Redeem

by Rachel Schurig

  I’m stunned into silence. How do you react to something like that? One of the most famous guitar players in the country, a legitimate rock and roll superstar, just told me that I’m one of the few women he’s ever felt drawn to. It would take a person of strength much greater than my own to totally discard that. I decide to lay my cards on the table—he deserves that much, at least.

  “I don’t really do the whole more than one night thing either.” His eyes widen and I look down at my books, not really wanting to see his expression when I confess this to him. “The truth is, I make a lot of mistakes with guys. With my social life in general.”

  “I was one of those mistakes?”

  I risk a glance at him and realize that it is possible to offend Cash Ransome after all. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly. “I’m just…trying to explain my pattern.”

  “Your pattern.”

  I sigh. “That’s what Penny calls it. I seem to get myself into this cycle.” I pause, my face reddening again. “The day I met you was one of my days with Wyatt. I usually get a day every weekend or so.” I feel the little spasm of pain shoot across my face and I hope he doesn’t notice. This is embarrassing enough as it is. “Sometimes, when he leaves…I don’t handle it very well. It gets very hard to be in my apartment alone. Very hard to be in my head, to be honest.”

  “So you do things like pick up guys in bars.”

  I blow the air out of my lungs. “Among other poor decisions.”

  He’s watching me closely. “You go out and look for distractions.”

  I feel a strange sense of relief that he understood so quickly. “Yes. Sometimes it’s a guy in a bar. Sometimes it’s way too many shots.” I clear my throat. “A few times it’s been, um, other substances.”

  If he’s surprised by my admission of drug use, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he looks at me thoughtfully. “So you do these things to escape your reality for a while but when it’s over, you feel even worse. Because you feel like you’re even farther from your goal of getting him back.”

  “Yes. That’s it exactly.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a while, still fiddling with the side of my textbook. “Look, I don’t want to do anything that might screw things up for you or for Wyatt. I really do think he’s a cool kid and it’s pretty damn obvious that you’re crazy about him.” He shoots me a quick grin. “He’s crazy about you, too, in case you didn’t notice. And I don’t want to mess any of that up.”

  “Thank you, Cash.” I expect him to get up, to leave me alone with my studying. I wouldn’t blame him. It’s what I asked for, and besides, everything I just laid on him was pretty heavy. But he remains exactly where he is, still idly playing with the book.

  “Here’s the thing, though. I happen to have a lot of experience in bad decisions.” I smirk at that and he rolls his eyes at me in a self-deprecating way. “As I’m sure you’ve heard in the press.”

  “Maybe a thing or two.”

  “I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff. I try to tell myself there’s no reason for it, that I just like having fun and it doesn’t have to be some big, meaningful issue. But the thing is, what you just said? About distractions? I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

  He slides his hand across the table and covers mine. He doesn’t link our fingers or apply any pressure. He just keeps it there, still, touching mine. When he speaks again his tone is soft. “And I’ve never admitted that to anyone before. Not even myself.”

  I stare at him, more than a little overwhelmed by the sincerity of his words and their meaning.

  “Maybe we could help each other,” he says slowly, gauging my reaction. “Maybe we could figure out a way to break our patterns.”

  “Cash—”

  “I think I need a friend, Sam.” He sounds almost ashamed of his words, but he doesn’t drop my gaze. “I can’t tell you how distanced I’ve been feeling from my brothers—from everyone—lately. It’s like, with them all we do is work. And with my other friends all they want to do is party. There’s…there’s no one in the middle, you know?”

  I nod, even though I’m entirely sure I do know.

  “I could really use a friend.”

  I swallow, wondering if I’m going to regret this. But the words seem to come of their own volition. “I think I could use one, too.”

  His answering grin makes my heart clench and I have the sudden thought that this could end very badly for me. “A friend, Cash. Not a friend with benefits.”

  He holds his hands up and that smirk is back. I’m almost relieved to see it, not sure I can handle any more of the sad, serious Cash. “I promise to not try to get in your pants. There will be zero parties in the pants for us.”

  I laugh. “Sounds like a deal.” I look down at the notes in front of me. “I really do need to get back to this.”

  “And I need to look for that book.” I give him a skeptical look and his eyes widen. “What? A rock god can’t enjoy a good book every now and then?”

  I shake my head at his bravado as he gets up and heads over to the racks. When he disappears from view I turn my attention back to econ, though I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause. I can’t get the conversation out of my head. The way he had seemed so vulnerable in his honesty, as if stripped bare. I could really use a friend.

  I thought of the various people I would consider my friends. There was Penny, of course. My cousin knew me better than just about anyone, and was fiercely loyal. Beyond that…there were a few people that had been friends with me or Doug back in school. But did any of them really know me? Or would I forever be the poor war widow to them? More of a caricature than a fully formed person.

  Being the widow of Doug Warner is a mantle I don’t think I’ll ever be worthy of. He was beloved around here, a fact I never resented. But it does make it pretty hard to move on. People want me to stay in a state they’re comfortable with—they expect me to forever be the mourning, brave reminder of a good man. And he was a good man. But he’s gone now. And sometimes it feels like I’m still married—to a ghost.

  But Cash doesn’t know Doug, as he pointed out that night we slept together. And maybe that’s exactly what I need.

  A moment later he returns, holding a book. I peek at the title. Ender’s Game. “You like Sci-Fi?” I ask.

  He shrugs a little, almost seeming embarrassed. “I guess.”

  He turns his attention to the book and I turn my attention back to my studies. And we sit like that, for the rest of the afternoon. Not talking. Not flirting. Just two friends, sitting together, reading. And just maybe breaking a few patterns.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cash

  “You’re close,” Daltrey says, pointing at the keys. “It’s that one.”

  Wyatt’s face screws up in concentration. “Let me try again.”

  “I told you he was tenacious,” I mutter to Daltrey but he just smiles and points at the correct key again. Wyatt torturously picks out the tune of three blind mice, hitting the wrong key every now and again, giving the tune a disjointed, off key feel.

  “This was such a mistake,” Sam mutters quiet enough so Wyatt can’t hear. She rubs her fingers over her ears as if she wishes she could cover them.

  “He’s not that bad,” I tell her, right as he hits a flat note. He makes a regretful face at Daltrey before continuing. “And it could be a lot worse. Remember the drums?”

  She visibly shudders and I laugh. The drums had definitely been worse.

  “I’m so glad Reed isn’t here right now,” she agrees.

  “Dalt, why don’t you just put tape on the keys?” Lennon asks. Placing masking tape labeled with the name of each key is a common way of getting beginners playing a song faster. “Kid’s just starting out. You can’t expect him to remember the keys and the notes on the page at the same time.”

  Daltrey scowls. “Because there’s a right way to learn piano and shortcuts are not it.”

  Lennon rolls his eye
s and returns to his magazine, only wincing occasionally at the sour notes.

  Daisy appears in the doorway to the living room, a tray in her hands. “I come bearing food,” she announces as she joins Sam and I at the table.

  “Yum,” Sam says, reaching for a cookie.

  “Thanks, Daisy.” I grab three cookies and she swats at my hand. “What?”

  “Some of those are for Paige.”

  “Why didn’t you hit her?” I point at Sam, happily munching the peanut butter cookie.

  “Because she’s a guest. And because she didn’t try to take three.”

  “I’m excited to meet Paige.” Sam wipes her hands of the cookie crumbs and reaches for her water bottle. “You all talk about her so much.”

  Lennon looks up from his magazine. “If you think you’re excited, it’s nothing to what Paige is going to be like. There’s just no preparing yourself for that girl.”

  Sam shoots me a questioning look and I grin. That pretty much covers it. “Paige is awesome,” Daisy explains. “She’s just…um. A lot.”

  “Like I said,” Lennon muttered, his eyes back on the page. “There’s no preparing yourself.”

  A moment later, Paige arrives to prove that fact very clearly. “Daisy!” she squeals, running at her friend. She throws her arms around her, shouting and laughing as she hugs her, as if they haven’t seen each other in years, rather than a matter of weeks. Paige attends school in Tennessee, a mere hour from Daisy and Daltrey’s place.

  But, like Daisy said, Paige can be a little much. I suppose that’s part of her charm.

  She releases Daisy, who looks slightly shell shocked, and moves on to Daltrey, hugging him and then Lennon before approaching me. She narrows her eyes, hands on her hips. “A DUI?”

  “Sorry, Paige,” I say obediently, and she sighs, hugging me, too. Behind her head I see Reed standing in the doorway, a guarded expression on his face. Before the two of them finally got together, back when Reed was still being a clueless asshole, Paige had given me a drunken kiss. And then Reed had basically tried to kill me. I release her quickly, not wanting a repeat of that fight.

  “And you must be Samantha,” Paige says, grinning at the stranger. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Sam shoots me another questioning look but Paige is sweeping her up into a hug before I can say anything.

  The truth is, I’m not at all surprised that Paige has heard a lot about Sam. Daisy seems completely fascinated by her. In the few weeks that we’ve been hanging out, they’ve gotten to know each other a bit. I can tell that Daisy likes her, a fact that makes me feel strangely proud. I can also tell that she’s completely confused by what’s going on between us.

  “You’re going to be friends with her,” she had said the first time I broached the subject of bringing Sam over to the cabin to hang out.

  “Yes.”

  Daisy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Just friends?”

  “Yes, Daisy. Just friends.”

  From that first meeting she had spent a good amount of time staring at Sam when the other girl wasn’t looking, as if she was trying to figure out what strange power she had to cause me to actually be friends with a girl. Because that’s what I told everyone, from my brothers to Daisy, even to Blake, nosey weirdo that he was—Sam is just a friend.

  It’s the truth, for all intents and purposes. After that day in the library Sam agreed to hang out, strictly as friends. Gradually, we started to spend more time together, dinner or lunch every few nights, a drive into nearby Huntsville to see a movie. She’d even let me accompany her on a shopping trip, pretending to be annoyed but really laughing as I filled her cart with an assortment of increasingly silly items. (“What, Sam—you’re telling me you don’t need fifty pounds of bird seed? What’s wrong with you?”)

  Basically we did the kinds of things that friends did together, I supposed—the truth was, I’d never really had a lot of friends, save for my brothers and Levi, our former roadie who was currently MIA due to a huge fight with Daltrey. When you spend most of your life in a garage practicing or out on the road doing shows, your social life becomes limited pretty quickly.

  Though Daisy seemed both fascinated and bewildered by the entire situation, my brothers had taken me at my word, though they’d seemed slightly surprised at first. I guess it was easier for them to believe that I would be friends with a girl rather than actually have a girlfriend. To be honest, it was easier for me to believe, too. I’d always imagined having a serious girlfriend to be a stifling, expectation-filled pressure cooker. But hanging out with Sam never felt like that—so it couldn’t have been more than friendship, right? I told myself that over and again, watching her watch a movie, read a book, play with Wyatt, do her homework—this was just what friendship felt like. Sam made it clear she didn’t want anything more than that. I certainly didn’t want anything more than that. Friendship was great. Friendship (and random, casual hookups) was all I was capable of.

  I’m so full of shit.

  Because I’m pretty sure a friend shouldn’t make my heart thud this hard. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t spend hours wondering what a friend is doing or thinking about at that moment. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t get caught staring at the long, smooth column of a friend’s neck, remembering over and over again what it had felt like to press my lips there.

  I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to dream about a girl who’s just a friend.

  And it scares the hell out of me. I’m supposed to be the guy who doesn’t want any of that, the guy whose only priority is squeezing as much fun and excitement into every day as humanly possible. I don’t know what’s happening in my head, don’t know if I should fight it or just go with it. And I can’t even talk to anyone about it.

  “You awake in there?”

  I blink, Sam’s smiling face suddenly filling my vision. She’s poking my arm and I realize she’s been trying to get my attention. I shake my head, smiling back at her. “Sorry. Zoning out.”

  “I can tell. Daisy started talking about what to have for lunch and you didn’t even respond.”

  “You staying for lunch?” I ask immediately. That’s another thing I do—constantly checking and double checking to see how much time I have before she goes back to the other parts of her life. She’ll tell me she has to go home after a movie and I’ll spend half the time calculating how much time that gives us, constantly with an eye on the clock, counting the minutes.

  Who am I?

  “Yeah, I told you we were, right?”

  I glance toward Wyatt, still stubbornly plucking at the keys on the piano, now joined by Paige, who watches over his shoulder and tells him he’s doing much better than her the single time Reed tried to show her how to play a few notes.

  And fuck me if I can’t see exactly how it would be if I hadn’t promised her that we’d stick to being friends. Sam right here with the rest of us, my brothers and Daisy and Paige. A few months down the road, on the tour bus, goofing around, maybe playing some video games. Coming to our shows. Wyatt would like that, a real rock concert. They’d come backstage after and he’d feel so cool, like he was one of the guys.

  The thought freaks me out so much I stand abruptly. This is getting ridiculous—what in the hell am I doing? Sitting here fantasizing like a little girl about Sam and her kid. What exactly do I think is going to come from this? I think I’m going to be a dad to him or something? I haven’t had a relationship that lasted longer than a month since high school. There’s no way in the world I could be anything serious to anyone, even a kid as cool as Wyatt.

  But that doesn’t stop the goofy ass grin from spreading across my face when he looks up at me, my movement distracting him finally from the effort of learning the song. He smiles at me, his eyes wide and kind of bright, which is basically how he always looks at me. Like he thinks I’m the coolest guy he’s ever seen. I freaking love it.

  “Am I getting any better?”

  “You’re getting way better.” I ruffle his hair
. “But I don’t get why you’re wasting your time on this lame-o piano. Guitar is much cooler.”

  His face brightens even more, like I flipped some kind of freaking light switch. “Daltrey said piano would help me learn the notes before I tried with the guitar.”

  “Daltrey just says that because he’s bitter that he’s still not as good at guitar as me.”

  Wyatt hoots with laughter, shooting a gleeful look at my little brother. He seems to get a huge kick out of us teasing each other, though I’m not entirely sure why.

  I can tell Daltrey wants to flip me off but he restrains himself for the sake of the kid, scowling at me instead, and Wyatt laughs again.

  “Are we eating or what?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he parrots. “Are we eating or what?”

  “Watch it, kiddo,” Sam says. “Unless you want to go make lunch for everybody.”

  “He could handle it.” I ruffle up his hair again, rewarded once more by that grin.

  “I totally could.”

  Sam gestures toward the kitchen. “Then by all means, why don’t the two of you go for it?”

  I turn serious eyes to Wyatt. “What do you think, kid? Should we go show these guys how it’s done?”

  He jumps up from the piano so fast he knocks the music from the stand. “Oops,” he mutters, bending to pick it up and shoving it hastily back in its spot. “I’m ready now!”

  Paige and Daisy are both smiling at Wyatt like he’s the cutest thing they’ve ever seen. Even Sam has that look on her face, the incredulous one, like she can’t quite believe this kid is hers.

  But as I make my way into the kitchen, Wyatt right at my side like he’s glued there, I happen to catch Lennon’s gaze. He’s watching us, too, but he isn’t smiling. His face is almost grim.

  Grim and very, very worried.