? Women?
The place was messy, yeah, but that was typical Foster. There were four guitars scattered throughout the apartment. A keyboard leaning against the kitchen table. Notebooks, papers, and pens littered all around.
“You’re really writing, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I stopped at the table and put my fingertips to a page full of lyrics and scribbles and lots of black marks from him scratching out words he didn’t like.
“Foster, what happened?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t do this,” I said. “Please. You’re… you’re in a mood.”
“So what?”
“I care.”
“I appreciate that,” he said.
“You appreciate that… what does that mean?”
Foster curled his lip. “I’m doing the right thing, Rose. I’m keeping my distance when things aren’t making sense.”
“That’s smart?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me,” I said. “Right. Why would you hurt me?”
“That’s what I do. I get mad and…”
“Why are you mad, Foster?”
I took my hand from the table and walked to him. I caught hold of his hand.
He shook his head.
“Foster. I’m not playing this game anymore. We’re not… we have to risk everything. If we don’t…”
Foster turned his hand so he was holding mine. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed it.
“I fucking love you, Rose,” he whispered. “But it’s all so fucked up. The way our worlds are twisted together.”
“Talk to me.”
“I don’t feel like fucking talking right now, Rose,” Foster said.
So what do you feel like doing?
Those words were on the tip of my tongue when he grabbed me and kissed me. He pushed at my hips, throwing me against the table. Papers started to scatter. I looked back and gasped, not wanting to mess up whatever type of organized system he had going.
A second later, he reached beyond me and swiped his hand, sending papers flying. His hands connected with my hips again and pulled me towards him as he drove himself forward. Our bodies colliding so hard, I lost my breath for a second.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
“I don’t want to fucking talk,” he said again. “I want you to sing for me.”
“Me? Sing? Foster… you know I can’t…”
His lips flirted with mine. His hands had moved stealthily, my pants were open, his left hand was around at the small of my back, his fingertips slid back and down into my panties, going for my ass. With his other hand, his fingertips trailed around to my front, kept going, then moved to my side where he aggressively held and started to strip me.
He kissed my neck and pulled away. “You’re going to fucking sing for me, Rose.”
“Foster,” I said, already half breathless.
My pants and panties were now down to my knees. I quickly started to dance, kicking my shoes off, kicking my clothes off.
His fingers moved up my bare leg and started to cut between my legs, tickling my inner thigh, but I was shivering for a different reason. The look in Foster’s eyes was something I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen before. I tried to ease my hand between his legs, catching a quick feel of his thickness, but he hurried to knock my hand out of the way.
“No, Rose,” he growled, his lips and teeth playing with the soft skin of my neck. “This is for you. You're going to sing to me with your pleasure. Every moan, groan, every time my fingers fuck your sweet body… I want to hear you.”
I opened my mouth to gasp and Foster was right there to kiss me. Stealing my gasp, my breath, stealing seconds of my life that I would give anything to turn back time and give them again. That’s how much I loved him. That’s how much I wanted him. That’s how much I needed him.
His fingers touched between my legs and he offered one warning curl, a soft touch against my wetness, and that was it. His fingers came down and he plunged inside me.
I gasped and jumped back, hitting the table.
Foster came with me. He pushed me back on the kitchen table a little bit and used his other hand to open my legs even more. He kissed me, such sloppy and wild kisses, as his fingers thrust inside me again. Deep and twisting, grunting as he did so. The pressure made me feel like my body was going to explode. With my left hand, I clutched tight to his wrist, shaking, my body demanding that I pull him away, but my wildest depths demanding more.
Harder. Faster. Fucking… as hard as you can give me, Foster.
I had no idea what was wrong with me. The thoughts spinning through my mind made me feel dizzy.
Our lips touched but we had stopped kissing. Slowly, Foster looked down. He was taking my hand for a ride as I hadn't let go of his wrist, and he hadn’t let up on devouring me with his touch. I realized he was using his left hand. The same hand that moved up and down the neck of his guitar when he played music. In some strange romantic and dirty way, I was his instrument now.
And he wanted me to sing…
His fingers pulled back and slammed forward again. I jumped and groaned, putting my head back, needing something like cool, fresh air.
Foster repeated the same move over and over, grunting each time his fingers hit new depths. I groaned the same sound, the only sound my body could make at that moment.
“Louder,” Foster commanded me.
He quickly moved his fingers. The speed, the pressure, all mounting between my legs. I felt my body bouncing and bucking against the table. The sound of my wetness and his fingers colliding began to fill the air.
I took my hand from his wrist and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. I lifted my body, offering myself even more.
I started to groan wildly, purring, hissing, growling, his movements bringing me closer and closer to climax.
When I brought my head forward, he stared right at me. Smoldering eyes leaving me breathless and in silence as my jaw quivered.
I reached my peak a few seconds later but Foster wasn’t slowing down at all. He just kept going… and going… and going…
“Foster,” I managed to whisper at one point. “F…”
He kissed me.
His other hand moved to my back and next thing I knew, he was taking me off the table. Holding me tightly to his body, his fingers still inside my core. My hips wiggled, wanting relief, wanting more.
Foster put me on my feet and gently slid his fingers out of me. Leaving a wet trail down my inner thigh, a reminder of my own pleasure. I didn’t need the reminder… my heart raced. My head was dizzy. My depths ached for more.
Without saying a word, he inched down to one knee before me. His hands touching my hips. He came forward and kissed my bare skin. Making me shiver again, I waited for more… but it never came. Instead, Foster reached down and lifted my panties. I reached back for the table and stood there, watching as he redressed me.
When he stood back up, he touched my face. “Rose…”
“Foster,” I whispered.
“Your father told me what he did,” Foster said. “Giving my father money.”
My heart sank. “Oh. Yeah. He was only trying to help.”
“He didn’t help.”
“I know. I’m sor-”
“I’m tired of sorry,” Foster said. “I’ve been here writing music for two days. Trying to find the words that explain what happened after that.”
“After what?” I asked.
“After what your father did. My father went to jail. And I went to hell.”
“Hell?”
He took my left hand and placed it over his heart. “The only reason it beats is because of you. But it’s shattered. It’s too late, Rose.”
“Too late… for what?”
Before Foster could answer me, his cell phone began to ring. He walked away and I felt uneasy. Actually, I felt sick. Again. So sick, so suddenly that I ran to the kitchen sink and leaned over it, wishing I wasn’t going to throw up. Because if I did… again… like this… it meant Molly was right.
I swallowed the thought and managed to get my stomach to settle for a quick second.
I turned and saw Foster fumbling for his black boots and swiping beer bottles and paper off the counter, cursing about not being able to find his keys.
Let You Go Page 18
