There's Wild, Then There's You

by M. Leighton

  “I thought you got to perform some of your original music?”

  “Most of the time I do, but this venue wanted all cover songs.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  With a wry smile, Jet reaches out to brush my bangs out of my eyes. “Don’t be. Tonight was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

  My heart thunders inside my chest. “And why is that?”

  He steps closer still, his thighs just barely brushing mine. I know I should retreat. I know I should keep this more . . . clinical and less emotional, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to find the will to make my legs move. I don’t think I even really want to.

  “Seeing you out there made it—”

  “Who’s this?” the band’s drummer asks loudly, coming up behind Jet to lean in over his shoulder, beer bottle in one hand, cigarette in the other.

  I feel as much as hear Jet’s sigh. His warm breath dances over my lips and brings chills to my arms.

  So close . . .

  “This is Violet. Violet, this is Grady, the drummer.”

  Grady sticks his cigarette back in his mouth long enough to offer me his sticky right hand. “Pleasure, Violet. You don’t look like the . . . usual kinds of girls we see back here. Are you from the Red Cross or something? Because I would happily donate any of my . . . fluids to your cause,” he leers.

  My mouth drops open a fraction of an inch. Jet shakes Grady off him and pushes him back with an elbow to his gut. “Man, go the hell away! What’s the matter with you?”

  “What?” Grady asks, an innocuous expression settling on his face. “I was just kidding. I thought she was . . . she was . . .”

  Although Grady is very obviously well on his way to being drunk, I can see that he genuinely thought his proposition would be accepted.

  “It’s all right, Grady. I can only imagine what goes on in these rooms. No harm, no foul. I know Jet from . . . we met at a . . . group activity.”

  Grady’s brows shoot up, and I blush. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I was going to say “meeting,” but realized that might sound suspicious if Jet didn’t want anyone to know.

  “A ‘group activity’? Holy shit, I’m the best team player you’ve ever met!”

  I can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “Not that kind of group activity.”

  “Oh. Damn,” he mutters, deflated. “Well, whatever kind of group thing it is, if everyone else looks like you, count me in.” He pauses as if to reconsider. “Unless it has anything to do with ogling danglers. I don’t swing that way.”

  “Neither do I, dumbass, and that’s not what she means anyway. We met at a . . . meeting.”

  Jet looks meaningfully at Grady, and, after a few seconds, Grady finally seems to get it.

  “Ahhh, I see,” he says in realization. Then, as if something else occurred to him, he says a brighter, “Oh! Really? This is—”

  “I think you’ve made this awkward enough, Grady. Why don’t you tell Violet good night? I’m sure she’s more than ready to go home.”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce her around?”

  Jet sighs and runs his fingers through his damp hair. He glances back at me and asks, “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” I say politely, even though I’m very much ready to leave.

  Jet takes my hand and we walk to the center of the room. He looks around at his bandmates, as do I. Strangely, they all look the same—dark hair, rocker clothes, tattoos, and piercings. And all draped in women. Even Grady has already made his way back to the girl with the champagne-soaked shirt.

  Seeing that they’re all otherwise occupied with their . . . entertainment, Jet glances down at me and grins, saying, “Maybe I should do formal introductions another time.”

  I smile up at him. “Maybe that’s best.”

  “How ’bout I just point ’em out?”

  “That works.”

  I watch him survey his friends. He starts to his left, pointing to the band member who did have a girl under each arm. Now, however, he’s juggling three, as the one who was taking pictures has joined in the fun. “That’s Leo. He does a little of everything.”

  “I can see that.”

  Jet grins as he continues. “He plays, keyboard, jumps in on vocals. He’s a really funny guy,” Jet says, his smile turning wry, “you just can’t tell it right now.”

  “Oh, I can tell. He looks like he put the fun in funny,” I say dryly.

  Jet laughs. “He’s not usually quite this much fun. He’s got a lot going on. Probably blowing off some steam.” He turns his attention to the next person sprawled out on the furniture, one I’ve already met. “You met Grady. He’s the drummer.”

  “Yes, how could I forget?”

  “That guy,” he says, pointing to the one who had his tongue stuck down some poor girl’s throat five minutes ago and is now firing up a bong with a totally different one, “is Sam. He plays bass and pretty much anything else with strings.” He moves quickly on from Sam, pointing over to two guys talking in the corner. They look embroiled in something serious. Probably business. “And you met Harley at the bachelor party. He’s our manager. That’s Trent he’s talking to. You met him already, too.” Trent is the enormous security guard.

  “Yes, I remember them both.”

  He finally turns back to me. “So that’s it. That’s everybody. For now anyway. Seems like there’s always somebody coming or going. Might be a whole different place back here in a week.”

  “They’re just as I imagined rock stars to be,” I say uncomfortably.

  Jet frowns down at me. “Are you okay?”

  I shrug. “I’m fine. I’m just ready to go whenever you are.”

  “How about now?”

  I sigh in relief. “Now sounds good.”

  With my hand still in his, he grabs his shirt and leads me out the back entrance and around the building to the parking lot. He pauses only long enough to slip on his shirt, then takes my hand again and we continue our silent walk to my car, where he stops and gestures for my keys. I give them to him. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me.

  “Why don’t you follow me back to Greenfield? There’s a place I want to show you.”

  I nod, keeping my smile to a polite curve rather than the beam it feels like. I’m glad the night isn’t over. I don’t want it to be.

  “Okay. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “I’ll pull around and flash my lights, okay? Give me five minutes.”

  I nod and slide behind the wheel. Jet closes my door and winks at me through the driver’s side window as he backs away. The gesture sets the butterflies in my stomach aflutter. My pulse is humming along nicely by the time he turns to jog back the way we came.

  Three minutes later, I see Jet’s car as he weaves through the rows to get to me. As promised, he flashes his lights as he passes. I can see his smile as he drives by. My butterflies react accordingly.

  I follow him all the way back to Greenfield. My mind has wandered the entire way, guessing where he might be taking me, reveling in the anticipation of it. When he pulls into the dark parking lot of a park near the middle school, I’m a bit more confused than excited.

  Jet parks and then gets out and comes to open my door when my engine is shut off. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t offer an explanation, just takes my hand and leads me through the darkness and the trees to a set of swings that face the playground and the front of the school beyond.

  He holds a swing for me and I sit in it, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal chain and pushing off. Gently, I move back and forth as Jet takes the one next to me. His feet don’t leave the ground as he sways, and his eyes don’t leave the shadowy, moonlit view ahead.

  “Is something wrong?” I finally ask.

  He’s silent for a long time. So long, in fact, I wonder if he heard me at all. But then, minutes later, I hear his quiet response.

  “I’m sorry I brought you backstage tonight.”

  “Why?”

/>   “You told me about your mom and her . . . problems. It was incredibly insensitive for me to expose you to that shit tonight. Rockers, drugs, the stuff with the women. God, Violet, how could I be so stupid?”

  “You’re not—”

  “I want you to know that it was just inconsiderate on my part, and it won’t happen again.”

  “Hey,” I say, stopping my swing and reaching for his arm. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m a big girl. My mom’s problems are hers, not mine. I’m fine. Really.”

  Jet sighs and stares up at the star-studded sky. “I’m trying to do better, but times like tonight make me think I’ll never be anything more than a selfish asshole.”

  “You’re not a selfish asshole, Jet,” I declare vehemently.

  He falls silent again, and I hold my tongue, not knowing what to say now.

  “I come here to see my brothers,” he begins. Finally.

  “Your brothers?”

  “Yeah. I told you that my mother won’t let me see them until I get my shit together. So I’ve been coming here to see them. Chad, the oldest, brings Todd out here after school so he can play for a while before they go home. Mom kinda went apeshit after Dad left and she’s pretty tough on ’em. She doesn’t know I see them, of course. I made them promise not to tell her.”

  “But you love them. That’s not selfish.”

  Jet turns his eyes on me. He stares deep into them, searching for . . . something.

  “Isn’t it? When she has asked me not to, and for good reason? Isn’t it selfish of me to expose them to all my shit?”

  “But you’re not. You come here to see them while they play. You aren’t taking them to bars, Jet.”

  “No. I’m not that bad.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” he says, his smile small and sad. “I never felt bad about it before. Not until recently.”

  “Why now? What happened?”

  “I met you. You make me want to be the kind of person they can look up to, that my mother would be proud to have in their lives. Not the kind that lives like hell and then sneaks around to see them anyway. The selfish kind. The kind I’ve always been.”

  “Jet, you make it sound like you’re a monster. I think it’s wonderful that you want to be a better person. We should all strive to be better. Every day. Everyone could use some improvement. But wanting to see your brothers doesn’t make you a selfish asshole. You’re not a bad person just because you’ve got a few problems, Jet. We’ve all got problems. Even your mom.”

  Jet’s eyes bore into mine. Something in them pains me. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew all the things I’ve done. If you knew what kind of person I really am.”

  “I’m not stupid, Jet. I know who you are. I know about your problems. But, despite them, you’re here. With me. Feeling guilty for the things you’ve done, for the way you live your life. That hardly sounds like a person beyond redemption.”

  “But Violet, you don’t know . . .”

  “And I don’t have to. Because I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what you do from here on. What matters are the things you can control, like the future and what choices you make today and tomorrow. You can’t fix yesterday.”

  Jet reaches for the chains to my swing. He turns me toward him and pulls me close, his face set and his eyes desperate. “Do you really believe that? Could you really overlook every bad thing I’ve done? Are you that forgiving?”

  I get the feeling he’s asking me about much more, but I don’t know what. And I don’t know how else to respond. So I tell him what I hope I’d have the personal strength to do. “Yes, I am that forgiving.”

  I can hear his breathing. It seems that he’s fighting some internal battle and the situation with his brothers is only scratching the surface. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was feeling guilty over something he’d done to me. But that’s impossible. He hasn’t done anything to me.

  “I hope that means you’ll start now.”

  Before I can ask what I need to forgive him for, Jet shows me, crushing his lips to mine. They’re heated. Hungry. Urgent.

  They’re soft yet firm, just like I remember. And the flavor of Jet is the same. Heady. Seductive. Male. But there’s something in the kiss that feels different. Like he’s taking off the gloves. Tonight marks a change, and I’m not sure what it means for me.

  I just know it means something.

  Jet tilts his head and deepens the kiss. I don’t resist. It doesn’t even occur to me to try. I’m only feeling. Not thinking.

  His tongue slips between my lips to tease mine, to stroke it, to entice a response. Without conscious thought, my body gives it. I slide mine along his, reveling in the taste of him, in the smooth warm feel of his flesh.

  And then he’s dragging me out of my swing, pulling me to my feet, hauling me against him. His hands are in my hair, on my back, at the base of my spine. They’re holding and begging, pressing and demanding.

  He’s hard where I’m soft. Unyielding where I give. Alluring where I drift.

  I melt into him, unable to do anything else. I let my fingers slide into his hair. I grab fistfuls of it, holding him to me even though I know I should be pushing him away.

  He moans into my mouth. I breathe it in. I feel it like warm caramel oozing through my veins, drowning me in sugary desire, in the heady power of our attraction.

  When Jet pulls away to look down into my face, his breathing as hard as mine, his eyes are ablaze. But among the flames, I can see concern.

  “Can you forgive me for that?”

  “Yes,” I say without hesitation, wondering if I could forgive him if he hadn’t kissed me.

  “Can you forgive me if I can’t be just your project? If I can’t leave this alone?”

  “Jet, I . . .” I don’t know what to say. I know what I feel, but I know that I should keep that to myself.

  “Because I can’t stay away from you, Violet. I don’t want to. I know I should. But I need you. I need to have you, to be with you. I need to see if I can be the man you make me want to be.”

  “Jet, I can’t make you someone else. I’ll help you in any way I can, but I can’t change who you are.”

  “Then can you accept me like I am?”

  Like a snowball tossed right into the center of my face, I feel his words like ice, cooling the fires of my passion.

  “Can’t we just keep doing what we’re doing? See how it goes?”

  He sighs. I can see the disappointment in his eyes. I know what he wanted me to say, but I can’t lie to him. I can’t tell him something that I know would be a lie. I’ve been dishonest enough for a lifetime. I can’t add to it with more half-truths.

  Jet loosens his hold on me and steps back to give me room. An opaque curtain drops down over his face. While a casual glance shows no change in his expression, there’s a shadow of something else lurking just beyond that which is clear.

  “Then I’ll do my best to honor that, for as long as I can. Just know that we can’t stay here forever.”

  “Where is here?”

  Jet doesn’t answer me. He simply reaches for my hand, curls my fingers over his, and kisses my knuckles.

  Then, with a disheartened curve of his lips, he turns and leads me back the way we came. Back to where we started.

  TWENTY-TWO: Jet

  For the first time in forever, it seems, the words just flow. As I sit here in the parking lot, outside the SAA meeting, song lyrics pour out in an unstoppable symphony. I’ve written dozens of songs in my life. Some are even pretty damn good ones. Fewer since Mom and Dad split and my life turned to shit, though.

  But this one is different. This one is gold. I can feel it. In my soul, I can feel it. This song is going to mean something. And not just to me.

  I’m staring through the windshield, hearing the notes in my head, when I see her car pull up. Her name floats through my mind. Drifts almost, like a vibrant fog. It’s more than that, though. More
than a name. It’s a color and a person and a beauty that I’ve never seen before in life.

  Violet.

  I put my head down and scribble more words. I should go inside, but I need to get this down before I forget. I can’t stop writing. Not now.

  I glance back up and watch her walk in with her friend. I know I should go in, too, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until I get this out.

  I get a heavy feeling in my chest when I pen the next words. It’s guilt. And dread.

  Will she hate me when she knows? Will she take her love and go?

  I look up again, and she’s gone. I wonder how long it will be until she really is gone.

  TWENTY-THREE: Violet

  I’m more than a little disappointed when I scan the crowd and don’t find Jet anywhere. He didn’t say he was coming, but he didn’t say he wasn’t either. I guess I just assumed.

  “What’s the matter?” Tia asks as we take seats in the nearly empty row at the back.

  I give her my brightest, most carefree smile. “Not a thing. I’m just glad you came tonight.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Of course I came. I’m more dependable than that.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since always.”

  “Sure. And monkeys might fly out of my butt,” I tell her derisively.

  “Not with that attitude they won’t,” she sniffs haughtily.

  I chuckle, and we turn our attention to Lyle when he starts the meeting. After several minutes of forcing myself not to continue to look around for Jet every four seconds, it has finally gotten a little easier, but then I hear a noise at the back of the room. I make myself stay facing forward. I refuse to look.

  It irritates me that I expected him to come, that I wanted him to. That I so wanted to believe he was doing better. And that he was right in that I am making a positive difference in his life. Then I chastise myself, reiterating that this is exactly why I don’t get too involved. There is nothing but disappointment and heartbreak to be had. Nothing else.

  All that resolution is wiped away—again—the instant I feel someone slide into the seat beside me and drape an arm casually across the back of my chair. Even before I turn my head to look, I smell him. Even before I confirm with my eyes, I feel him. I feel Jet in the way my pulse speeds up. I feel him in the way my lungs get tight. I feel him in the way my blood sings.