I didn’t want to remember. Jesus, I didn’t want to go back there.
“Take this right,” Nate said, leaning closer as he gazed into the distance.
The sun was starting to set over the trees that lined the road, and for a moment, my eyes were blind as I navigated the turn. When the sun disappeared momentarily, I noticed a huge sign that looked like it was a hundred years old or something. Faded letters spread across it, broken in places. Damaged and worn. Kind of like me.
Twin Oaks Drive-In.
“Keep going,” Nate urged.
A rusted gate was off to the side, and I snuck a look at him as I slowly drove up a large hill. His eyes were focused ahead, and I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or pissed off or…or just nothing.
We crested the hill, and I saw a large screen, or rather the shell of what used to be a large screen, across a huge field littered with broken electrical or stereo hook-ups. This was an ancient drive-in, kind of like the one from that movie my mom liked to watch, Grease.
And it was deserted.
With the sun falling behind the tops of the trees that seemed to be everywhere, it was also kind of creepy.
“So why are we here?” I asked.
“Just keep driving. Take the path to the right.”
He should know by now that I didn’t like being told what to do, but considering the shitty night he’d had so far, I was willing to let this slide. “We aren’t doing anything illegal, are we? Like is this trespassing or something?”
Nate shook his head and pointed. Trees surrounded the entire area like a blanket, and what used to be a food stand was missing its roof and all of its windows. Chipped paint dressed the doors and crumbling façade, and the shadows were long near the entrance.
I followed the path, noticing the worn grooves from tires, and didn’t stop even when we entered the woods, though I did slow down.
“Up there,” Nate said.
I glanced ahead and saw that the trees thinned. I also saw what looked like fire throwing shadows through the branches, and as we drove into a clearing, I spied several vehicles.
My heart thudded.
I saw about twenty kids hanging around the fire, drinking, laughing, jostling around. They looked like they were having a good time. Like nothing was wrong and everything was right.
I pulled in beside a huge, mud-splattered SUV because there was nowhere else to park and then cut the engine.
“Are those your friends?”
Nate nodded but didn’t say anything. I didn’t really want to be here, but I wasn’t sure how to tell him.
“Is your girlfriend there?” I asked instead.
“No.”
The tightness in my chest eased a bit, but it only managed to irritate me. Why was I so concerned about his girlfriend? It’s not like this—us—was anything. This was just…I rapped my fingers along the top of the steering wheel, frustrated and pissed off and not really knowing why.
This was nothing. Nate was nothing. I was nothing.
We were caught up in nothing. Together.
“Come on, let’s go.”
Nate had his door open and was out of the car before I could say anything, and for a second, I thought of driving away. Of leaving him here and just driving into the night. Going somewhere far where I didn’t have to think about Nathan or Trevor or Malcolm, or any of the mistakes we’d made to get to where we were.
“Are you coming?”
He poked his head inside the car, and though there was still this sort of sadness around his eyes, there was also something else. I thought that maybe that something else looked good on him. Maybe I was the reason that something else was there.
My mouth was dry and I tried to swallow. “Why are we here?” I managed to say.
He stared at me for so long without speaking that I felt my cheeks flush hot, and I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. That something else in his eyes touched me inside, and for just this one moment, it felt better than the nothing that was usually there.
He closed his door, and I watched him walk around the front of the car until he was beside mine. Carefully he yanked it open and moved aside so that I had room to move.
“You said you didn’t want to go home yet.” He paused. “I don’t want to go home yet either.”
Nate offered me his hand, and before I could stop myself, I took it. His warmth seeped into my cold fingers and his thumb pressed against the inside of my wrist.
My breath caught as I stared down at his hands.
His fingers were long and tapered, and I noticed a cool leather bracelet around his wrist. It looked old and weathered, as if he’d worn it for a long time. It meant something to him. Was it a gift from his girlfriend?
His thumb moved once more, his pad a little rough against my skin. The world tipped a little off center, and for one crazy second, time seemed to stop.
“Let’s go,” he said roughly, his thumb circling around until eventually he let go and turned toward the fire. “We won’t stay late. Only until…”
“Until what?” I asked, taking the few steps needed until I was beside him.
Nate glanced down at me, his expression unreadable, but I saw the way his pulse pounded at the base of his neck. I saw it and felt it.
“Nate?”
“Maybe, for a little while, we can both forget.”
Okay.
That was good enough for me.
Chapter Ten
Nathan
I didn’t know if bringing Monroe out here was a good idea—heck, I didn’t know if me being here was a good idea—but it sure felt right.
Though I suppose if my parents or uncle or even Mrs. Blackwell knew that I’d brought Monroe to a bush party, they wouldn’t exactly be thrilled. But the party was low key and none of the hardcore guys were out yet. It was way too early. They didn’t usually hit a party until after midnight, and I planned to be long gone by then.
I just wanted to…shit, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I only knew that I didn’t want to be alone and I didn’t know where else to go.
“Come on,” I said again, and this time when I grabbed her hand, I didn’t let go.
We started forward, and I nodded at a few guys tapping the keg over by an old tree stump. They shoved their red cups in the air and started to chug. There were a few more guys from the football team gathered around, and though they seemed happy to see me, none of them came over. I was used to that these days. No one seemed to know what to say.
Though I caught a few looks that landed on Monroe and didn’t leave. Bill Ferris gave a long, low wolf whistle which Monroe ignored.
We reached the fire, and Monroe tugged her hand from mine. It was the right call. I mean, already a couple of girls who ran in Rachel’s crowd were staring her down, but still, it felt good holding her hand.
She felt good. Steady. Real.
And that was pretty screwed up, considering I didn’t think she liked me all that much, and technically, I still had a girlfriend.
I decided not to think about it too much. I decided that tonight I was gonna push all the crap out of my head and maybe have a good time. Or at least try to.
I’d been closed off from everyone for so long that it felt weird to see some of the old crowd hanging out near the fire, including Brent, the bassist in my band.
I thought he’d gone up to the cottage with Link and Rachel and the others, so it was a surprise to see him here.
He was shirtless, with his beige cargos hung so low I hoped he’d at least taken the time to pull on a pair of boxers. You see, Brent had a trigger. An old Def Leppard song, “Foolin’,” was his dad’s favorite song, and whenever he heard it, if he was drunk enough, off came his clothes.
The girls didn’t seem to mind too much, and us guys just thought he was crazy as shit. Brent was also one hell of a w
ide receiver and, as quarterback, my go-to when we played. He had nimble fingers for catching my passes and made the bass sound melodic in a way that not many players could.
His face made me think of things I wanted to forget, but I couldn’t lie.
It was good to see him.
“Dude,” he said with a slow grin, grabbing my shoulders tightly as he shook me. “Where you been hiding yourself?”
We hadn’t jammed once since the accident. Hell, I hadn’t picked up my guitar since our last gig. And it wasn’t that we couldn’t or didn’t want to. It’s just…without Trevor, the band was dead. It was like the soul, the groove, and the life were gone, sleeping beside him in that hospital bed.
“I’ve been working for my uncle.”
“Every damn day? That sucks.”
For a moment, his bright blue eyes shadowed and he stood back, rubbing the day-old stubble along his jaw. It wasn’t stubble so much as peach fuzz, and it was something I used to razz him about a lot.
Except I didn’t feel much like razzing.
“You seen Trev?” he asked carefully.
I nodded but didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t about to tell him that Mike Lewis had just threatened to kick my ass all over the hospital. It was a small town. I’m sure he’d hear it soon enough.
“I stopped in a few weeks back but he just…” Brent’s voice was subdued.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
“Yeah, I know.”
Brent’s eyes quickly slid from me to Monroe and the moment passed. He winked at her. “New blood? What’s your name, gorgeous?”
“Monroe,” she answered.
Brent’s grin widened even more and he bent over at the waist. “Nice to meet you, Monroe. Y’all don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
“I’m not.”
“So where’re you from, sugar?” His eyes moved over her from head to toe, and something inside me tightened. I nearly stepped forward but caught myself in time. I wanted to shove him the hell away from her, and that was wrong. Monroe didn’t belong to me. Shit, I barely knew the girl.
“I’m from New York City, and my name’s not Sugar.”
He snorted. “Your name might not be Sugar, but I bet you taste real sweet.”
Monroe made a weird noise in the back of her throat, and I was surprised to see a hint of a smile on her face. “That’s lame.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” Brent chuckled, his eyes moving from Monroe back to me, and I saw the question there. Brent was a player. Big-time. I narrowed my eyes in warning. There was no way he was going there with this girl. Mrs. Blackwell would have my butt in a sling.
Brent was all about getting laid, which was pretty much the one thing most guys I knew thought about every single day. But him? Girls had been throwing themselves at him since he was twelve, and the ones who fell for his lame-ass lines deserved what they got.
But Monroe was different. And she didn’t know him like I did.
“So, Monroe,” Brent said carefully, cocking his head. “You want something to drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m driving.”
“Right.” Brent looked at me. “That means you’re not.” He grabbed a can from his back pocket and tossed it my way. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of guitars.”
I popped the can open and took a long swig. The beer was lukewarm and not my favorite brand, but whatever, it was something to drink. Something to hold onto. Something to keep my hands busy.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Monroe said carefully, cocking her head to the side in a way that made a chunk of that dark tangled hair fall over her face.
I took another long drink and then wiped my mouth. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”
For a moment, I thought I saw a small smile lift the corners of her mouth. I blinked and it was gone.
“Are you going to play for me?” she asked. Her eyes glistened; little sparks from the fire reflected in their depths.
“Yo, Nate.”
The three of us turned as Chuck McDaniel strolled over with his girlfriend, Gina. I’d seen them earlier, at the festival, and wasn’t surprised they had ended up out here. It’s not like there was much else to do on Saturday night in Twin Oaks.
Gina’s eyes narrowed on Monroe, her glossy lips pulled tight in a fake smile as she flexed her claws.
“Where’s Rach?” she asked, though her eyes never quite made it to my face.
“Not here,” I answered.
“I can see that.” She snapped her gum and smiled. “And who are you exactly?” That was for Monroe.
“No one,” Monroe answered, before tugging on my arm. “Are you going to play for me?”
“Come on, Everets. What’s a party without some tunes?” Brent said.
“I don’t know, man. I haven’t picked up in forever.” I took another long swig of beer and then crushed the can before shoving my hands into my front pockets. “I’ve probably lost my calluses, and knowing the way you’ve got your action rigged, my fingers will kill tomorrow.”
“Pussy,” Brent laughed. “Get your ass over here.”
He was near the fire, and Monroe was two steps behind him. For a second, my eyes rested on her perfect round ass. On the way her hair swung down her back and how cute her feet looked with her green toes.
She turned, ignoring all the curious stares, and looked directly at me. For that one moment, it felt as if she was looking into my soul and she knew how badly I wanted to play.
“I want to hear you, Nate.” Her voice was soft, so soft, like a whisper inside my head.
“Sugar, if you sweet-talked me up like that, I’d do anything you wanted,” Brent said with a laugh as he bent closer to her. “Anything.”
He turned to me and held out a beat-up Epiphone. Trevor’s beat-up Epiphone.
“He’d want you to play, man.” Gone was the laughter from Brent’s face. “You need to play.”
I stared at the guitar for so long that my eyes blurred, and when they began to sting, I knew this had been a bad idea. I should never have come here.
“No,” I said, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets before I turned away from them. “It’s not gonna happen.”
I walked back toward Monroe’s car and let the darkness slide over me.
Chapter Eleven
Monroe
I dreamt about Malcolm, which was something I hadn’t done in months.
And sure, I should have seen it coming after my hospital visit—I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know it would trigger all the bad things I’d been trying to forget—but still…I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t ready to see his wavy blond hair touching tanned skin, or that one long piece that always fell over his eyebrow. I wasn’t ready for the freckles along the bridge of his nose, so light they appeared to be sprinkles of cinnamon. Or his long lashes and the way they licked the tops of his cheeks when his eyes were closed. It hurt to see his dimple, the birthmark just under his collarbone, and the way it felt as if I was his entire world when he looked at me.
I wasn’t ready for any of it, and that’s why I woke up with screams in my throat, wiping sweat from my brow, my teeth clenched so tightly I was sure I’d ground them down another layer.
The ache in my heart felt like it was crushing me from the inside out, and for a few moments, I lay there shaking, sobbing quietly. I stuffed my fist into my mouth because it was late, or rather it was early in the morning, and I didn’t want to wake Gram.
She didn’t need to see me like this. Weak and broken. I knew she had hope. Hope that I’d come out of this summer ahead, maybe partway whole.
I also knew that her hope was false, but I didn’t want to crush it.
The panic, though, was real, and I knew the drill, so I counted backward, starting at twenty. I had to do
it more than once or twice even, and when I was finally calm—when the breath didn’t catch in my chest and the pain had eased up a bit—sunlight was creeping into my room.
But it was hours before I left it.
***
“Monroe, have you talked to your parents today?”
We were on the porch, and I had just sat down beside Gram, sliding my feet beneath me as I curled into the white wicker chair. I stared down at my pink-and-white checker pajama shorts, noticing syrup had dripped from my morning pancakes onto the white T-shirt. I scraped it off with my finger, sucked it from the tip, and waited a few seconds to answer. Not because it was a trick question or anything, but because I hadn’t called home and I didn’t particularly want to call home, and I knew Gram was going to make me.
I focused on the honeysuckle climbing the trellis at the side of the house and the bees buzzing among them.
“I tried earlier but got Mom’s voicemail, so I left a message.” The white lie slipped out and I kept my gaze on the honeysuckle.
Gram’s eyes rested on me for a few seconds, and I knew she wasn’t fooled. “Well, if she hasn’t returned your call in a few hours, try again. I know your mother doesn’t always check her voicemail. You’ve been here over a week now. You need to talk to them. They’ll worry.”
“I emailed Mom yesterday.”
“Bah,” Gram said. “That email will be the death of society as we know it. It’s not the same, Monroe.”
“I know,” I mumbled. “I’ll call them tonight.”
The truth of it was, talking to my parents was hard. So freaking hard. And right now, I liked not having anything hard in my day-to-day business. I hadn’t realized how difficult it was for me to breathe in New York until I’d come to Louisiana.
“So,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip, “Nate told me about Trevor.”
I didn’t volunteer that we had actually gone to the hospital—I figured that wasn’t mine to share—but I was curious to see what Gram would say.
She settled back in her wicker chair, sipped her tea, and said, “Good, that boy needs to talk to someone. What happened that night was an awful shame, but it’s in the past.” She glanced at me sharply. “And the past can’t be undone, but we can surely do our best to move forward and learn from our mistakes.”
Boys Like You Page 6
