Hold Me (Promise Me Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  Duncan sighed. “If you feel you have too much to handle, then I’ll make this easy for you.” He stood with a groan. “I’m going down to the front desk to ask for another room. Spending some time apart will do us good. And when you’re ready to be an adult and stop moping around acting like a martyr, then we can talk. Until then it seems like alone time is what we need.”

  “Will you be seeing Leda during your alone time?” I couldn’t help but prod.

  “Yes, I will.”

  I watched him walk out the door and made no move to stop him. In my alcohol-dazed mind, I knew Duncan was right. Him giving me breathing room was the best solution, and while I still blamed him for the cause of the argument, I agreed with the outcome.

  For now.

  I woke up the next day realizing how much a head could hurt. Of course, I’d made the pain worse trying to take care of the first migraine with alcohol. Nothing does a body good like plying it with liquor, or so I’d been told. Now I wanted to dig a grave and die.

  My mouth tasted like the bottom of a garbage can. I rolled over to see I’d never changed out of my clothes from the day before. Sweat-stained pants kept a tenacious hold on my skin, and my shirt clung tight. I smacked my lips in an attempt to wet them though my tongue felt thick and uncomfortable.

  “Oh God,” I moaned. The sound of my voice sent muscles into spasms as though I’d spoken into a bullhorn. At once my stomach heaved and acid burned my throat. No more speaking.

  I focused my energy on stumbling to the shower and turning the water down low. Some may think a hot shower is what they need to calm the mind and relax the muscles. Au contraire. I needed a jolt.

  Stepping under the spray head, I let those pounding streams of cool water wash away my sins and restore my humanity.

  Duncan still hadn’t returned.

  I was too far gone the night before to realize he came into the room to grab a duffel bag with his personal items. Now I saw those missing items, the lack of clothes heaped on the floor, and no suit jacket near the front door. He’d taken his toothbrush and assorted toiletries as well, leaving the sink barren and stained with Crest.

  I wrapped the towel tighter around my midsection and strove to be restored to human, though the shower helped. Then I remembered Leda and the septic tank and wondered if Duncan could afford another room until the house was finished.

  I almost missed him. Almost.

  Saturday loomed large and open ahead of me. Instead of moping and indulging in my gloom, I picked myself up by the bootstraps. In other words, I downed four aspirin and dialed a friend.

  August happily obliged me.

  “You slept in,” he commented, his voice like sugar through the receiver. “You’re always out of bed by eight.”

  “Through no choice of my own.” I ran a brush through my hair and winced.

  “You don’t sound right. Are you okay?”

  “As usual, you see right to the heart of me. Do you have plans?”

  “What, right now or in the near future?”

  I groaned and flopped backward, narrowly avoiding the headboard. “Can we not play these games? I’m working off a bad night and want some company.”

  Duncan said we needed alone time. I agreed, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be by myself.

  “Sure, I’m free. Come on down to the property if you want.”

  “I refuse to hike today.”

  “No, I took you a back way last time. Just head down the main drag and cut a left by the old Mill,” August said. “You remember? The driveway is about five miles down that road.”

  “You’re living there?”

  “Have been for the last year. Come when you’re ready. I have a cure for your hangover.”

  I terminated the conversation with a click, wondering if news traveled fast or August had a touch of the second sight. How did he know I had a hangover? Maybe I sounded as bad as I felt.

  Still, I took my time getting ready, even longer navigating the roads, and met him at the farm in about an hour. As opposed to the first time I’d seen the property, this driveway had been cleared recently, with a new load of gravel spread evenly. I took the curves slow, ending up parked by an old barn with bright red doors.

  The sun made it a mission to burn my skin the instant I left the car. With sunglasses adorning my head and wearing a permanent scowl, I shuffled toward the front deck, each step taking supreme effort.

  August had the audacity to smile at me, leaning against the porch swing barefoot. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  I growled an unintelligible response as I crossed to him. “Stop making fun of me.”

  “Making fun of you would be saying how your socks don’t match and you missed a button on your shirt. I’m saying good morning. Did you have a fun night?” He chuckled, damn him.

  “If you call getting drunk at the Tooth and starting a fight with Duncan a good night, then yes, I did.”

  August clucked his tongue at me before taking the last two steps to the ground and meeting me halfway. “Poor girl, never could roll with the big boys. How about you come inside and I’ll fix you up? Play doctor?”

  “I’ll be fine as soon as the pills kick in,” I explained. I let him take my arm and gently guide me into the kitchen where his hair-of-the-dog recipe waited.

  An hour of chitchat later, and coming close to puking from the wretched taste of August’s “fix,” I felt like myself again.

  Though I stifled my disgust at the prospect of taking a walk, I made the trek to the middle of the field at his insistence before sagging down onto a blanket.

  “It’s a gorgeous day,” I commented. At least now I could appreciate the beauty.

  A sea of grass stretched around us, waving knee-high with a gentle breeze and mixed intermittently with daisies. Birds chattered overhead in a clear blue expanse of sky, adding their tune to the moment. As much as I hated to admit, it was the perfect day to be out in the country.

  I lay back on the blanket until the grass tickled my ears. Here with August, there were no storm clouds or endless howling winds of despair within my mind. No Duncan and his insults proclaiming me a martyr. Gazing into cloudless blue, I could almost imagine away the shit of my life. The sky remained the same. The sun rose and fell every day as it chased the moon.

  I looked to August. “My life is crap,” I said without preface.

  He at least had the decency to appear sympathetic as he patted my arm. A guitar sat nestled in his lap, propped up on his bare feet. “You need a break. Too many events happening at once. Everyone needs a minute to be still and catch up.”

  He cradled the guitar and brought his hands to position, light playing off the oaken hues of wood. Expert fingers plucked at the strings, retuning where necessary. The craftsmanship was impeccable and I knew it was one of his own.

  “I’m not going to catch up. I’m going to drop dead. There’s a difference.”

  August shushed me as the hint of a melody burst to life beneath his touch. “We’re not out here to complain, remember? We’re here to have lunch with nature all around us. Be part of the land like we’re supposed to. Remember?” The chords reverberated into a melody I almost knew. A half-forgotten dream. “You’ve been cooped up inside too long. Time to get in touch with the earth again.”

  “Okay, Yogi August. If you think so, then I have no choice but to agree.”

  He laughed. “You should listen. I mean, look at me. You don’t see any grays in this luscious mane, do you?” Leaning forward for me to inspect, August continued his random plucking while parting the auburn strands in rhythm.

  I pushed him away instead. “Don’t flaunt your perfect head at me. I inherited my grays.” Addendum to the shopping list; hair color that looks more natural. “My mother started getting them when she was thirty and I blame her for this gross injustice.”

  “Or maybe you should stop driving yourself mad with things you can’t change,” August fired back gently.

  He was right about so many things.
It did no good to dwell on the mistakes of the past, or the adversities of the present, though I had a hard time following the advice. August should know: I’ve never been good at going with the flow. Driving myself crazy was a practiced and mastered skill of mine.

  “Following your advice won’t help me make up with Duncan. He and I got into it big time and now he’s in a separate room.”

  “Fights tend to happen when you’re in a tiny space with one person too long.” August gestured around us once more. “Like I said, get back into nature and let your tempers cool. Everything will work out well in the end, I promise. Although he shouldn’t have called you a martyr.”

  “I’m freaking out to the point where I went out with Leslie Gordon for beers last night.” I stared at him theatrically so he understood the severity of the situation. “Get it?”

  Instead of showing concern, August just nodded, pursing his lips—to hide a smile, I suspected. “Going out with Leslie sounds like the sort of break you needed. And she’s not such a bad person underneath the hype, you know. It’s all a façade.”

  Not the reaction I’d hoped for. I sighed and flopped over onto my stomach, facing him. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Play a song for me.”

  He gestured toward the guitar. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “I meant something for me. A song no one else has heard before. You can do it.” I grinned, leaning up with my chin in my hands. “You and your band. I should have known you would never break out of your musician phase.”

  “There’s always been a song in my heart,” he teased. “You just never noticed. You were too busy looking at other boys.”

  “Yeah, and it took them a long time to look at me. Speaking of boys, how is Leda?”

  A chiding glance was leveled at me. “Trying to play dirty won’t work on me.”

  “I find it odd you never mentioned her to me before she had her claws in you at dinner.” My ragged cuticle went to my mouth and I chewed, spitting when I got a taste of dirt. “You and every other man in a mile radius.”

  August laughed. “I hardly consider a hand on the upper thigh having her claws in me. Let’s talk about your spectacular crotch grab instead.”

  “Ugh. Please don’t remind me.” I let my head drop. “You know better than to ply me with alcohol. Hell, I know better, and look at this past week. I’ve indulged twice. I’m a lush!”

  “Hey, the wine was my treat for you guys letting us join the table.”

  “And I notice you’re avoiding the subject.”

  “What subject? Leda?” He strummed a few notes and they hung in the heat like butterflies.

  “Yes. Leda.” I disliked saying her name. “I want to know everything about her. Where you met, how long it’s been going on, if it’s serious or not…”

  “You want to know a lot today.” He peered down at the strings and finished making the tuning adjustments.

  “It’s merely a distraction from my own pathetic affairs,” I said. “Indulge me.”

  August sighed but did as I requested. “We met at a music festival last year, our relationship is relatively new which is why I never brought it up, and it has the potential to be serious. There. Is your curiosity satisfied?”

  “Not well, but I guess it will have to do. Minimalism at its best. And a man-answer if I ever heard one.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I am a man.” August waggled his brows suggestively.

  “Trust me, I noticed.” I debated whether or not to tell him about Duncan and Leda meeting the other day. Keeping it a secret meant I considered it to be a bigger deal than it was. Right?

  “So,” I began, twirling a blade of grass around my thumb, “Duncan said Leda came to see him about insurance.”

  “Good. I suggested it. Her bills are outrageous and she needed to switch carriers.”

  “You knew they had coffee together?” I asked.

  “She told me about it when she came over for dinner, yeah.” August bent back to check something written on a notepad and then turned to the guitar once more. He glanced up at me once. “Why?”

  “I’m just…curious.”

  “She told me Duncan bought her a latte and found a policy which cut her yearly bill in half.”

  “She didn’t mention anything else?” I pushed.

  His fingers stopped and the silence took me aback once the hum of the instrument faded. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Iz, but stop it.”

  I flung the grass away, irritated. “Yeah, I know. Stop telling me to stop.”

  August resumed his playing.

  There was no point in going further with the conversation, I mused. I’d told August about the fight between Duncan and me. Feeling hostile was no reason to dump my problems on someone else and cloud August’s opinion.

  “You said you write song lyrics. Poetry,” he said as he strummed.

  “I used to, once upon a time.” I flipped onto my back once more, too restless to stay still. The heat felt wonderful on my skin and I vowed to relax, to soak it in. There was a strong sense of place about the property. The sort of aura with no negative energies. I needed this time, I realized, to stitch myself together again. “It’s not me anymore.”

  “Why don’t you write lyrics for this melody?”

  “What, right now?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I grimaced. “You are kind of putting me on the spot. I haven’t written anything in a long time.”

  “And you are kind of stalling.” The thought amused him. “I think it’s a grand idea. I’ve been wanting to find words for this song for years.”

  “I thought you said it was for me?” I fired back.

  “The two are not mutually exclusive, Isabel.”

  Hmm. I wondered at his enigmatic tone, yet said nothing. “I haven’t done it in so long.” I cracked my knuckles. “I might come up with something stupid.”

  Summer lengthened, cicadas hummed, and for once I didn’t wish to be somewhere else.

  “No, you won’t. You’ll do what you always do and pull a miracle out of thin air. How about you give it a try and see what comes out?” He repeated the refrain of whatever song had sprung to life in his mind.

  It was catchy, and soon I was able to hum along with the few bars I recognized. The melody was sweet and haunting with a hint of otherworldliness. A bit of anger, of passion, hate, love. And regret at the end like a flavor lingering at the back of the tongue after the bite is gone.

  “What kind of song is this?”

  August jotted a note down before switching to a deeper chord. “Something I’ve been tinkering with for a while now. I think you are the right person to put words to my melody.”

  “I’m the only person you know to put words to your melody.”

  “Now, now, don’t be snooty. I know plenty of other people able to do the job, but I want you.”

  “Make me feel worse why don’t you?”

  Smiling eyes peeked at me between tousled curls. “I’m trying to make you feel better. Now wipe that mulish expression off your face.”

  “Nothing makes me feel better quite like your compliments,” I quipped.

  It was a chance to flex my writing muscles. The last refusal email sent me into a tailspin and I hadn’t jotted a single lyric since.

  I concentrated on the words to fit his music, conjuring images in my head. “And don’t make fun of my singing. I never claimed to have the best voice in the world.” Far from it, in fact, although I usually managed to stay on key.

  “I love your voice,” he told me simply.

  While August began his song from the beginning, I whirled a story in my head and began to sing.

  Worlds meet softly

  Two hands holding

  Time stands still

  Only for us

  Walking on knife edge

  Striking a balance

  Watching stars die

  We two stand alone

  I cling to you and only find
<
br />   A new and different state of mind

  Blood is rising, eyes go blind

  And I see fate betwixt and twined

  So we reach farther, never tiring

  Stealing new heights, breath expiring

  Stay close to me

  Be part of me

  “This is stupid,” I burst out. “I’m gushing verbal vomit here. It doesn’t sound the slightest bit good.”

  “I think it sounds nice.” August continued to play. “I like it so far. Do you have any more lines to get me through the next chorus?”

  I hummed a few more bars before throwing my hands in the air. “I give up!”

  “You should never give up. That’s why you’re back here in the first place.” August swung the guitar around to his side. “Although I’m not complaining about your coming home.”

  “You think I could have made it, judging by what I just spouted off? Not a chance, mister.”

  “Yeah, I do. And I wouldn’t tell you otherwise to blow smoke up your butt,” he said firmly.

  “You’ve never been one for blowing smoke. Up the butt or otherwise.”

  He looked adorable, sitting there in the sun with cutoff jeans and the guitar on his lap. The relaxed hippie in tune with the world around him. There was a huge swath of flowers in the center of the field, painted there by some unseen master’s hand. Their heads swayed and bobbed in the breeze and caught the warm light. Summer days meant those flowers heated, so their scent filled the air and dazzled the senses.

  August flicked a speck of dirt from my cheek. “I think you should have stuck it out. You might have missed a great opportunity and bitterness doesn’t sit well here. You have a song in your heart, too.”

  I turned away, and couldn’t help the secret smile.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I told myself not to hold Duncan’s coffee “date” with Leda and our subsequent argument against him. Easier said than done, I admit. After a few days of dealing with the renovation contractor by myself, and waking up curled next to a pillow instead of him, I was bound and determined to make amends.