Pretty Instinct

by S. E. Hall

  “Do you want kids?” Jarrett asks him matter-of-factly.

  “See how easy that was? That’s what she should have asked him, before taking his ring and getting her tubes tied behind his back!” I have no idea why I’m screaming and banging my hand on the table. Maybe I just like making a valid point. Or, again, blame it on the al-al-al…you get it.

  “Ahhhh, got it,” Jarrett drones, his face twisting. “Damn, dude, what a bitch.”

  “Definitely not cool.” Rhett raises his beer to Cannon, waiting for the proverbial “bump” back.

  I’m studying Cannon, zoned in for the sign that tells me what he’s thinking and feeling…an eye twitch, a turn to his mouth, maybe a sag in his broad shoulders. All I get is his brilliant smile and an absentminded jerk of his head, visibly dismissing spending an ounce of sadness on it. “Kinda what I thought, although I didn’t call her a bitch, even if I was thinking it. I just asked why she thought I wouldn’t want to be included on such a big decision, and I got back a screaming earful of how it was her life, her body, her being saddled down.” He chuckles softly, shaking his head to himself. “Sounded pretty fucked up coming from the person who insisted I change my degree, work for her father, and detach from my buddies. I wasn’t about to let her take away my chance of ever being a dad too.”

  “But now she’s sorry and wants you back.” It comes out a whisper, meant for only me, before I can stop it. Maybe they didn’t hear me.

  His head tilts my way, warm smile reaching out, sending my cheeks up in flames. “She’s sorry that I’m getting some attention she can’t bask in. She wants back the arm she can hang on, perfect couple façade, while she bosses me around under her breath. Not happening.”

  “What if she agrees to get them untied?”

  “Not the point. She doesn’t think in terms of ‘we.’ It’s always been her first, then ‘I’ll convince Cannon.’ Honestly, she gave me the out I’d been waiting for. I was miserable for more of our relationship than not and she just firmed up the fact that I was right. I’d been trying to hold on for the wrong reasons.”

  My brows are trying to cock, so many more questions fighting to form on my tongue, but my reactions are a little lazy from the drinks, resolving me to a dumbfounded, silent stare.

  Um, letting loose is depressing. I don’t feel like I’ve been missing out by not carousing now. Granted, I’d sympathize with Cannon’s story even sober, but in my current state, it’s as though I can actually feel the weight of his raw turmoil sitting on my shoulders.

  “Nu-uh, no, ma’am.” Vanessa jumps off Jarrett’s lap. “Do that shot and come on, we’re dancing!” She shimmies her hips my way and smiles. “I could’ve stayed on the clock to serve a bunch of sad sacks. Down it and let’s go shake our groove things!”

  I look up at her pitifully, alcohol-induced honesty spewing out. “I don’t know how to dance and I’m positive I don’t possess a groove thing. I might be the most boring, pathetic twenty-three year old on the planet. Except maybe Ben Stein’s kids, I bet they’re dull as fuck.” I zone out, losing total train of thought.

  “She’s lying,” Rhett smirks, “she can Roger Rabbit like a mofo. Go show her, Liz.”

  “What about that New Edition spinny-hop thing?” Jarrett hee-haws, slapping his own leg. “How many times did we have to watch that damn video? Go on, girl, show ‘er your moves!”

  “Do those count?” I ask her, looking down at the dance floor, no one exhibiting my type of skills. “It appears only dry-humping is allowed down there.” I point and burp.

  Right out loud.

  I burp.

  Not a little “scuse’ me” Southern belle hiccup-like sound. No, I “The Man Likes Beer with His Super Bowl” all-out belch.

  The laughter at my table is louder than the music. Jarrett’s crying and Rhett’s practically on the freaking floor, holding his side. If I wasn’t so buzzed, I’d probably crawl under the table, and I definitely wouldn’t look Cannon’s way. But I’m halfway to plastered, which is why that’s exactly where my eyes wander.

  “You’re precious.” He winks then slowly stands and offers me a hand. “Come on, Lizzie girl, show me your Running Man.”

  I know that one too!

  “Hot damn,” Jarrett’s slap on Vanessa’s ass echoes, “we gotta dance off, hotness. Let’s do this!”

  “I’ll judge!” I turn at Rhett’s voice, my out-of-nowhere excitement dampened only by the thought of him being left out. Like a book, he reads me and smiles sincerely. “I’ll judge. Go do the damn thing, girl. Make me proud.”

  Chapter 9

  “Are we moving?” Not daring to open my eyes, willing off the nausea threatening violently, I wait for someone to answer me. Which never comes. A tad more awake now, I can make out the distinct sound of traffic, so it’s not just my own brain swimming around in my fuzzy head, we are, in fact, moving.

  Conner!

  I jolt upright, and oh shit does it send splinters of painful throbs through…my entire body. Too bad; I’ve got to find him. Jumping out of Conner’s bed? I hit the floor running, flinging open the door. “Bubs?” I yell, cradling the side of my head in sheer agony.

  “Bethy!” Oh Lord, not this morning…the lack of pummeling I was braced for causes me to peel open my eyes; where’d he go? Did he trip? Ahh, saved by Jarrett, snaring Conner around the waist, chuckling at my condition.

  “On it. Figured you’re in enough pain.”

  “It’s all right.” I hold open my arms. “Come love me, Bubs, very soft.”

  Conner makes a show of hesitantly tiptoeing my way, embracing me as gently as he gets. “Are you sick?” he tries to whisper, which blares like Dolby in my aching head.

  “No, I’m fine, just a headache. I missed you. Did you have fun?”

  “Yep.” His head bobs up and down decisively. “Hey, come do a puzzle with me and Nessy. She’s good at them, better than you.”

  Suddenly completely sober, I glance around the bus, taking in all that’d escaped me until now. Rhett’s in his bunk, laptop open and earbuds in, but attune as ever and eyeing me warily. Jarrett stands in the middle of the aisle, face shrouded in caution. Oh, and lookie there, Vanessa and Cannon are sitting at the table in front of a puzzle, both sizing me up.

  And reconfirmed by the sway wreaking havoc on my equilibrium, the bus is moving, as in…away from where we found Vanessa.

  Code. Fucking. Blue. I brace a hand on the wall, trying to hold my shit together for Conner’s sake, but wigging out inside—pissed, sick, and confused simultaneously. Flashes of the night before start streaming into my consciousness, horrific scenes of me attempting to dance that I’m praying only happened in a nightmare, but not enough for me to piece together how we got to here.

  Everyone moves at once; Rhett pulls out his headphones, starting a hasty descent from his bunk, Jarrett takes a step my direction, and Cannon sweeps past them all, placing himself directly in front of me. “Conner, will you go help with that puzzle?” he suggests, his voice soft. “I’m gonna get your sister some medicine for her headache.”

  “I’m better than him,” Conner says conspiratorially, hiking a thumb at Cannon. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

  I attempt a grin for Bubs, waiting for his back to turn before lifting furious eyes to Cannon’s.

  “Where’s your aspirin?” he asks me calmly.

  “Bathroom cabinet,” I growl.

  “Great, same place as your toothbrush.” He winks, humor lost on me. “Let’s go.” He uses both hands on my shoulders to turn me and prompt me forward to the bathroom. Once he shuts the door behind us, turning the space from tight to claustrophobic, he holds me firmly by the shoulders and speaks in a rich, bottomless voice. “Take a deep breath in for me,” he instructs, and, as though hypnotized, I do. “Good, now blow it out slowly, for you. Better?” No, but I nod to appease him, which he buys, sitting down and trying now for levity. “I’m opening a Q and A—go.”

  Funny man. I recall saying those exact words to
him last night as I narrow my dry, aching eyes his way. “Where are we headed?”

  “Oregon. It’s ‘bout seventeen hours according to your uncle. Hillsboro, I think.”

  “Why is Vanessa on my bus?” I ask around my brush and mouthful of paste.

  “You invited her.” He laughs. “Insisted, in fact.”

  Not possible. Spitting dramatically, I start the second round of scouring, worried this rancid taste will never disappear. “Let’s pretend that actually happened.” Spit. “Does she know she’s headed away from home?”

  I toss the toothbrush on the counter and rinse, gargling loudly as I give him a scathing glare from the corner of my eye. Spit. “Who does that? Hops on a bus of strangers one night? Doesn’t she have a job and school?”

  He raises his hand with a sheepish smirk.

  Oh, that’s right.

  “Whatever, you know what I mean! Is she our new backup singer? No, she’s just a tagalong! This isn’t a goddamn Greyhound! And Jarrett knows better! I don’t allow pussy on the bus with Conner. You all know that! He took advantage of me drinking, for once, and you guys sat back and let him, knowing I wouldn’t like it! This is why I never turn my back!”

  I have to calm down. I know they can all hear me out there, the only one of which I care is Conner. Turning on the cold water, I splash handfuls on my face, over and over, ‘til there’s no more. Did he really turn it off? Guess I was done.

  “Here.”

  A soft towel is placed in my hand and I blindly use it to dry off.

  “Here.”

  I open and look at the two pills in his hand. “What am I supp—”

  A Coke magically appears and he pops the tab, which usually doesn’t sound that loud. “Drink it all; great for hangovers. Now we’re gonna go in Conner’s room and finish talking rationally. You ready?”

  I pull the can from my mouth, having had just about enough. “You are not in charge, Cannon Blackwell. You do not eat my pussy or pay my bills, so you don’t get a say.”

  He busts into a fit of snort, choke, laughter, one hand on the counter to hold himself up. “Are you still drunk? Did you hear what you just said?”

  I have no idea where that came from, undeniably the raunchiest words I’ve ever spoken, and I feel my cheeks heat immediately. I exude my best false bravado when I answer him. “Yes, and I’m serious, you’re not the boss.”

  “I hear ya, bossy. Now do you think you can manage to walk from here to Conner’s room without petrifying the entire bus?”

  I’d like to reach up and yank down that sassy eyebrow of his.

  “Of course, but only because I want to,” I huff, stomping out ahead of him while I still have the upper hand. I climb on the bed, my back against the headboard, braced for a colossal discussion.

  Cannon’s right behind me and a tingle shoots up my spine as he shuts the door. At least he’s actually wearing a shirt, albeit a tight one, perfectly outlining his torso, paired with jeans begging to fall from his hips and no shoes—he might as well be naked.

  “Why are you shutting the door?” I squeak, cringing from the vulnerability even I heard.

  He smirks. “To ravage you, of course.”

  It’s official—I definitely have alcohol poisoning and may stay drunk for days.

  “I was kidding.” He sits at the end of the bed and jostles my ankle impishly. “I shut the door so you can flip out again and maybe they won’t hear every word. Want me to open it?”

  “It’s fine.” I force my eyes to roll and sigh as though inconvenienced. “She can’t stay and I’m furious with all of you. And until we safely drop her off somewhere, she needs to pee in a cup. And where’s my phone?”

  “She passed the drug test and has no record. Ran ‘em both last night. What’s your next excuse?”

  “I don’t need an excuse. It’s my fucking bus!” I rip my leg back, dislodging the hand he never moved from my ankle. “A big revolving door of bedmates isn’t good for Conner. He gets attached and doesn’t understand why people leave.”

  “How do you know? Who’s the last bedmate he saw leave, the one who left and it hurt him?”

  “Well, Cami left, or uh, got thrown out, but she was a band member.” I cross my arms defensively, fearing I’ve made his point for him.

  “So, not a bed buddy. And before her?” he challenges me, his face solemn minus the uncontrollable brow thing. His already very dark brown eyes turn almost black as he waits impatiently for his “told ya so” moment.

  “No one. I get what you’re doing and it won’t work. I know my brother and what’s best for him. She can’t stay. That’s final. Why do you want her here so bad anyway? Jarrett share?” I wince as it leaves my mouth; that’s snide and unfair to all of them. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” I hang my head, fiddling awkwardly with the comforter.

  “Lizzie, look at me,” he demands me with a low, calm timbre that eliminates choice. “Stay with me for a minute without getting mad, okay?” I nod. “I don’t care if Vanessa stays or not, and file this away while we’re on it: I. Don’t. Share.”

  My eyes flash up to his and the intensity I find there, mixed with compassion and sincerity, causes me to take a long, deep breath. I’m beyond shocked. I couldn’t have placed more perfect words in his mouth myself.

  “I want you to ask yourself, how do you know what Conner will do about anything? You’re an amazing sister, and he’s goddamn lucky to have you, but maybe you should let him have some room, even just a little.”

  I’m debating between crying with my head in his lap and slapping his know-it-all mouth when the door flies open.

  “Bethy, are you okay?” Obviously forgetting about my headache, Conner leaps on to the bed beside me, barely dodging Cannon, screaming his greeting.

  “I’m fine.” I can’t help it, I throw my arms around him and hug him tight. “Are you okay?”

  He pulls back, stunned silent for but a second. “Of course. Why?”

  If Cannon thinks I don’t see his grin, he’s wrong, but I concentrate on Conner. “Bubs, are you happy?”

  “About what?”

  Cannon joins my chuckle. “Everything. Are you happy with the band, being on this bus?”

  “I wish it was bigger and I wish it had a bathtub,” he answers quickly. “Why did you sleep in my bed?”

  “I wish it had a bathtub too. God, I miss nice, long baths.” I tip my head back, picturing it briefly before shaking it off; no sense torturing myself. “And I have no idea. Cannon,” my turn to taunt with bouncy brows, “why did, or how did, I sleep in his bed?”

  Conner’s already climbed over me, murmuring to his fish, so Cannon answers me alone. “I thought you’d be more comfortable in a big bed, and it wasn’t being used, so I carried you in here.”

  Nice try, mister. I lived years with a politician, coincidentally also the most full of shit person to ever walk the Earth; you will never hide your lies from me. And I saw it, a blink of half-truth flashing in those dusky pools. Holding his guilty eyes, I slowly dip my head to the second pillow, inhaling…pure, sweet Cannon. His head accidentally hit the pillow when he carried me? Nooooo, his soft brown locks scented it up when he laid beside me. In the bed. My skin sizzles at the revelation and I bite back my smile.

  “Just for a little while, to make sure you weren’t gonna be sick,” he explains, unquestioned, his words hurried, wide eyes lined with apology.

  “Sister?”

  “Yeah, Bub?” Shamefully, I forgot he was there for a second, wandering dazedly through thoughts of Cannon’s body lying beside me, taking care of me.

  “Your fish died. Sorry ‘bout your luck.”

  And still, I stare at one, yet speak to another. “No worries, Conner. I’m thinking my luck might be turning.”

  ***

  The room is completely black and deathly quiet when I wake up. The bus is still and the pillow I’m clinging to smells like Cannon.

  We’re stopped, it’s nighttime, and I’m still in Conner’s
bed. The pounding in my skull has finally subsided and I have some semblance of clarity. Therefore, I’m able to recall falling asleep lying face to face after a long discussion on the meaning of life, music, marriage, and everything in between with Cannon Powell (his mother’s maiden name) Blackwell. And certainly, I remember clearly, at Cannon’s reassuring insistence, conceding a wee bit of control, agreeing to let Vanessa hang, for a while, but not in Jarrett’s bed. She does seem nice, and although it’s fuzzy, I remember instantly liking her, and she passed all the tests. Doesn’t hurt that Conner thinks she hung the moon.

  In a week, I’ve changed more than I have in the last seven years combined. In mere days, I’ve felt more than in a whole lifetime. Bland, disappointing, and heartbreaking is starting to slowly but surely morph into “huh, maybe there’s something to this clusterfuck called life after all.” And today alone, I’ve opened my mind and heart to the possibility of a new, trustworthy friend in Cannon. Yes, I’m madly attracted to him physically, but it’s not only that—he’s actually a cool guy. He has a certain vibe oozing from him effortlessly that compels you to give anything he says credence. Much like when I first met Rhett and Jarrett, I instantly knew he was completely worthy of some good ole fashioned gettin’ to know him time.

  It’s been a big week, and…I’m proud of myself, opening up to new ideas and possibilities, becoming more amenable. How many times have I been called inflexible? My ass. I’m a damn pretzel over here, bending to possibility every damn time I turn around! My Pandora’s Box…seems someone out there was holding the right key. I cave much more and I’ll be turning out backbends and splits, an open-minded contortionist of gold medal caliber. That’d be something.