by Jean Haus
I let out a startled gasp. The slow beat of his story built to this revelation. Now the climax of it is tearing through me with a thousand erratic thumps that can’t catch a rhythm. I can’t make sense of the image his words bring. I could never envision the man lying next to me doing such a thing, but the image of him as a young boy with a barrel pressed against his head in a dark basement fills me with a deep sorrow that has me staring at him in frozen shock. That he’d been so alone and despondent to contemplate taking his life pierces my heart. The sporadic, sickening beat tearing through me breaks free with a whimper and a tear that rolls onto the pillow below me.
“Oh Riley,” he wipes at another dripping tear before stroking my hair. “It’s okay. I’m stronger now. Its years later. I’m here with you right now. I’m a survivor. I haven’t been near that dark hole ever again. Not even at the edge.”
I exhale slowly. Breath in and exhale again. There’s dignity in his voice, a hardness in his tone as if he’s proud of what he’s overcome. “How did you get over…everything?”
He smiles sadly. “A year of counseling, several months of antidepressants, and my mother’s indomitable will. She’d been grieving too, but after that, she pulled herself together, and refused to let me wither in my black hole. She made me play music. Came and watched me train at the gym. And when I went back to school at the new semester, she was a drill sergeant about homework. I gradually began to live again and in time found myself.”
I wipe at another tear. “Do you still hate her?”
He shakes his head. “She was young too. We lived in a small town. Her father was on the town council or something. After I got better, I felt sorry for her. Inside she was something completely different than what she could show the world. But I took something away from the experience with her. I learned that sex is meaningless unless the people involved care about each other.”
His acceptance of her has me believing he’s over the painful memory more than his earlier words. My fingers brush his ribs and tattoo. “You lost your wings. This isn’t just about your grandfather is it?”
He nods. “It’s a reminder for me too. To wait and love wisely.”
“The one month rule,” I say, understanding its meaning. And though I believed him before about not having one-nightstands, now I understand why.
“I don’t really keep track of time. However, I need to feel committed before I go to that level.”
“So we’re not there yet,” I say tightly even though I feel like we are. At least I am.
“It’s only been a little more than two weeks.” He glances at my half naked body. “And we’re already moving faster than we should while we’re hiding from everyone.”
I wince suddenly ashamed at my behavior. “I’m sorry about that. It’s just that with everything else in my life right now more drama seems unbearable.” I feel compelled to add the entire truth after he’s shared so much with me. “And you scare me.”
His eyes round while they search mine. “I scare you?”
I wipe the corner of a wet eye, scoot over a bit, and roll into a pose mirroring his. “You’re Romeo, the perfect guitar player and basically manager of Luminescent Juliet. Girls throw themselves at you. You’re beyond smart. You’re hotter than hell. And if I can’t hold on to some band geek from high school, how am I going to hold onto you?”
His jaw becomes hard. “Are you sure you’re over that boy?”
Boy is right. “Oh yeah, I was over him before our first kiss.”
His face relaxes and his finger follows the curve of my nose. “You love your family enough to turn down a percussion scholarship. You play the drums like a demon. You’re this wild mix of cute and sexy and beautiful. You’re snippy and stubborn and funny and you say the hottest shit that always turns me on instantly.” He leans forward and kisses me lightly.” It’s not too hard to hold someone’s who’s already caught.”
Oh damn, how am I supposed to slow this down now?
“Band geeks are obviously not too smart.” His fingers are back on my hip tracing invisible patterns. I realize he can’t stop himself from touching me. The whole time he shared his past, he had to touch me. As if he needed the contact. My heart does a little jump then swells at the knowledge.
“I don’t want to hide us anymore,” I suddenly blurt and his expression turns pleased. “Especially from the band. But how do we tell them?”
His fingers pause. “Why not when we go out for your birthday on Saturday? We can show up together and ease them into reality.”
“Alright,” I say, slowly sitting up. It would be more than awkward and drama filled during practice, but all out together, it may go over better. “It’s getting late. I should go. I don’t want Justin to find out this way.”
Nodding, Romeo sits up too and reaches for his shirt.
I’m tugging on my pants when I spot a pair of flip-flops under the edge of the bed. Romeo’s past filters through my brain along with an image of those ratty flip-flops.
With my pants still hanging open, I point at him. “It was you!”
Chapter 26
Romeo tilts his head in question.
I zip my pants then gesture wildly at him with my hands. “That night outside the theater in the smoking area.”
He scoots to the edge of the bed and nods. “I always wondered why you never said anything about that night. Never considered you didn’t recognize me. I thought the bad ass drummer was embarrassed.”
I ignore the bad ass comment. “But you don’t smoke.” And he was dressed different, but sometimes he does change right before going on stage.
“Once in a while I bum one from Sam, especially if I’m feeling nervous.”
I frown. “When are you nervous?”
“I am human, Riley. Playing in front of huge crowds gets to me sometimes.”
Yeah right, and I’m Wonder Woman. “Why did you give me that card?”
“You seemed distraught, lonely, depressed. The card never hurts.”
Another revelation hits me. “That’s why you were asking Marcus about me.”
He nods. “Mostly.”
I pause buttoning my pants. “Mostly?”
“I was interested in you from the start.”
My mouth falls open, thinking of our meeting in that dark, smoky alley. “Why?”
“Your sadness drew me to you first.” His expression turns pensive as he rubs the scruff along his jaw. “Then the fact you were mature enough to respect someone’s wishes without hate. And even then you didn’t seem like other girls...you’ve never wanted me for something I’m not.”
My mouth falls open even more. “Then why were you such an ass at tryouts?”
“You were with Marcus, actually wrapped in his arms.” His eyes turn hard at the memory. “I figured he was the guy you were crying about that night. And you didn’t look like a lost and lonely girl anymore. You looked sexy and full of confidence. Suddenly unbelievably fucking jealous, I couldn’t seem to help myself. Then you played like a drummer goddess and I imagined long practices watching Justin and Sam flirting with you. Of course, I was right. The whole thing drove me insane, especially while I thought you had a boyfriend.”
I’m a bit overwhelmed with his perception but I manage to ask, “Do you always carry those cards?”
“I do.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. Under the front flap he shows me a stack of cards. “I also volunteer twice a week for the Child and Family Services’ suicide hotline. It’s where I met April. Her cousin committed suicide when they were in high school.”
My fingers pause reaching for my bra before I scoop it up. Poor April. I almost wish things had worked out for her and Romeo. “So she knows about that girl and…well you know.”
“A little. Not much. I’ve never told my past in its entirety to anyone before.”
I can’t help frowning. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I wanted to tell you. You…we
…” He shakes his head. “This just feels real. And keeping secrets doesn’t feel real.”
“It does feel real.” I reach out to touch his face and my bra rubs against his cheek. I yank my hand down and we both laugh. I quickly stuff my bra in my pocket. “Do you know I didn’t want to try out for the band?”
His expression becomes confused as he shakes his head.
“Marcus and Chloe thought it was the greatest idea ever. I thought it was the stupidest.” I reach for my jacket hanging from the bedpost. “Even after I watched you guys and thought you were awesome, I had no intention of trying out. But while we waited for you to come out, I looked at the card. I hadn’t until then because I thought it was your number.”
A winged brow arches.
“I was floored when I read the card. Though I’d never thought of…” I can’t bring myself to say that word after his story, “hurting myself, I realized something was wrong with my life and that I needed something. I decided it was playing in the band.”
He scoots to the very edge of the bed. “So you’re telling me I helped you decide to try out?”
“In a weird twisted way.”
His lips curve into a closed lipped smile.
“But what I really want to tell you is that you’re amazing.” He puts out a hand for me to stop. I grab it and hold it in both of mine. “The past you’ve overcome, that you volunteer, and that you care enough about strangers to offer them bandanas and cards and encouraging words…well you’re just amazing.”
He stares at our entangled hands for several long seconds then says in a hoarse voice, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but don’t get too big of a head,” I say with a smirk. “There’s a bit of asshole in you too.”
Though I expected a laugh, he yanks me into his arms and hugs me tight. “I know you wanted to go to Virginia,” he says, warming my ear. “I know that was your dream, but I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”
I hug him back and honestly say, “I’m glad I’m here too.”
Chapter 27
Grocery shopping is one of the lamest things I have to do. But in my current domestic goddess status, I’ve become a pro at it. I clip coupons. I buy sales. I plan meals. I rock at keeping the bill down. However, taking Jaime never helps.
“Why can’t we get two kinds of cookies?” she whines holding two cartons while the pink plastic crown on her head wobbles.
“Because one is enough.”
“But I like chocolate chips and these marshmallow things.”
“Pick one. We’ll get the other next week.”
She rolls her eyes and tosses the chocolate chip cookies into the cart. The next isle is the cereal isle, which always takes the longest. I point out which boxes are on sale and which ones I have coupons for then Jamie contemplates.
My phone vibrates in my pocket while she holds two boxes next to each other and compares. I dig my phone out and smile at Romeo’s name across the screen before reading the text.
I’m sitting here looking at the white roses you sent me. Their beauty, their scent, their soft petals remind me of you. Yet they’re not even close to the real thing. You sure you can’t go out after practice? I’d like to thank you personally and make your heart smile like mine is right now.
“You okay?” Jamie asks, dropping her cereal choice in the cart.
I’m standing in the middle of the isle clutching my phone to my chest. I must look like a lovesick junior high school girl. But I don’t care. Romeo is so freaking perfectly awesome. So opposite of what I originally thought of him. I should send him flowers every day. Forty-five bucks is so worth this text. “Yeah, I’m good,” I say wistfully.
Jamie gives me an odd look then pulls the cart while I stand in dream mode. I slowly follow. Somewhere between the chips and the produce, I text him back.
My heart’s been smiling since last night. And don’t tempt me.
I stay on a Romeo cloud through the checkout line and while I toss groceries into the trunk. I’m not even sure what I bought the second half of shopping and I don’t particularly care. I float all the way home until I hit the garage door opener and see my mother’s car inside the garage. Then I plummet down to earth.
“Mom’s home!” Jamie squeals from the back seat.
Needless to say, I’m not as excited. My mom should be at work. Something’s very wrong if she’s home.
Inside the garage, Jamie grabs two grocery bags from the trunk and rushes inside. I yank then drag the last six into the kitchen. Jamie’s two bags along with her book bag lie on the floor. While I put away groceries, I can hear the murmur of my mother and sister’s voice from the living room. The TV blares over their conversation as I load the crockpot with rice, vegetables, stock, and chicken then wander into the living room.
My mother sits on the couch with a blanket across her knees. She’s dressed for work in black pants and a red blouse with her nametag still attached. Curled next to her, Jamie watches TV. My mother stares out the large window of our living room.
“Jamie,” I say, reaching for the remote and sitting in the nearest chair. “Go do your homework then you can watch TV.” Hoping she won’t be able to hear the coming conversation, I change the channel instead of turning off the TV.
Jamie gives me a sour look.
“Come on, you know the rules.” Six months ago, my bossing Jamie around while my mother sits quiet would have been weird. Now it’s normal.
Jamie rolls her eyes but stomps off to the kitchen. Eight-year-old eye rolls are quite annoying.
I turn up the volume then turn to my mother. Her eyes look puffy and slightly red. “What happened? Are you sick?”
She shakes her head and picks fuzz off the blanket on her lap.
“Why are you home?”
She lets out a sigh. “I found out something today.”
My brows lower. “What?”
“Don’t say anything to your sister,” she says, lowering her voice. “But your father is getting married in spring.”
Oh shit. I just stare at her.
Her eyes narrow on me. “You knew?”
I nod slowly.
She clutches the blanket. “You didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, it would have been better from you than some customer who knows your father,” she snaps.
I imagine her behind the counter ringing in items while some faceless bitch talks about her soon to be ex-husband getting married. “I’m sorry.”
“When did he tell you?”
I swallow. “In August I think.”
Her hands drop and her lip quivers. “August? Riley, it’s November.”
“Mom, he doesn’t matter anymore.”
She shakes her head sadly. “He may be able to sweep over twenty years of his life away, but I can’t.” She draws in a raged breath. “I still love him. I’m afraid I’ll always love him. I’m going to die alone pinning after him while he belongs to someone else. Someone younger.”
I lean forward. “Stop it. You’ll find someone too. Someone better.”
She shakes her head.
I’m not sure if it’s my father or her life with him that my mother can’t let go. However, she needs to let both go. “Did you reschedule that counseling appointment?”
“I find out my husband is getting married and you’re worried about counseling?”
“You need to talk to someone.”
“I’m talking with you,” she says stubbornly.
“Someone who isn’t emotionally involved.”
“A stranger. You want me to open up to a stranger.”
“No, a person whose job is to listen and help.”
She looks out the window as if the fallen leaves outside are the most important thing in the world. Finally, she asks, “Does Jamie know about the engagement?”
Ah, topic switch. Of course. “I don’t think so.” I should probably tell her dad has been bringing Sara to dinne
r most Tuesday nights, but her red-rimmed eyes keep me from speaking.
Rubbing her temples, she continues to stare out the window.
I scoot to the edge of the chair. “I could stay home tonight.”
“And watch me mope?” She waves a hand. “Go to practice, Riley. I’ll be alright. I just couldn’t work. Concentration and cordialness eluded me.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll be home after nine anyway.” I stand. “Dinner’s in the crockpot. It should be done by seven thirty.”
She gives me a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” I say, watching her stare out the window again. She’s right. I don’t want to stay here and witness her depression. Yet, her forlorn look almost has me sinking back into the chair. I remind myself I’ll only be gone for a little more than two hours. Plus I’ll get to see Romeo, even if we’re still pretending until Saturday, I’ll get to be with him. And being with him is becoming the most important thing in my world.
***
Romeo and I rarely argue during practice anymore. He’s still a slave driver, but he is a perfectionist when it comes to music. Being one too, I usually listen to my slave driver. Sometimes we don’t agree. Even though I’ve come to realize he’s a musical genius, I am the authority when it comes to the drums. And he usually excepts my decisions. After I give him an explanation of course. If Sam or Justin has noticed the change in our behavior, neither of them has commented.
However, today he is on my ass. And well, I can’t say much. Still worried about my mother, I am off a bit. We’re trying to do a cover of Sweet Sour by Band of Skulls. Everyone has it but me. And the song is kind of simple, especially for me.
“Fuck,” Justin says. “How many times do we have to redo this?”
