Rock & Release

by Riley Edgewood

  Not much, but I'll take it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  "Huh, I wonder why Zoey quit," Vera says a few days later when she's back from the beach. She leans across the coffee table, holding out her gossip magazine to me on the couch. I take it, trading her for my own. "You think it was too stressful working with you and Gage?"

  "There is no me and Gage," I say, leaning back and flipping aimlessly to a page in the middle.

  Maybe Zoey found out about Darcy and didn't want to face Gage again. Or maybe she's on another trip with her parents. Either way, I'm glad I won't have to see heartache reflected on her face the rest of the summer. Because every time I look in the mirror, it's there in my own. In the shadows under my eyes. In the listlessness of any smile I attempt. Seeing it on one person is more than enough, thank you very much. "I don't think Zoey leaving will have him running back into my arms. I messed it all up."

  "You did run away with Luca James," Vera says, looking at me as if I should know better than to complain. She tosses a piece of popcorn in the air and actually manages to catch it in her mouth. "What did you expect?"

  Ouch.

  But I deserve it.

  "I didn't expect anything. I wasn't thinking anything through enough to have expectations." I close the magazine in my lap. "I'm sorry, Vera. I hope I didn't hurt you, too. I've been making bad decision after bad decision lately. Especially when it comes to guys."

  She shrugs. "I told you before you didn't need to keep away from him on my account. I know celebrity crushes aren't the same as real life crushes."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes, promise."

  I take her at her word. And decide on the spot to make a more conscious effort to think outside of myself from now on. "Have you spoken with your mom lately?"

  She flings a piece of popcorn at my face. "Are you trying to kill my mood?"

  "Just the opposite," I say. "I want to know about your life; we talk so much about mine these days."

  "You know whose lives we should talk about? Kylie VanHaven and Justin Hunter! Did you hear they finally admitted they're dating? I hope they come back to BackBar but together next time," she says, and I let her change the subject. I know better than anyone what it's like to want to avoid a sensitive topic.

  Jared ignores me at work and barely acknowledges me when he's over to see Vera. Mostly, it's kind of nice. But a few days in, guilt overpowers the relief of not having to deal with him. So at the start of a shift, I ask to speak with him privately. When the door to his office closes behind us, I resist the urge to bolt back out. It's time to make amends.

  "Have a seat." He gestures to a chair against the wall and then rolls his own desk chair around to sit across from me. "What do you want?"

  His cologne is so strong it's almost bitter in my nostrils, and I wonder if Vera was born without a sense of smell to ever enjoy being this close to him. I wish he'd stay behind his desk, but I'm the one in the wrong here, so I guess I don't get much say. "You seem to be avoiding me."

  "I was hoping you'd notice."

  "Jared, come on. I'm sorry." I try not to bristle that he's been using a middle school tactic to make sure I feel guilty. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry for letting you down."

  "Then make it up to me." Something in his tone sets me on edge, and the sly way he looks at me thrusts a chilly layer of discomfort under my skin.

  "With extra shifts?" Please, please, let that be what he's implying. I can't meet his eyes, so I study the corkboard hanging on the wall behind him. Random bits of paper are pinned everywhere. The concert lineup for the next few months. Old notes. Employee roster and phone list. "Are there open spots on the schedule? I'll fill whatever you and Zach need until I leave for school."

  "I thought things were getting serious with Gage," he says. My gaze snaps right back to his face, my stomach sinking. "But you left with Luca James. Then you left Luca, too. Did he not measure up in bed?"

  Gross. I grip the arms of my chair, my muscles primed to leap out of it. "That's none of your business."

  He leans forward—and puts a hand on my thigh. "I thought you might consider leaving with me. Tonight. Try out my bed this time."

  Oh. No.

  No, no, no.

  Rage snaps inside of me and I'm on my feet, clawing the top of his hand, shoving it off of my leg. "Goddamn it, Jared, why are you so scuzzy? Vera adores you—nobody knows why—and you do this? Back. The fuck. Off."

  Welts form across the back of his hand where my nails scraped his skin, and small drops of blood rise along the lines. He looks from them to me, fury in his expression. "I waited weeks for you to come around, you know," he says, his tone ice cold. "I've been very patient."

  "You have got to be kidding me." I'm so disgusted right now I could vomit.

  He stands and, even though he doesn't step toward me, little alarm bells go off in my mind. "What did you think, I just gave you this job because you were a good fit? You have zero bartending experience. You're smarter than that, Cassidy."

  "Giving me a job doesn't give you the right to expect something like this." I back up until I feel the office door handle behind me. "What on Earth would ever make you think I'd be into you? God, even if you weren't with Vera. You're revolting."

  His eyes narrow. "Watch yourself."

  I turn the handle behind me, opening the door, not caring who hears—actually, hoping someone does. "Leave me the hell alone."

  "Sure, Cassidy. Whatever." His tone is suddenly light, calm, even, but there's a burning, bitter amusement underneath the words—which makes me even more livid. He wiggles his fingers toward the door. "Go work your shift. You're lucky you still have one."

  "And you're lucky I don't sue your stupid ass." I glance behind me, but the area outside of the office is empty. Come on, someone walk by.

  "Who would believe you?" he asks. "It's not like you have a responsible track record with your sex life. How many guys have you fucked the last month alone? Four? Five?"

  "Oh, Jared. Fuck you." I turn to storm from the office, but he's quick as a snake, grabbing my shirt and dragging me back to him.

  "That's exactly what I'm going for." His tongue flickers out between his lips and I'm still so shocked from the force of his action all I can do is think oh, gross before he shoves his mouth against mine. His tongue shoots into my mouth, pushing through my teeth, and I want to cry and gag at the exact same time.

  I ram a fist against his chest and kick him in the shin, darting from the office when he drops down to grab his leg.

  I flee straight into the bathroom, keeping my back pressed hard against the door, though I can't tell if I'm keeping it closed or if it's keeping me upright. I can't quit shaking.

  What the fuck just happened?

  I scrape nails down my tongue, needing to erase the memory of his invading my mouth. But it doesn't help. The pungent scent of his cologne has somehow transferred to my skin and into my nose so that each breath makes me feel sicker than the last.

  What am I supposed to do?

  Go back and freaking kill Jared? Part of the adrenaline causing all the shaking is wild enough for it to sound tempting.

  But the other part of the shaking…the part where I can't stop reliving the last few minutes in slow motion? It won't even let me move away from the door.

  I'm so grossed out.

  And underneath that?

  Shame.

  But that feeling doesn't get to win right now. I'm too pissed off.

  I should quit. I should quit right on the spot.

  But…I need the stupid money.

  And Zach. I've already screwed him over once this summer. God. Zach. Should I tell him what just happened?

  I can't tell him. Would he even believe me after everything else?

  I don't want to think about it anymore. I'm too close to throwing up. I stare out into the bathroom, but I can't get my eyes to focus so it's all a line of white brick and a smear of blue stall doors and metallic blobs
of sinks.

  Somehow I make it out to the bar, keeping my eyes peeled for Jared, but his back is to me—and as the night goes on he avoids looking at me even when it isn't.

  It takes over an hour into my shift before I stop trembling. Rage? Fear? A mix of both. I can barely tell up from down right now, and I couldn't list a single drink I've made so far today.

  I steal a glance at Vera, whom I've been avoiding eye contact with, and she's waiting tables, smiling and completely oblivious to the monster of the man she's dating. I don't want to go home; I don't want to see her. I don't know what to say. Do I tell her? A good friend would…but…I don't think I can do it.

  I have to tell her.

  Just…tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow. Because right now I can't even make the words form in my mind. Right now the feeling of his tongue is still in my mouth and if I have to talk about it I'm going to throw up.

  God, what if she brings Jared home?

  Maybe I can stay at Teagan's. I pat my pocket for my phone but it's not there. It's—shit—in the managers' office. I left my bag after storming out. After my shift, I wait until Jared's far away and occupied, talking with Nicole near the food bar, and I sneak into the manager's office to grab my bag.

  And then I get the hell out of BackBar.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  I call Teagan, but she answers only long enough to whisper that she's on a date before hanging up.

  So I spend the night in my car, because there's no one else I want to call.

  I have almost a week's worth of tips to pay for a hotel room, but after running out of money so recently, I'm holding on to it way too tightly for that sort of a convenience.

  My car's so unbelievably uncomfortable, and I'm still so freaking shaken up, I can't sleep. And my thoughts are racing out of control.

  I have the windows open—which, I'm sure, is letting in every bug within a hundred-mile radius—but I'll sweat to death if I roll up the glass. Still, there's hardly any breeze. Every hour I turn the car on for the A/C, but only for a few minutes—and it barely gives any respite.

  Should I just quit? Go home to my parents and beg forgiveness?

  No.

  I roll to my side, the damn seat belt connector digging into my ass. For the millionth time. I'm going to have a bruise on both sides of my butt tomorrow for sure. My knees ache from being bent and the top of my head is starting to feel rubbed raw from grinding up against the inside of the door. I tried lying back in the front seat at first, but that was even worse.

  I have to tell Vera about Jared.

  The wrecking-ball realization swings straight into my stomach, and I sit up, gasping. Shit. I shouldn't be avoiding her. She deserves to know.

  As if the signs haven't been there the whole time for her to see. But I smother the thought. I'm only feeling nasty from lack of sleep. And even more from the nonstop replay of the scene in my head over and over the entire night. It's not her fault at all.

  The sun's coming up when I pull into our apartment complex. A sweep of the parking lot doesn't show Jared's glaringly ostentatious yellow Hummer anywhere, so I park and head up. Maybe I'll make her breakfast to soften the blow. No, that's stupid. Nothing will soften the blow.

  Still, a few hours later when I hear her stirring, I get a pot of coffee ready and start scrambling eggs.

  When she emerges, her eyes are red and puffy and she's rolling a suitcase behind her and my stomach falls to the floor.

  She knows.

  "Hey." She tries to smile, but fails. Okay, maybe she doesn't know. Not sure she'd be trying to smile at me right now.

  "What's, uh—" I pause to clear my throat. "What's wrong?"

  "I'm going to stay with my mom for the week. Maybe two."

  "Is…" Spit it out. "Is Jared going with you?"

  "No." Her answer is short, forceful—and her eyes fill with tears.

  "Vera, did he…" God, how do I ask if he told her what happened? "Did he say anything about yest—"

  "We had the most amazing night last night," she cuts me off, sniffling. "Like… Sorry if this is too much information, but I've never had that kind of sex, ever. It was…rough—but I liked it. I never knew it could be like that…and he did all these things he's never done before…and I thought we crossed some line, that things were getting even better between us and we were opening up to each other and then he just rolled over afterward and stopped talking to me. He just stopped. He got what he wanted and then it was like I wasn't even there anymore."

  She drops her suitcase and wraps her arms around her chest and is closing in on herself right before my eyes. I fly over to her, wrapping my own arms around her, holding her up. "It's okay, Vera."

  "It's not." She's shaking against me, heartbreak in every tremble. "It's over."

  She's so fragile in my arms, I definitely can't tell her about yesterday right now. "It doesn't feel okay right now," I say instead. "But it will be, I promise. You're better off without him."

  I drive her to the airport because she's way too upset to take herself. I spend the entire drive promising myself I'll tell her the instant she gets back. I'll give her the week with her mom to get some distance from how hurt she is. I'll tell her when it won't break her the way it would right now.

  And maybe I'll kill Jared while she's gone, so she never has to deal with him again.

  I don't kill him during my next shift, though the desire to swing a hot iron at his face hasn't let up any. I glare at him, and this time he glares back. Again, I wonder if I should quit. But that gives him too much power. He doesn't get to scare me away.

  But he licks his lips when we catch eyes the next time, and when I turn away, feeling his eyes on the back of my neck gives me the chills enough to send a bottle of liquor slipping through my hands, shattering at my feet.

  "What's up with you today?" Zach asks, not unkindly. "You've spilled two drinks before this. It's worse than your first night on shift." He smiles so I know he's teasing, but I can't return it. Again, I strongly contemplate telling him about Jared, but I can't find the words.

  So I just keep working.

  One shift, then the next and the next. Slowly all the rage drains and anxiety slips in to fill its place. Every time he looks at me, he smiles now, like he enjoys the memory making me so sick.

  Then Gage comes back to work.

  I don't know why it shocks me, seeing him walk in right before the patio opens. It's not like I haven't been thinking of him daily. But it's been more of an abstract way, wondering how he is, how Katy is, whether or not I ever cross his mind… I've been too wrapped up in my own emotional roller coaster with Jared to pay attention to the calendar.

  He stops by the bar, making my heart race, and asks for a beer.

  "How's Katy?" I ask, handing one to him.

  "Pretty much how you'd expect," he says. "But I think she's starting to come down from the worst of the shock. Thank you, again, for everything that night."

  "I wish I could've done more," I say. "And if there's anything now…?"

  "Thanks," he says, with a genuine warmth in his eyes that makes longing explode painfully between my ribs. "But we're okay. She's getting there."

  Relief fills me, that she's not in worse shape than she is—and his expression isn't haunted anymore, like it was the night everything happened. But he makes his way to the stage after that and doesn't speak to me again the rest of the night. I watch him leave when he's finished singing, and he doesn't look back.

  The rest of the week is the same. Gage barely speaks with me, though he's exceptionally, annoyingly polite when he does. And every time I see Jared, he's staring back at me, a sly little smile across his lips, like he knows something I don't.

  Did I lead him on in some way? Did I realize, subconsciously, why he hired me, that there was something more expected in return?

  And why won't he stop leering at me?

  I talk with Vera every few days on the phone, but she speaks in monotones and, I realize eventually, so
do I. She doesn't pick up on it, probably lost in her heartbreak (which, ugh, is enough to bring back a simmer of rage), but every day I don't tell her what happened, the truth gnaws away at me.

  Then she asks if Jared's mentioned her at all and I'd rather swallow my own tongue than give her the answer she wants—or the one she doesn't.

  "I'm not speaking with him," is all I say, knowing she'll think it's on her behalf and hating myself for deceiving her. I need to tell her what he did, but I can't form the words. I hate myself more for this than anything.

  My appetite hits the road somewhere around the middle of the week, pretty much at the same time food begins turning into sawdust in my mouth. My pants fit a little looser around the waist, which might be the silver lining for some girls, but I've always enjoyed having curves. So, nope, no silver lining for me.

  By the start of the next week, I can't seem to remember a good reason for washing my hair. What's the point? My brother's dead. My parents aren't speaking with me. I have no life outside of work—and that's not going to change, especially when I tell Vera what happened. She'll probably never want to see me again. So who cares about my stupid hair? Plus, maybe if it gets gross and ratted, Jared will stop staring at me.

  Oh. Gage. That's right. When he arrives, I realize too late that he might be a good reason to put effort into my appearance.

  But when he sees me now, he does a double-take. Not the kind of attention I want, but it's something at least. Right?

  Right?

  No.

  It's not right.

  But I can't find the drive to do anything about it.

  I don't bother with my hair the next day, either.

  A week and a half after leaving, Vera texts that she'll be back tomorrow. I wonder if I should dread her return, because it means I have to tell her, but I can't drum up the energy to feel much of anything.

  Guess I should tidy up the apartment.

  Instead I nap until I have to leave for work. And endure another Jared-staring shift. And I go back to sleep as soon as I'm home again.