by Jean Haus
Surprisingly, Chad gets the ball rolling. “Maybe you could go to a game like baseball or basketball like the Pistons?”
Jeff nods. “That is a terrific idea, Chad.”
Misha says, “I’ve seen paraplegics at the bowling alley. That could be fun.”
Spitting mad at Gabe, I mumble, “The movies.” Lame but it’s all my angry brain can come up with.
Gabe says, “How about you research some shit, like Google it.”
We all stare at Gabe, obviously offended at how rude he is being.
After a long lull of silence, Jeff studies his watch. “Okay, well then, we’re over our hour by almost thirty minutes. But this has been a very productive session. I want to thank April and Jason for their bravery, and let’s all think of something that could help them for next time.” He closes his binder. “So we’ll see everyone next week, before our two week break for Christmas.”
Gabe is out the door as soon as Jeff finishes. I rush out to catch him, cooling my anger each step of the way.
“Hey, can I just ask you one thing?” I loudly ask when we’re both on the sidewalk.
He spins around. “I’m getting tired of this shit. Romeo and the rest of the band are up my ass twenty four seven in between you blowing up my phone and rapping incessantly on my door. When will you people realize I just want to be left alone? I don’t owe any of you fuckers anything.”
Ignore his words. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. I chant in my head, reminding myself he’s spouting hurtful things as a defense mechanism. But his spiteful words have me blurting out, “Don’t you miss me?” This wasn’t what I’d planned to ask him. I wanted to ask him something similar to what he said to me over a week ago; if his soul is still there, though weary and full of shame. Unable to stop myself, I add, “I miss you. So much.”
His hard, twisted expression falls for a quick second, and I glimpse behind the mask of resentment he has been showing the world. The stark hopelessness I see slashes at my insides and tears at my heart, but in the next second, his face twists back into a mask of ire.
“Excuse me,” someone asks from behind me. “Excuse me, April?”
Jason, I realize and turn.
He offers me a shy smile. “Could I get a ride?”
My heart does a little flip and I nod. “Of course—of course you can get a ride.” By the time I turn back around, Gabe is marching toward his truck.
I watch him until he gets in the truck, longing a knot in my chest, then turn to Jason. “Ready?”
He glances past me at Gabe. “You sure?”
“Jason, I’ve been asking you for months,” I say with the warmest smile I can muster. I want to follow Gabe, want to beg and plead and throw myself at him. But I want to be there for Jason too. I dig my keys out of my purse. “I’d love to give you a ride, especially when it’s this cold.” Then I turn my back on Gabe and walk Jason to my car.
Chapter 31
~April~
I stare at the rolling ocean. It’s a strange sight on Christmas day. I’ve never been at my father’s for Christmas. I always spent the holiday with my mother and flew out a few days later for New Year’s with my father—except for the last three years when I didn’t come at all. My mother completely flipped when I told her I was swapping the holidays around this year, but even her flip out couldn’t stop me. I needed to get away, and the calmness of my father and California seemed like the perfect solution.
And it had been. Between graduating and both of my parents coming in for commencements, I had stayed busy in Michigan. Then traveling to Malibu, getting the house ready for Christmas with my dad, and doing a bit of shopping, I stayed busy here. Last night we went to a Thai restaurant on the beach. This morning his girlfriend came over and we opened presents, then we made a huge breakfast.
Right now people—mostly musicians—are streaming into the backyard below me. Like always, the special moments of my father’s life are surrounded by music. They will soon be having an impromptu jam session.
When the sun began to set, I came upstairs to the living room and took a selfie of me by the tree with the sun setting over the ocean. Keeping my vow not to give up on Gabe, I call and text him every day, even if he never responds. Though I typed out, Merry Christmas! Wish I was with you, next to the picture, my finger hovers over the send button.
This is starting to kill me. His stubbornness is breaking my heart.
I’m trying to stay strong but I seem to be breaking down a little more each day. I fall on the couch, wipe tears from my eyes, and draw in calming breaths. More than wanting to be with him, I’m worried about him, distraught that he might be lonely, might be fearful of going to prison, or might be depressed. But he won’t let me in. And the last time I talked to Romeo—about a week ago—he still won’t let anyone in. Their album has even been put on hold.
After I give into a few more tears, I push send and go to the kitchen.
I’m going to be strong. I’m not going to give up.
This is my daily mantra.
Since my dad will start grilling soon, I pull out trays of steaks and start seasoning them. Though I’m determined to be strong, I’m a little too melancholy to be around people on Christmas day and don’t want to gray up their day. I’m wrapping potatoes in tin foil, when the front doorbell rings. It must be someone new. Someone who doesn’t know you just go around the house to the unlocked gate in the back.
As I open the door, my heart jumps into my throat. “What are you doing here?” I gasp at Gabe as shock has me questioning the sight of him in long shorts and a tank on my doorstep. His mahogany eyes are conflicted. I peek behind him, wondering what the heck is going on.
He buries his hands in his pockets. “I need to talk to you.”
Yup, it’s him, I realize before I pinch myself. Then I almost snap out a sarcastic remark, seeing as how he had to come across the country to talk with me while I’ve been trying to talk to him for weeks while we were mere miles apart.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Can I come in?”
“Um…” I step back on wobbly legs. “Sure, yeah...” I shuffle farther into the foyer and sit—before I faint from the surprise of seeing him on my doorstep—on the bench across from the door. Scenarios are rushing through my head. Some good. Some awful. Why is he here? “Why are you here?” I ask, blurting out my thoughts.
He shuts the door with a trembling hand. Why would his hand be trembling? What is going on? I’m not emotionally ready for whatever he is going to dish out.
“Romeo talked—guilt tripped—me in to finishing the album. We flew in this afternoon.” He comes to stand a few feet from me. Everything I want is so close yet could be a world away. “I have to meet with my probation officer next Tuesday, and I’m not supposed to leave the state. Therefore we decided to start today and get another half day in.”
“Oh,” I slowly say, trying to understand his words past the emotional storm rolling over me. “But why here? Why aren’t you recording?”
He comes closer, standing inches from me.
A lightning bolt of anxiousness strikes along my spine at his closeness.
“Since we started a couple of hours ago, I couldn’t do shit, played like shit. Maybe because it’s thousands of miles away from home and Christmas day, I keep thinking how I’m only miles from you. How much I’m hurting you.” He kneels, setting his hands on the bench next to my thighs. “And no matter, how wrong I am for you”—I start shaking my head at that, but he continues—“How being with you makes me feel brand new as if none of my past matters.”
My head stops shaking and I simply stare at him. Okay, okay, okay, that was good. So good astonishment is starting to melt into a warmth that is slowing spreading across my limbs.
He looks above my head, then back to me, drawing in a deep breath. “But mostly how much I’m in love with you.”
In the following silence, a new shock hits me like an electrical zap as he gazes at me with a mixture of desperation and longing. My bo
ttom lip trembles while I attempt to let his words sink in. They feel impossible, the thought of someone—Gabe!—loving me. I do reach out and pinch my thigh. At the sharp pain, shock, mixed with relief, has me bursting out in tears.
“April,” Gabe gently whispers, embracing my face with his callused hands. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete ass. I believed I was doing the right thing. I tend to get angry and over react. But when Romeo handed me your address less than an hour ago—”
Craving physical proof of those words, I stop him with a kiss. Within seconds, he kisses me back, long and deep and soft.
He pulls away, brushing the tears from cheeks with his thumbs. “You forgive me then?”
Still feeling out if it, I let out an unlady like snort. “I think my actions said more than any words.”
He shakes his head. “I always seem to fuck things up.”
I lean back on the wall, shaking my head. The thoughts that have been swirling in my mind over the past few weeks have me saying, “I think we’re both…scared. Neither of us believed anyone could love us…couldn’t see what was happening…”
“I’m not sure what’s happening should be,” he says in a tense, sad tone, releasing his hold on me.
I sit up, refusing to let him be the martyr. “We’re both screwed up. You helped me confront the past, but my guilt is always going to linger. I did wrong, and no matter what you say, it’s the truth. And though I’d give anything to, I’ll never be able to erase your father’s abuse. That pain will always linger too. But together, we’re less screwed up. Together we’re stronger, better people, like you said, brand new.” I let out a crazy laugh. Yeah, still in shock here. “Guess it’s true, being in love can change a person.”
The contemplative look on his face changes to wonder.
I grin—I’m kind of drunk on shock. “I think I’ve been in love with you since you made me dance in the rain.” The truth, I realize. I just never admitted it to myself until now.
After a second of open-mouthed bewilderment, he kisses me hard, plastering me against the wall. I like being between him and the wall, in fact I love it.
Someone clearing a throat, then saying, “April?” has us wrenching apart.
I glance up to find my father. “Hey, Dad.”
He raises his brows instead of asking.
On a giddy high, I introduce them, explaining Gabe is one of the band members from Michigan recording an album here. They shake hands and give each other a quick greeting.
Though my dad appears confused, he returns to the kitchen. Unlike my mother, he doesn’t try to mess with my life or tell me what to do. Guess he got enough of that from his parents.
Gabe sighs. “I have to go, but…Merry Christmas.”
I lean on him, looking into his soulful mahogany eyes. “You’ve just made it the best one ever.” He smiles as I wrap my hands around his shoulders. “With everything in your life right now, I get why you’re hesitant, but promise me two things?”
“Two?” he says cautiously as his hands find my waist.
“Don’t shut me out.”
“Don’t think I can anymore.”
“And work with the lawyer.”
His hands tighten on my waist.
“Whatever happens, if you go to prison, I’m not giving up on you. I’ll visit you. Write to you. Wait for you.” He winces at that, but now that I have his attention, I’m determined to help. “But don’t you give up. The truth isn’t going to destroy your pride. People may pity the boy you were, but trust me, they will be astounded at the man you’ve become, because of all that boy has been through. I know because I am.”
He stares at me with an expression of confusion mixed with awe. “You shrinking me again?”
A sad laugh escapes me. “I’m not much of a shrink. I just understand you, like you understand me and the whole guilt twisting my perspective thing.” He nods but I persist. “Promise me.”
“I’ll talk with the lawyer,” he concedes.
Understanding that’s all I’m going to get, I hug him tight. “When are you getting back to Michigan?” I ask into his chest as his arms come around me.
“Late Wednesday night.”
“How late?”
“About one in the morning.”
“Is that too late?”
“Hell no.”
Chapter 32
~April~
Allie gave me the extra key. I sit and wait and watch the clock for over an hour as it ticks closer to one a.m. A nervous flutter rolls through my stomach every few minutes while I wait, but the flutter will not stop me from taking another leap into my past. When the sound of the door handle turns, my stomach threatens to do far more than flutter, yet the sight of Gabe walking into the apartment has me ignoring the nervous tsunami in my midriff.
I launch myself at him from his couch. Though it was two days ago, I shout, “Happy New Year!”
Startled, he drops his bag and catches me. After a long, hot kiss, he closes the door.
“The album done?” I ask, leaning back to look at him.
He nods. “Except for final mixing and mastering.”
“Congratulations. Feel good about it?”
“Yeah, it’s good, maybe great.”
“Oh, from the one song I heard, I’m sure it will be great.” I move back, putting my wringing hands behind my back. “I have a surprise for you.”
His brows rise and he grins as he sheds his winter coat. “More than that attack welcome?”
Nodding, I step to the side. My guitar case is on the table.
At first, he blinks at it, then lifts his gaze. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” I say, going to the case, appearing calm, although I’m anything but. I drag out the guitar. “Or maybe I need to.”
Gabe silently watches me for a long moment before moving to the couch. “All right, play something for me.”
I drop on a chair across from him. “I haven’t played in almost three years, so expect a few, or maybe more, slip ups.”
“It will be better than anything I could do.”
“Well it’s not the drums,” I snort, attempting to appear calm. I settle the guitar in front of me with trembling hands. I’m scared, actually terrified, but the instrument feels right, the cool wood in my hands like a forgotten friend that I hadn’t realized how much I missed. This friend and I need to become reacquainted.
I draw in a deep breath and begin. Slow, soft finger picks, paired with changing cords changes into a fast rhythmic progression of higher chords, then it repeats though the cords change slightly. I keep my attention on the guitar, fearing if I glance at Gabe, I’ll forget the memorized notes. The pretty melody builds and drops again and again. I mess up on a few chords, the timing during a couple of transitions, and the finger picking during the faster parts. There was a time I could practically play this instrumental in my sleep. Although I remember the notes, timing and finger motion need practice. Yet, it doesn’t sound flat. I’m startled—more like elatedly shocked—to find there’s emotion behind the music. Something I had believed I would never get back.
Finished, I draw in another breath, cradle the loved instrument in my grasp, and meet the stunned gaze across from me.
“What was that?” Awe fills his tone.
“Mozart’s Lacrimosa from Requiem in D minor, changed a bit for the guitar though. I used to do it much, much better.”
Gabe’s brows nearly hit his hairline. “Better?” He stands up, towering over me. “That was insane.” He takes the guitar from my grip and sets it in the case. “And sexy, unbelievably sexy.” He grabs my hands and pulls me up. “We could never be in a band together.”
“Why not?”
“Watching you play, I wouldn’t make it through one practice. I’d want to do this.” He brushes my fingertips with his lips. “And this.” His lips find the other set of fingertips.
I never thought the whisper of lips on my fingers would be hot, but I’m practically panting.
“And this,” he says before kissing me.
“Is that all?” I ask a bit breathlessly when we come up for air.
He tugs me by the hand toward the bed. “Nope. The rest of the band would get quite the show.”
“Show me then.”
He grin is too sexy as he pushes me onto the bed. “Oh, I plan to.”
****
Gabe’s harsh breath is in my ear. My leg is around his waist. Water is pelting us. My hands grip the slick, hard muscles of his shoulders. I’m going to have tile marks in my back. Shower sex. Best way to wake up. Ever. Who would have thought? He lifts my leg and changes the angle of his entry. Oh, good move. Quite, quite lovely. A few thrusts later, I’m releasing one of those melodious sighs that he loves.
After the wake up sex that leaves me tired, he wraps my limp body in a towel and helps me from the shower. “Other than a two o’clock appointment with my probation officer, I have the day off. Want to go out for breakfast?”
It takes me a few seconds to find my mind. “I’d love to, but call your lawyer first.”
He gives me a level look.
I give him one back.
“He’s actually Justin’s lawyer.”
“Call him.”
His fingers lightly slide across my shoulder then up the line of my neck, sending little, hot shivers through my body.
I step out of his reach. “Call him now.”
He lowers his hand. “Fine.”
I smile sweetly. “Excellent.”
While I dress on one side of the apartment, Gabe calls from the other side. Wearing just jeans, he leans on the counter and crosses his bare feet.
It’s quite the yummy sight, and has me questioning if I should even bother with clothes. I try to give him some privacy by going back into the bathroom. Done putting my wet hair in a bun, I step out into the apartment to find Gabe leaning front ways on the counter, his back muscles tensely bunched.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my tone fearful.
He slowly turns around. “The hearing is on Friday.”
