Under the Dusty Sky

by Allie Brennan

  Slowly, I make my way to the truck and see Ben’s frowning face through the windshield. The sight of him brings on a fresh new wave of tears that threaten to show themselves. I suck in a deep breath, and they fade away before I get into the truck and slam the door, buckling my seatbelt.

  “You okay?” he asks, and I won’t look at him.

  “Fine.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shrug and look over his shoulder to back out of the drive. My feet are up on the dash, and I rest my head on the window.

  How could she say this was stupid? What she did was stupid. She has to see Jay every day at school. Ben’s leaving. At the end of the summer, he’ll leave, and I won’t have to see him again. I won’t have to watch the feelings fade. I won’t have to watch him leave me because he’s already gone.

  All I’ll have is the memory. That’s all I want. Just the memory of him and how I feel with him and how he feels against me. I want it to be perfect, but at this moment, all I want is for it to be now.

  I see an approach a quarter mile down. It has to be now.

  “Stop the truck.” I look at him, and shock splays across his face.

  “What?”

  “Stop the truck, Ben.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Stop the truck!” I practically yell at him, and he swerves and brakes, pulling into the small gravel approach.

  “What the hell, Gracie?” His arms go out to the sides, and I take it as I opening.

  I scramble to unbuckle myself and I climb across the seat. His face is all shock as I straddle his hips and lower myself into his lap. His arms are still out as I reach down and peel his old T-Shirt off my body and toss it to the side. His mouth is hanging open as I grab the sides of his face and lean down to him. I crush my mouth against his and slide my hands into his hair.

  It takes a second, but he starts to kiss me back. His full lips, his soft tongue, the heat of his breath mixing with mine. He pulls back and gulps in a mouthful of air.

  I’m breathing hard. I feel desperate. Desperate for him, for those hands that are still stuck out to the sides to know every part of me, every piece of me.

  “Gracie,” he whispers, and I pull the sunglasses from his face. His eyes are pure conflict, but by the heaving of his chest and the lack of determination in his voice, I can tell he’s into it.

  “Shut up.” I lean down to him again, sucking his lip into my mouth. As soon as I do, his hands are on me. Digging into my sides, sliding up my back. Suddenly, he reaches out to grab the steering wheel, and in some really weird, smooth ninja move, he has me on my back across the bench seat, his hips still between my legs but he’s bracing himself over me. I run my hands up his arms and behind his head. He lowers himself down and kisses me again. Resting on his forearm, his hand cupping my neck, he turns my head to the side and kisses my neck down to my collarbone and across my chest. I claw at his back and pull his shirt over his head. He lets me, and I toss it on top of mine on the floor.

  Ben takes my hand with his free one and laces his fingers with mine before pressing it above my head into the soft leather of the seat. He kisses my nose, both my cheeks, my chin and then my mouth. His skin is hot against mine.

  I feel everything, everywhere. There really is no other way to describe it. I’ve never felt it before. The feeling only deepens when he pushes away and looks at me. His eyes are still all conflict, but a small smile forms on one side of his mouth.

  “Graceland, I am about to do the most honorable thing I’ve ever done in my life, but please know that there is nothing honorable happening in my head right now.”

  I run my hand down his chest, his stomach, then hook my fingers in the waist of his shorts. The muscles of his stomach shudder under my touch.

  “Show me,” I whisper, and the smile falls from his face.

  “I can’t.” He pushes himself up into a seated position and leans his head back against the seat.

  “Why?” I scramble backwards feeling exposed, lying back on the seat alone. Pulling my knees to my chest, I wait for him to answer. The silence crushes the good feelings from every limb, every part, every pore of my body. I’m left with thoughts. What is he thinking? Why won’t he give me what I want when I know he wants it too? What’s wrong with me? Why do I care so much about it?

  Finally, Ben sighs.

  “Because you’re not ready.” His head falls to the side, and he looks at me like I’m a child.

  “Who are you to tell me what I’m ready for?” My arms cross in front of my chest. More silence, but this time I’m not thinking. I’m fuming.

  “I can tell. You don’t know what you’re playing at.”

  “I know perfectly well what I’m playing at. Maybe you’re not ready.” My defiant side is coming out, the one that says whatever I have to so that we don’t have to talk about me anymore.

  Something foreign flashes across his face before he reaches across the truck and pulls me onto his lap again. His hands run up my thighs and to my hips, where his fingers play along the waistline of my shorts. That charged feeling is back. The floaty, sinky, tingly, vibratey feeling, and my heart starts pumping so fast I feel faint. It's hard to breathe.

  “Are you sure?” He slowly swipes his finger along the skin and hooks it into the waist, holding onto the button of my shorts with his thumb and index finger. His thumb makes slow circles on the metal button. I nod, but I start to shake.

  “Tell me what you want, then.” This foreign look still controls his face. It’s a cocky look, overly confident. Not a Ben look. My mouth goes dry, and I try to swallow but I can’t.

  “Huh?” is all I think to say. He should know what I want.

  “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” He pops the button of my shorts open with one hand, which makes me shake harder. This is not as new for him as it is for me. “Tell me how you want it.” He bucks his hips under me just a little. Just enough so I can feel him.

  My heart starts beating faster but not in a good way. The Ben Feeling is gone, and I’m left cold. All I can concentrate on is how I’m still in the same pants as yesterday. How it’s the middle of the afternoon in my dad’s truck. How I haven’t showered. How it’s not perfect.

  I climb off Ben and sit in my seat, pulling the seat belt violently and buckling myself in. I pick up our shirts and toss his at him. A long and loud breath comes from beside me.

  “If you can’t even bring yourself to say it, you shouldn’t do it.” His voice matches the cocky look on his face. He’s just proving a point. Making an idiot of me to prove a point. I look over at him and glare as hard as I can as he pulls his shirt back over his head.

  “Screw you, Bentley,” I say mockingly.

  He wipes his hand across his mouth as he laughs, which sends me further into angry embarrassment.

  “Sex isn’t a game, Gracie. Just because you feel it doesn’t mean you should do it.”

  “You sound like Lacy,” I mumble and pull my knees up to my chin.

  “It’s a mistake, and you know it.”

  I can’t take it anymore. We need to move and forget it. He just keeps talking.

  “Yeah, well, while you’re over there making my decisions for me, did you think about how it might be my mistake to make?”

  Ben’s eyebrows burrow deep into his forehead, and his lips press into a firm line.

  “You really don’t get it, do you? Did you even listen to what you just said?” His voice is hard, cold, and it makes my anger die out just a little. My mouth hangs open, unsure of what to say.

  “You are that selfish. I thought it was just an exaggeration. But no, you really are that selfish.” Ben shakes his head, and my mouth falls open farther.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you ever stop to think that this ridiculously childish plan of yours is intruding on my decisions? That I’m not making decisions for you but really denying you the decisions you’ve already made for me? Christ, I’m not a toy. And as much fun as that sounds, not all guy
s are ultra horny douchebags that will screw anything that looks at them. Open your eyes. It’s not just your mistake to make, Graceland. Not when I’m the mistake.”

  As he speaks, Lacy’s words mix with his, the sting on my cheek coming back, and I feel flooded with I don’t know what. I don’t respond to him, mostly because I don’t know how. Instead, I just look out the window while he drives us home in the tension-filled truck and try not to cry.

  CHAPTER 19

  Bentley

  It’s hard to drive in silence with her. It’s hard to do anything with her. She’s the most complicated person I’ve ever known, but she needs to hear it. But dammit, it was hard to pull away from her lying under me like that. This is what I came here to get away from. Guilt eats away at me about what I did to her, but Gracie doesn’t know she’s playing in the big leagues and my words wouldn’t have gotten through otherwise. I’m certain of it. Actually, I’m not sure if it got through anyway, but the way she sits and chews on her lip, barely blinking, tells me she’s feeling something. She’s getting something. I steal a few looks at her, but the expression that gets my attention is when we pull into the driveway. Her eyes go huge, and she leans so close to the window, the tip of her nose flattens. I follow her gaze and instinctively slam the breaks. Rasp is barking and jumping around the truck, but my eyes are stuck on a shiny silver sports car sitting in the middle of the yard.

  “No,” I mutter, and Gracie looks over at me.

  “Who is that?” she asks.

  “If it’s who I think it is, I’m in a lot of trouble.”

  There’s some crazy feelings happening inside me right now, but I try to collect it all into one place and shove it away until I find out if I’m right. I hope to God I’m not right.

  When I park the truck and jump out, my heart starts hammering all over again. I pull my phone from my pocket and quickly scroll through my messages. Nothing.

  The screen door swings open, and my speeding heart is thrown into reverse. If a body could drop a heart like a car can drop a transmission, mine would be on the ground six feet behind me.

  In all her glistening, blonde, glossed, and bronzed glory, Sasha strolls toward me.

  “Is that your sister?” Gracie whispers, now standing beside me, and I can only move my head up and down once.

  “Wow.”

  I don’t have time to tell Gracie that my sister doesn’t deserve awe before we’re standing face to face.

  Sash smiles wide, flashing her chemically whitened and artificially sculpted teeth. The smile itself is fake, the one she uses when people are around.

  “Benny!” she squeals and throws her arms around me. I hug her back and lift her off the ground just a little, for appearances. It’s a habit.

  “Sash, I wasn’t expecting you. What are you doing here?” I try to keep my tone light, but I feel Gracie staring at me, and it’s throwing me off.

  “You’re surprised? Good, I wanted to surprise you, but I must say, I might be the one who’s surprised. Farm hand? You really weren’t kidding when you said you wanted opposite.” She laughs the fake laugh and then looks at Gracie down her rhinoplasty-ed nose.

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Oh. Uh, Sasha this is Graceland. Holloway’s daughter.”

  Sasha presses her lips into a bored smile but doesn’t say hi, and Gracie glares at me and storms off.

  I swear, I’ll die of the rarest disease in the world before I understand women.

  “Hold on a sec, Sash.” I hold my finger up to my sister, and I know I’ll catch hell for it, but I have to settle this with Gracie.

  “Gracie, wait.”

  I run up to her and grab her elbow just as she steps up the first porch step. She glares down at me but her eyes are glassy.

  “Gracie, listen. I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to. I just want you to know that.”

  “It’s fine, Ben, really.” Her voice is cold but trembling. “I get it. I mean how could you ever be interested in someone like me. I’m just an immature child playing games I don’t understand. Just Holloway’s daughter.”

  She pulls her arm from my grip and disappears into the house.

  I feel extremely lost. I thought this was about sex. Somehow it feels like a whole lot more.

  ***

  “I don’t know why we couldn’t just talk at that place you’re staying. It’s so darn cute. Like something out of an old movie.” Sash slides into the cracked leather booth at the diner. She looks around cautiously at the mishmash of decor from fake flowers to 50s diner memorabilia to western style knick-knacks.

  “Unlike this place. This diner looks like it’s having an identity crisis.” She giggles, and I smile encouragingly at her. “So what’s the deal with that place anyway? I only met the twin boys, and they are just stunning to look at, but they were so totally awkward.”

  I laugh this time. “Sash, they’re not used to people like you. You’re not exactly easy to talk to.”

  She frowns and slaps my arm from across the table. “And that means?”

  “The first thing out of your mouth was probably something about the angularity of their cheekbones or some ridiculous thing like that. You’re shallow, sis, they aren’t used to that.”

  “I resent you for saying that.”

  “Are you arguing?”

  She’s silent for a moment before smiling again. “No, not arguing.”

  “That sister of theirs is serious potential. And she’s practically in love with you. You and her a thing?”

  “First of all, stop referring to people as potentials. You know it drives me crazy, and this isn’t one of your uppity elitist L.A. parties. Second and third of all. No.”

  “Benny, you’re delusional. That girl looks at you like you’re the only living thing on this planet. And I know you. I know how you get. But whatever. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Why are you here?” I want to ask her what she means by ‘I know how you get,’ but I can’t. My sister is sharp. She may be superficial and shallow, but she’s not dumb. She has annoyingly killer instincts.

  “To talk some sense into you. To tell you to come home. To convince you that the studio is your best option. Mom said she found an application to trade school in your room. Trade school, Bentley? That’s just sad.”

  I lean back in my booth, but I don’t get a chance to talk because Julia comes up to the table and takes our order. She looks at Sash like she’s from another planet when she orders a salad with no dressing.

  “What is mom doing going through my shit? And it is not sad. Millions of people go to trade schools.”

  “Not people from our family.”

  A low gurgle forms in my throat, but I push it down. I brought her here for this reason. Because in the end, it’s always a screaming match where everyone in my family blames the other for my father’s death. I lean as far over the table as I can.

  “That is bullshit. Don’t give me that garbage. You know where Dad came from.” I hiss at her, and her facade falls for a moment so I see the real her. The one that knows I’m right but is so caught up in the show she doesn’t know who she is anymore. My dad wasn’t born rich. My dad built his studio with his hands. He built his name by hammering the streets and bars looking for bands, looking for nobody-musicians to record with his label. Sasha and I were born heirs, the spoiled recipients of my father’s hard work. Then he dies at forty-five years old. It just doesn’t seem fair.

  “This is father’s legacy, Bentley. You just want to throw it away?”

  “No, I want to give it to someone who will love it as much as he did. That someone is not me. Why is it so hard for you to understand that?”

  “Because I love it that much. I don’t want to give it away.”

  “Then buy it off me.” The words just sort of fall out.

  Her face goes white.

  “Mother would never allow that.”

  “Well when I turn twenty-one, I’m the sole owner and CEO of the company. So at that
point, Mom can’t do anything about it. Wait it out for a few years and help me keep her out of the way, and then it’s yours. I’ll recommend when I get back that you be hired on as assistant to the acting CEO. That way, you’ll see exactly how it runs, and in a few years, you’ll be more than ready to take it over.”

  Julia brings our food, and Sasha picks at her plate of lettuce for a few moments.

  “You’d do that?” Her voice is small, which I’m not used to, and it prompts me to reach across the table and take her hand.

  “Of course I would. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, actually.”

  Sasha lets out one of those girl squeals when they get excited, like the one Gracie let out while driving. That real genuine happy that has to come out somehow.

  My mind shifts to Gracie. What happened between us? What’s happening between us? What I said to her and what my sister said to me.

  I have to make things right with Gracie. I am who I am. I can’t help it. I need to reach her.

  “But you have to do something for me first.”

  “Anything, baby bro.”

  ***

  Lacy stands on her doorstep, arms crossed and one foot over the other, just like when she spoke with Gracie earlier today.

  “You know her better than anyone, Lacy. I need your help, or it won’t be right.” I’m pleading, but I don’t care. I’m good at figuring out what girls need but not Gracie. Gracie has two distinct sides, and I need to fix it with both of them. I need to appease the untrusting, memory-obsessed side to get out the side I want to see. The real side.

  “And why are you doing this, Bentley?” she asks softly, but her cheeks are flushed, and she tries to bite back a smile.

  “Because I don’t think anyone ever has before, and if she wants me to be her first, I’d rather it be this.” I wink at Lacy, and her face falls, her cheeks deepening their blush. She really is the sweetest girl.

  “You know?” Her voice is flat and controlled.

  I press my lips together and nod. “I’m a guy, not an idiot. You girls really need to give us a little credit sometimes.”