my life as a rock album (my life as an album Book 3)

by LJ Evans

  “I made it to the hallway and he followed. With a cracked Jack Daniels bottle that he used on my side,” I looked up at the ceiling. “I barely touched him, but he hit the floor, and I got her to the street.”

  “Jesus!”

  I looked into your eyes and saw tears there. I hated it. Didn’t want you to feel sad or pity or anything like that for me.

  “That’s how your mom died?” When I didn’t respond, you went on. “How long were you in the hospital?”

  “Couple days.”

  “And what happened after?”

  “Funeral. Finished at LaGuardia. Moved to L.A. when Otis accepted me.”

  You took my face into your hands so that I was forced to look at you, and you rubbed your fingers along the scruff that had appeared even though I’d shaved that morning, your thumb rubbing my chin before hovering over my lips.

  “I’m sorry your life was shitty,” you said. And there was no pity in your tone. Sorrow. But no pity.

  I took your lips into mine and kissed you savagely. But, you met my roughness with your own. And as I covered you with my lips and my tongue, I felt for the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever, that the ugly life I’d lived had actually led me to something good. To you.

  We were connected in some way. A pair of those crazy figure eights spinning away and towards each other. Like abuela had said. I’ve found someone in my life who was meant to be there. I know that Cam was supposed to be part of my life too. She saved me from becoming my father, but you. You saved me from myself.

  Bad Medicine

  PJ After Letter Six

  “Now I’m addicted and your kiss is the drug.”

  -Bon Jovi, Sambora, & Child

  READING SETH’S LETTER ABOUT his mom and his dad and that awful moment in his life makes PJ hurt all over again for him. How could any father do that to his son? Her father had been loving and kind and told dumb jokes like all embarrassing dads did. Even at thirteen, he’d already started teasing her about the shotgun he’d have at the ready when she first brought a boy home. When she’d remind him that he didn’t have a shotgun, he said he planned on buying one just for that purpose.

  If only he’d been around to stop her from the carousel of boys she’d let in her life. Of course, she wouldn’t have been looking to fill the void in her heart if her parents hadn’t died.

  She realized soon after Seth had told her his story that his possessiveness was rooted in the belief that she would leave him like everyone else had. And she had, and that twists her gut with guilt.

  * * *

  Seth said that he’d been patient while waiting for her to move in. He was. But he also wasn’t. Which ended up with a month that was full of moments that bound them together tighter than she’d ever been tied to someone before and yet was also full of moments that would pull at those same bindings causing them to unravel around them.

  There were moments when his need to see her were so sweet that it hurt. One evening in a week when she’d had very little time for him, Seth showed up at her apartment. When she answered the door and saw him, she was about to scold him, but before she could, he leaned in and kissed her like he hadn’t seen her in a month when it really had only been a few days and then there was nothing to she could scold him about. Because she’d missed him too.

  She pulled back from his lips, but didn’t push him away.

  “I’m in the middle of writing a paper. Doctor Gellar is completely over the top with this comparison of Byzantine and Medieval statues that he wants us to do. I need to concentrate.”

  “I think I might be able to help with that.”

  She didn’t want him to help her with her paper. She wanted to earn her grade on her own, and he seemed to understand that, or at least read the stubbornness that took over her face.

  “Bring your computer down to the pool. I have dinner set up for you. That’s it. Just dinner. You need to eat,” he said, pushing at her objections.

  And he was right. She did need to eat, and whatever he’d brought was going to be hands down better than the microwave food that waited for her in the refrigerator. So she grabbed her computer and her books and followed him down.

  When they entered the gate, PJ stopped, breath held, at the scene in front of her. He’d made up one of the glass poolside tables with a paisley tablecloth and lit candles that were blowing slightly in the breeze that had settled in. There were flowers in a white ceramic pitcher, and semi-clear aqua colored dishes that matched both the flowers and the tablecloth.

  It was a scene from a magazine that you wouldn’t be able to look away from. Seth was an artist. He loved to make everything visually pleasing, and he had done just that.

  “How long did this take?” she asked stunned.

  He didn’t respond. He just pulled her over and held her chair. She stacked her school work at her feet, unwilling to ruin the beautiful table he’d set.

  When he uncovered the plate for her, it revealed homemade mac and cheese with garlic bread and green beans. She just stared at the simple meal, heart in her throat.

  She was afraid to look at him. Afraid that if she did she’d lose the little composure she had, but eventually she breathed out, “How did you know?”

  “You wrote about it,” he said casually. As if it was obvious.

  And she had. But it had been several years ago in a blog post that was so old she’d forgotten it herself. It had been her sophomore year at college. She’d been stressed about finals and a professor that was being a jerk, and she’d written the post almost like a diary page.

  When she was a little kid and having a bad week or was worried about something big, like moving from elementary school to middle school, her mom would make this meal for her. It was comfort food. It was her mom’s way of saying that everything was going to be fine. In the post, she’d wished that her mom was still around to do it again because she was in need of comfort. She was in need of some proof that everything was going to turn out fine.

  But that blog post had been hundreds of posts ago. It was buried so deep on her site that she wasn’t sure how he’d found it unless he’d read them all. Which just made her heart stop in her chest all over again.

  “You read all my posts?”

  He shrugged and sat down at his own plate. As if his reading everything she’d ever written was just something anyone would do. Christ, Justice hadn’t even read all her posts, and he was her biggest fan.

  “Thank you,” she croaked out trying not to cry. She wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for the meal or for loving her enough to read all of her words.

  Because she knew that he did love her even though he hadn’t said the words. And she loved him back even though she hadn’t said the words either. She loved him regardless of his rough edges and his possessiveness because his soul spoke to her soul with his ability to be generous and kind when the world had been neither to him.

  She turned to the meal, wanting to eat it. Wanting to make sure he knew that she loved everything he had done, that she loved him, but her throat was so tight she wasn’t sure she could do it without choking. On the food or the words that were trying to get out of her.

  “It was the last meal she made me,” PJ finally told him quietly.

  He looked across at her, and she could see the remorse that entered his eyes because he hadn’t known, and now he felt like he’d done something wrong. As if he wanted to take it all back.

  “No, don’t! Please don’t feel bad.” And she rose from her chair and went to him. She sat in his lap and he buried his head into her neck.

  “It reminds me of the good things,” she continued. “I try so hard most days to forget everything about them because it hurts so much that they left. That they died before they could see me graduate eighth grade or high school. That they won’t be here in a couple weeks when I complete college. That they won’t be here to walk me down the aisle or make goo-goo eyes at my first child. It hurts…”

  “Bella,” Seth
interjected with anguish in his voice. Something you rarely heard.

  “No. Listen. This. This meal. It reminds me of something good. Of how they cared about me. How they made me laugh when I was sad. How they would take me to the beach and throw kelp and sea water at me until I came out of whatever pissy mood I was in, and how I would chase them back with strings of seaweed.”

  And for a moment, she lost herself in the memories. They were the first happy ones she’d had of her parents in a long time because she’d told the truth when she told him she tried to forget.

  Seth’s fingers at her waist tightened as if he was battling for his own control, his fingers embedding into her skin, bringing her back to him and the dinner he’d made.

  “So thank you. Thank you for reminding me of them. I don’t want to forget them just because it hurts too much to remember.”

  And she kissed him tenderly and then ate the meal he’d made to comfort her. Like her mom would have.

  When they were done, she pulled out her books, and he started cleaning up. When he’d packed everything up, she stood and dipped a hand down into the pool and splashed it at him. Because it’s what her dad would have done. He would have lightened the mood with teasing and pranks.

  Seth started towards her with payback in his eyes, but she ran out the gate laughing, and, surprisingly, he let her go. But PJ was sure it was only because he knew that she’d show up at his house the next night after work as she had every Friday night since they’d started dating.

  And she had.

  And it turned into one of their first arguments. Or at least one of the threads that started to unravel around them.

  It was Saturday morning, she’d gotten ready to go to the gym and found him in the kitchen. She watched him work at the sink for a moment before dropping her rent money on the counter. It was cash because she thought it was weird to hand him a check. It was the money she normally paid for her apartment and that she needed to give to him even though they hadn’t talked about money.

  Her movement caught his eye, and he turned, wiping his hands on the towel he’d thrown over his shoulder. He picked up the cash. “What’s this?”

  “Um. Money,” she responded, twisting her t-shirt because she was nervous about his response. He hadn’t asked for money, but she wasn’t going to move in with him and not pay her portion of the bills.

  He stared at her. “Why are you putting it here?”

  “It’s for rent, or utilities, or whatever.”

  “I’m not taking money from you.”

  “But I’m going to be living here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then I’m going to pay my way.”

  “I didn’t ask you to move in with me because I needed the cash.”

  “I know that. I know you don’t need the money, but I need to give it to you.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m not moving in.” She turned and headed for the door, but she didn’t make it very far before he’d stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “Bella!”

  She turned and stared up at him, his face so unreadable but his eyes flashing warning signs.

  “Look. It’s simple. You either let me pay some of the bills so I can at least feel an ounce of self-respect, or I don’t move in.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  But that just made her dig her heels in more. Because he’d called her ridiculous on top of his inability to accept her money, his inability to accept the fact that she had to do this in order to be able to like herself every day. He tried to pull her to him, but she just pulled away.

  They stared at each other. Him silent, arms crossed against his chest. Her with her hand on her hip and fire in her cheeks. Neither willing to bend. The ties that bound them tightening and separating at the same time.

  “God. Just take it. It’s called a compromise. Have you never heard of it before?” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I won’t compromise on taking care of you.”

  “I don’t want you to take care of me. I just want you to…” she caught herself before she said love. Because she did want him to love her, and wanting that made her think of her torn up past when she’d wanted other boys to love her. And it made her hate everything about the moment they were having. “I just want you to care about me.”

  “Aren’t those the same things?” he said, frustrated, trying to reach for her again only to have her push his hand away.

  “You know they aren’t.”

  They stood staring each other down. Each waiting for the other to give. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to take it, but she was surprised when he was the one to give in first.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Put the damn money in the cookie jar. I’ll use it as the bills come in.”

  She’d prefer to have a few bills in her own name, coming to her, but she wasn’t sure she could push him that hard today. When she didn’t respond, the corners of his mouth twisted up.

  “It’s called a compromise, Bella. Have you never heard of it before?”

  And she wanted to laugh at him. Teasing her in a way that she knew was foreign to him, but she didn’t. Instead, she pushed past him, shoved the money in the cookie jar, and went to leave. He caught her hand again and pulled her to him. This time she didn’t resist, and he kissed her until she’d all but forgotten about money and compromises.

  And he hadn’t really compromised because when she went to put more money in the cookie jar a few weeks later, he hadn’t taken any of the original pile out. It was still sitting there. All of it. She realized that he was never going to use it. That she’d lost this battle with him, but she kept adding to it anyway because she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t.

  * * *

  Money wasn’t the only thing they struggled with over in the month before graduation.

  After her critical review of The Green Room and the free range hamburger joint that Seth had taken her too, her average blog kind of blew up locally. She had restaurants asking to advertise with her and even more asking her to come review their place.

  It should have been a good thing, but it felt like yet another thing that had happened because someone else, Seth, had done it for her instead of her earning it herself. Especially when she felt the need to take Seth with her at first because he was surprisingly knowledgeable about the locally sourced, farm to market business. And she knew nothing.

  After she’d done a few interviews with him at her side, and he’d scowled one too many times at the owners or chefs who he thought were being overly friendly, she knew it was time to be on her own.

  “I’m going out to Newport Beach tomorrow afternoon to meet with the owner of The Green Turtle,” she told him one night on the phone.

  “Okay. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  She didn’t respond. She was trying to think about how to tell him she was going on her own.

  “Bella?”

  “I don’t want you to come.” It just spilled out. She held her breath, waiting for a response.

  But, he was silent.

  “I have to do this on my own, Seth. If I can’t, it might as well be your blog.”

  More silence.

  “Seth?”

  “It’s your blog. You write it.”

  “But you’ve been spoon feeding me.”

  “I’m just a source. Like any other research source you use.”

  “It’s not the same, and you know it,” she told him.

  Back to silence.

  “Before I met you, I did things like this all the time on my own,” she snapped because his quiet was as unnerving has his words could be.

  “You met strange men on your own?” His tone held more than disapproval. It was almost anxious. Which made her think of her own anxiety over the texts from No Caller that had slowly been increasing as she approached graduation. Was No Caller someone she’d met through her blog? Someone she’d interviewed? S
omeone who’d smiled at her and shook her hand? She shivered.

  “I’ll take Claire,” she relented.

  “Fine.” He wasn’t happy about it, but she knew he saw it as a compromise. But just like he hadn’t really compromised over the money, she hadn’t really compromised over this. It was just easier to let him think she’d compromised because telling him the truth would send him off the rails.

  The truth was she was only taking Claire because of the guy that was scaring her more than her feelings for Seth.

  * * *

  The week before graduation, No Caller sent a text every day. Most of the time they were encouraging as if whoever it was knew that she was under a lot of pressure. They were easy to ignore. But the day before her last final, he sent one that sucked all her breath out of her.

  NO CALLER ID: You graduate this week. It’s a time to celebrate. But, you also need to think about your next chapter. Will you start it as someone’s throw away toy or as someone’s most cherished possession? I will cherish you. I will lay you down and shower you with kisses. Don’t wait for the monster to toss you aside like all the others did. Get rid of him before I do.

  She reread it several times because at first she thought she’d misunderstood. But she hadn’t. He’d crossed the line. There was nothing okay about his text. He was talking about having sex and getting rid of Seth.

  Her hands shook holding the phone as she scrambled through all the people in her life in her mind. She couldn’t come up with even one person who was creepy like this in person. Not one.

  She was still trying to calm herself down when Claire got home from a shift at the bar. Claire seemed to sense something was up because she sank down on the couch with her and asked, “What’s up, Butterfly?”

  PJ handed her the phone in response. Claire read it and then reread it.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Creepy, right?”

  “More than creepy, Peej. This is like serial killer stalker. How long have you been getting these?”

  “A couple months.”

  “And you haven’t said anything?”

  “I blocked the caller at first, and I called the phone company, but they said all I can do is change it so I can only get calls from people in my contact list.”