Rock & Release

by Riley Edgewood

  But I'm not that big of a person.

  I'm drawn to Gage in ways I barely understood were possible before I met him. I don't want to let him go.

  He tucks his free hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want me to tell you about her? My past with—"

  "No." I cut him off. "I don't." But I'm lying again—and I'm sick of doing it, especially to myself. "Maybe a little."

  He turns to face me again. "How about a high level summary and we can take it from there if you want to know more."

  "Okay." It's a good compromise for the dichotomy of curiosity pulling through me. I want to know everything. I want to know nothing. I'll settle for something in the middle.

  "I've known Zoey for a long time. Almost forever, it feels like." He draws a deep breath and exhales, the weight of his memories clearly a factor here. I do my damn best to ignore the pang in my belly. "We've dated on and off since high school. But it's completely over now. She did something to hurt my family. More specifically, my sister, Katy. So, yes, I care for Zoey, but I won't ever trust her again. I forgive her, but I can't forget what she did. She crossed a line there's no coming back from. Believe me. We won't ever get back together."

  I watch his face, waiting for him to continue, wondering what Zoey did, but he only says, "That's about as high level as I can get."

  I almost ask him for more information, but he's given me enough to go on. My imagination won't run wild (well, not that wild anyway) about their relationship anymore, and I don't feel quite as bad for continuing this thing we have, because—as much as I like her—Zoey hurt him and lost her chance. Sleeping with Gage isn't ruining a possible relationship between them.

  "What's your sister like?" I ask, instead, and am rewarded with the first genuine smile I've seen from him all night.

  "My stepsister," he amends. "Her dad married my mom. But she's been my sister since before she could walk. She's hilarious and smart and just finished her first year of high school."

  "That's a pretty big age gap," I say. Jason was only two years younger than me. I wonder if his death would've been easier or harder if there'd been a bigger difference. Probably neither. Losing a sibling sucks no matter the years apart. And then I wonder why I'd even think such a morbid thought to begin with and do my best to push Jason from my mind. "Does she hang on your every word, wise big brother that you are?"

  He smirks and shakes his head. "Not even a little bit. Katy's annoying as hell these days. Thinks because she's going on sixteen she knows everything."

  Sixteen feels like forever ago, but I remember the awkward bumbling pride that came with that slow and not-always-steady start to figuring out who I was. "Do you see her often?"

  "More now that I'm taking a year off school."

  "Where are you taking a break from?" I'm surprised I don't know this already.

  "Mary Washington."

  "Why are you taking a break?" I'm sliding into this curiousness about him and…I think maybe it's okay. Maybe I don't have to keep him an arm's length away. Maybe just a hand or so will work. "If, I mean, you don't mind my asking."

  "Look at you, getting all personal." He nudges me, playfully, and then shrugs. "Some family stuff. It'll be resolved soon though, and I'll go back. Probably."

  He came in late to work a couple weeks ago, citing a family thing as the reason. My gut tells me it's all connected—and I wonder if Zoey's played any part of it. It doesn't feel right to ask, though. Instead I go with, "You might not go back?"

  "I was on a five-year plan when I left last year—in the middle of my fourth year—and I'm registered as a history major. Not sure I want to do anything with that in the real world; not sure it's worth going back."

  "What do you want to do?"

  "Write songs." His shoulder rises, falls. "Not a huge ambition, I know."

  Actually, it sounds full of ambition to me. "Nicole told me you used to tour. Did you perform your own songs?"

  "Sometimes."

  "Do you want to go back to touring, too? Or just write?"

  "I'm not sure. Don't let Nicole exaggerate it, though. I only ever toured locally—and mainly at frat parties, playing covers like I do at work."

  "It's still more than most musicians get to do… Can I hear a Gage original?"

  "Careful, sweetheart. It's starting to sound like you care." He's still smiling, but there's a bite to his words.

  "I care." See, there. I can admit it. "I just don't want complicated."

  He makes a noncommittal sound. "Quid pro quo, then. Have you spoken with your parents?"

  "No." The truth picks at the never-healing scab covering the entire situation with my parents. I can't help but imagine my mom's taken down every picture of me now, too. Maybe they're living their lives, all anger and denial, as though they never had children at all.

  I don't elaborate and, even though he just answered all of my questions about his life, he doesn't ask me to. But he does pull me against him and wrap me in his arms. I should probably kiss him, probably push my body harder against him. Let him kiss my thoughts away. But it's nice here, tucked into his chest, and I don't really want to move.

  It's different now, this thing between us. Deeper than before. I can tell he feels it, too, as the silence is charged with something that hasn't been here previously. I'm used to the underlying desire that never goes away—I love it, to be honest. And the post-sex glow is always delicious, even as the dew of sweat is cooling against my skin. But this new thing, this thing I can't name, it makes me nervous. It's fragile, whatever it is. I don't know whether to smash it to smithereens or hold it close for safekeeping.

  But for now, just for tonight, I let myself go with it. I snuggle against Gage, inhaling his soapy scent, and when his arms tighten around me, I slide even closer, enjoying the intimacy of lying against each other.

  Still, when I wake in the morning on the far side of the bed again, out of his arms, I'm relieved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The next shift I work with Zoey is uncomfortable. I get there first, and when she arrives, she greets me with a smile, but her dimples don't surface and I know she knows I'm…whatever I am with Gage. And all the guilt that's ever existed rains down against my shoulders.

  She hurt him, I remind myself, and she ruined her own chance with him. But I still have trouble meeting her gaze. Even worse, the bar is slow. Tonight's a Justin Hunter concert and while he's a huge hit with tweens, his appeal doesn't carry over much to the type of people that make up the VIP crowd.

  Jared's sitting at the bar and I almost ask if I can take the rest of the night off because we don't need two bartenders on, but that'll just make it even more awkward the next time. Plus, he'll know why I'm asking off (so will Zoey, for sure), and I don't need to give him anything else to act all smug about.

  I square my shoulders and serve a couple of drinks and do my best to make small talk when there's nothing else—like wiping down the bar or re-cleaning glasses or sweeping up invisible flecks from the ground—to do. Zoey's answers are nice, but not super inviting. She's still friendly, but definitely cooler toward me than before. Guess I can't blame her.

  Gage is at his usual spot, singing for tonight's smaller crowd, and I don't see Zoey's eyes travel over to him once.

  Which obviously means I'm watching, waiting for her to look at him.

  Ugh. This entire situation…just ugh.

  Zach appears and motions me down toward his spot at the bar and I could kiss him for pulling me away, if it wouldn't make the Gage-Zoey-Cassidy triangle into an even more awkward square.

  "Guess who I booked for a one-night show at the end of the summer?" he asks, his eyes twinkling.

  "You didn't!" The answer's obvious. Franklin Charles.

  "I did." He grins and my lips curve in response.

  "I thought he wouldn't pull in a big enough crowd?"

  He waves an arm out behind him, gesturing to the half-empty deck. "If Justin lame-ass Hunter can perform here on a Friday, wi
th his lack of pull for big spenders, we can get Franklin Charles in on a Wednesday night. Even if we don't have the budget to book an opening act."

  "Please, Franklin needs no opener. Plus," I say. "I still think you guys are wrong. I bet you can pack the place with enough promotion."

  "We'll see."

  "But even if you do—even if this place gets slammed—tell Jared he has to let me off for the concert." I glance at him down the bar and he's wrapped up in a conversation with Zoey. "Does he know you booked Franklin yet?"

  "Nope. Came straight to you first, my little booking muse." He winks at me. But not in a sleazy way. "And don't you worry. I'll have front stage passes for you and your entire family. Didn't you say he's your brother's favorite artist?"

  Everything stills around me. My lips tremble, my smile slipping away. I don't remember saying it, but I guess I must have. Stupid alcohol.

  Stupid me and my stupid big drunk mouth.

  Stupid parents. I already know they won't come—even if I invited them, which also won't be happening. I doubt they've listened to Franklin Charles once in the past half a year. In fact, I doubt they've listened to any music at all.

  Stupid Jason.

  No, I take that back. Not stupid Jason. Damn him. He'd be so excited to see Franklin Charles live—and he can't. He's dead.

  Tears build and threaten to spill and I turn away, pretending to look for someone behind me and staring into the setting sun until the wetness in my eyes disappears.

  "Cassidy?" Zach's waiting for my answer. Or some form of excitement. Why don't I ever freaking think things through? "Isn't his song 'Crisscross Family Lines' pretty much your family's anthem?"

  Yet another sharp little dagger I don't remember sharing that's come back to gut me.

  We sang that song over and over every Christmas. When we were a family.

  This past Christmas we didn't so much as hum.

  "This is so great!" I take a huge breath and quickly swipe a hand across my eyes, plastering another smile on my lips before facing him again. "You're the best!"

  "Don't I know it."

  Smile, smile, smile. It's what I do the rest of the night. Smile. Grin. Laugh. Converse. Everything rings hollow to my ears. But faking it is all that stems the flow of pain threatening to flood me.

  Smile, smile, smile.

  And get the hell out of there when my shift is over. Even in my car, along the drive, I smile. Music blasts so loud I might have no hearing left by the time I'm home to Vera's. And still I smile. Plastic and fake, my cheeks ache from the effort. But I can't let go, can't let the corners of my mouth lower. Can't let myself feel the things welling inside of me.

  The worst part is I've been having the summer of my life. New friends. Gage. Bartending. Awesome music most nights. But none of it would be happening for me if Jason hadn't died. I'm happy, truly happy, and his death set it all in motion. I shouldn't have these things. I shouldn't. Not if he had to die for me to get here.

  It's not fair for me to be happy when he'll never have the chance again.

  Later, Gage asks me about my night. I can read trepidation in his eyes and realize he's nervous about how things were between Zoey and me. But I've been too heavy, too…just…empty, on the inside to even give her another thought after talking with Zach. In fact, I'm not even sure I said goodbye to her when I left.

  Instead of answering, I kiss him.

  Because I can't talk anymore. I just can't.

  I climb onto his lap and I curl my tongue around his while I strip him of his clothing. He gently breaks the kiss, a question poised on his beautiful mouth and in the golden starbursts of his warm brown eyes, but I bite his lower lip and place his hands on my breasts, my nipples hard already. I move my mouth against his and he responds, whatever he was going to say forgotten. My body reacts the way it should. Wetness pools between my thighs before his hands travel lower. When they do, I'm quivering everywhere, craving him.

  But my heart is twisted at a funny angle and I can't meet his eyes when he slips slowly, so slowly, inside of me, because those tears from earlier are still too close to the surface. He hesitates for a moment, something in his expression shifting, a question he wants to ask and my refusal to answer filling the space between our hearts. He knows something's off. I bury my face into his skin where his neck meets his shoulder, tracing the line of him with my tongue until he shudders and lets out a moan, moving inside of me again. There is no more hesitation.

  And after, still, there are words sitting trapped in my throat, threatening to pour out. Emotions I don't want to release. So I take him in my hands and then my mouth until we're both nothing but a jumble of sensations, our words completely lost from our grasps. We tumble together and then into sleep.

  I toss and turn, though, waking myself in the middle of the night, rumbles of anxiety thundering in the area between my ribs. I look across the bed toward Gage. He's on his back, breathing softly, peacefully, and my throat tightens.

  I think… I think this won't work. Not anymore.

  My body aches for him, even now. But my heart aches even harder. I can't stand the guilt riding through me, that I've found something close to contentment while Jason's in a grave. This thing with Gage is becoming more than I meant for it to…and it's not fair to him because I can't be the kind of girl he deserves. I don't want to open up. I don't want to feel so much.

  This is turning out to be too much for me.

  I have to end it, though the thought hurts almost as much as missing Jason does.

  Gage sighs in his sleep and rolls to his side, flinging an arm out in my direction. Knowing I shouldn't, I stretch my hand toward him, curling my fingers through his.

  Tomorrow, I tell myself, tendrils of sleep weaving back through my consciousness. First thing tomorrow, when we're both awake. I'm going to end this.

  Then he tightens his grip on my hand and murmurs my name in his sleep and my resolve falters.

  My last thought, before I'm lost again to the night, is maybe.

  ACT II: STARSTRUCK

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The day Gold Rush Standard comes to town, BackBar Amphitheater pretty much crashes into pandemonium.

  I drive into work with Vera, who's so excited she's practically squirming in her seat. We're late—not because I drive slow, as Vera accuses me when I refuse to break the sound barrier just to get there to meet the amazing (according to her, not me) lead singer Luca James, but because concertgoers have jammed the roads to BackBar hours before the venue will even open. Vera catches me rolling my eyes, and I spend the final half hour (which, as it happens, is the length of time it takes to inch down the last mile) of the drive listening to why I should be excited. How hot Luca James is. How talented. Blah, blah.

  "He's cheesy!" I can't help it. I can't listen to another word about his brilliance. Granted, Vera also likes Jared, so I don't know why her Luca James obsession surprises me.

  "You're nuts." She fixes her hair in the visor mirror as I turn into the employee lot. "And no offense, but you'd think with the work he does to promote staying drug-free, you'd have a little more respect for him."

  She has a point. I swing us into a parking spot. "I do respect his outreach. It just doesn't carry over into his music."

  "You have to admit he's hot," she says.

  I shrug. "I think Gage is hotter."

  "You really are nuts. But…" She slides a glance my direction. "About Gage… Are things okay with you two?" She changes the subject to the one thing I want to talk about less than Gold Rush Standard.

  "Hey, look." I point toward the VIP pavilion entrance. It's already crowded; people are lined up even though the patio won't open for another two hours, and camera phones are out snapping pictures. "The band must already be in there."

  "Oh my God!" She's distracted and too excited to ask any more about Gage, and I stifle a sigh of relief.

  Because Gage.

  Gage.

  I haven't been able to let him go.

>   I can't.

  Instead, I throw myself into him.

  Each time is hotter, twistier, sexier than the last.

  He spends every night in my bed. The rise of our bodies together, the gasping for breath, the way it feels when he enters me each time… I cling to those moments, to those fragile strands of the one thing that truly allows my mind to go blank.

  Outside the sheets, though, something's not right between us anymore.

  He thinks it's his past with Zoey.

  I know it's me.

  It's me and the thing inside of me that's been cracked for a long time. The thing that straight-up shattered when Zach was so happy to tell me Franklin Charles was coming to town. To tell me he'd save seats for me and my family. For my parents. For my brother.

  For Jason.

  For Jason who's dead and will never get to see Franklin Charles perform.

  But I don't let myself think about these things.

  Instead, I knock on the hidden side entrance for employees, as there's no way for Vera and me to get through the waiting crowd. Jared lets us in, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous."

  "Is he here? Luca James?" Vera's looking over Jared's shoulder instead of at his face—and the annoyance in his expression is almost enough to make me smile.

  "Not yet, but the rest of the band is." His voice is gruff, irritated.

  "So cool." She's off, already, to grab her little black apron.

  "Those shorts barely cover her ass," Jared says, staring at her retreating figure.

  "All the better to impress the almighty Luca James," I say, enjoying his discomfort more than I should. Or, actually, screw that—I enjoy it exactly as I should. Let him think about what would happen if Vera manages to catch Luca's eye. Maybe jealousy will push Jared to clean up his act a little.

  "Whatever." He lowers his shades, frowning and motioning to Nicole a few feet away. "Put the curtain up in front of the entrance. The crowd's too loud and way too camera happy. The band's supposed to be able to relax before the show."

  I glance at the bar, my breath catching. Most of Gold Rush Standard is sitting along the stools already, drinking and hanging out with other people I assume are roadies or family or, based on the amount of skin some are showing, groupies. For some reason a little jolt of adrenaline rushes through my stomach.