Rock the Heart

by Michelle A. Valentine

  I want to believe her because God knows she wasn’t just some random fuck for me. The thought of what happened between us meaning nothing to her fucking hurts. For some reason, I allowed myself to become emotionally attached to Frannie, and I don’t know if it’s because she seems to understand me, or because I can’t shake the feeling I’m here to save her.

  I pick at my leather cuff and wonder out loud, “Then tell me what it is like, Frannie. I need to know if I should give up on us or not.”

  She runs her hand through her hair and looks away, but then turns back toward me with her chin pointed down. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Tell me how you feel. Tell me if I should fight to make you see that we can work,” I urge.

  Her brow furrows with confusion. “Why would you still want me after I told you my secret? I’m a mess.”

  The corner of my mouth pulls up into an understanding smile. “I’m the last person to judge you, don’t you think? It’s not like I don’t have my own sordid past. After all, it wasn’t clean living that landed me in rehab.”

  That earns me a smile. “I suppose so. You are a rock star, after all. I’m sure you’ve done worse. You’ve probably been with thousands of women.”

  I grimace. “I think my dick would’ve fallen off by now if I’d been with a thousand women.”

  “I just don’t understand why you care so much. We barely know one another.”

  “That’s true,” I admit. “But you’re the first one to have given more than two shits about me in a long time.”

  She frowns. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “But it is,” I defend my statement. “Riff, Noel, and even my own brother have been too busy with their own shit over the past couple of years. I’ve felt nothing but alone. This last year has been the hardest of my entire life. I’ve lived on the road with these guys, knowing they’re disgusted by me, knowing they really don’t want me around. Do you know how shitty that made me feel? To be unwanted? You, Frannie—you make me feel needed, and that’s why I’m fighting for you.”

  She nods. “I’ve felt that way my entire life. My parents have always been too busy for me or my sister. Annie was the one person in this world I knew would always be there for me, even when no one else would.”

  Having a twin is unlike any other relationship in the world. Throughout my life, Trip has always been there, even when no one else has been—even now. Even though he was pissed at me, he still cared enough to bring me here to get help.

  “I can’t imagine losing Trip,” I admit.

  “Losing Annie was the most difficult thing that’s ever happened to me. I know it’s no excuse, but that’s why I turned to sex. I wanted the closeness. To allow myself the illusion of love, even for a little while, but at the same time keeping everyone at a distance. I don’t ever want to feel the pain of losing someone else I love again.”

  I nod. “So you close yourself off to make it easier? You think that’s healthy?”

  “I know it’s not. That’s why I’m determined to turn my life around. I thought by coming here—”

  “That you’d be safe from temptations?” I fill in the gap for her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s me who screwed up. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

  I sigh and stick my hand out toward her, believing that we’ll need to start over if we’re ever to have a shot at true intimacy. “I’m Tyke Douglas. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She bites her bottom lower lip. “Frannie Mead.”

  “Friends?” I ask.

  She nods. “Friends.”

  This isn’t exactly the relationship I want with Frannie, but I feel bad that I’m the reason that she relapsed, and I don’t want to push her to feel more until she’s ready. I’ll be patient.

  I mean, let’s face it.

  While I’m here, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.

  Chapter 11

  “Through the Glass” –Stone Sour

  Frannie The moment Tyke leaves my office, I sit on my desk and allow my shoulders to sag, guilt washing over me. I wish I didn’t have to hurt him. I wish I wasn’t like this—that I didn’t depend on sex to make me feel better. It’s a cycle I desperately want to break. I don’t think I can ever have a real relationship with a man until I learn to let people into my heart.

  I stand and walk around my desk to work on Tyke’s chart, and a gasp leaves my mouth the moment I pull out my desk chair. A single red rose rests on the seat. My heart clenches, knowing that man who gave it to me is someone I can never have.

  I pick it up and then sniff its floral scent. It’s only then I notice something green poking out from between the petals. Plucking the thin plastic guitar pick from the flower, I smile as I read the words in Tyke’s familiar scrawl.

  Cutting him off will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I need to prove to myself that I’m over this addiction. It’s the best thing for both of us. Neither of us are in a good place to begin a relationship.

  Arnold adjusts on the couch and then folds his hands in his lap. This is my seventh session with him, and I still feel like I haven’t made any headway. The journal idea I’m using on Tyke is failing miserably with Arnold. He never brings it to his sessions with me because he says he doesn’t write anything that would be beneficial for me to learn about him.

  Every session, he attempts to drag the conversation back to the notorious prom incident. Wayne and I both agree that Arnold needs a little more than addiction counseling. He also wonders why there’s no mention of a mental health diagnosis in any of Arnold’s medical files because he has obvious psychological issues.

  I sigh and ask the one question I’ve dreaded since Arnold walked into my office for his appointment. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

  “I know you said last time that I couldn’t re-tell my story about prom, but I really feel like talking about the situation helps,” he explains.

  “Arnold, I don’t think rehashing the same story over and over is beneficial. We need to focus on your current issues and try to pinpoint where to begin getting you back on track,” I explain.

  “I know, but...”

  I sit and listen to Arnold babble on for twenty minutes about how we need to discuss his prom incident anyway, inadvertently allowing him to get his way by talking about the incident without directly talking about it.

  Really, it doesn’t matter what he’s talking about because my mind is focused on how my next appointment is going to go. It’s been two weeks since Tyke and I decided to start over. Two weeks where I’ve had to pretend that I don’t miss his touch. Two weeks since thoughts of him have overtaken my brain.

  I’ll admit things have been smoother between us with keeping our distance. It’s actually been a lot easier to let my guard down around him now that he knows my secret, but it’s been difficult to pretend that my body doesn’t crave him.

  A knock on my door jolts my body alive. “Sounds like my next appointment is here, Arnold. We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Frannie,” he replies as he gets up and heads for the door.

  The moment he opens it, Tyke’s face comes into view. I take a moment to admire him as he struts into my office. His T-shirt accentuates the definition in his toned chest while his faded blue jeans hug his ass just right.

  Stop it! I mentally scold myself. Stop thinking of him and his insanely sexy body.

  I square my shoulders and do my best to block out the fact that he’s getting to me. Tyke sits on the couch with his notebook in hand, tapping a beat out with his thumbs as I take my seat across from him.

  “Were you able to think of any new songs?” I ask, just as I’ve done at the start of every one of our sessions.

  He’s been pretty reserved and hasn’t written anything inside it since the session where he accused me of playing games with him.

  He nods. “I did.”

  This surprises me. I didn�
�t expect him to cooperate, but I’m pleased that he’s giving it another shot. “What did you come up with?”

  He sighs. “I’ve been working on a new song. The lyrics aren’t quite ready to share, but I did write down another song title.”

  I catch myself leaning toward him, my chin propped up by my hand. “Will you tell me what it is?”

  A selfish part of me hopes that it’s another song about me. I know it’s wrong to want that, but I like the idea of him still wanting me like I want him.

  “It’s called “Through the Glass” by Stone Sour.”

  I quickly flip through the mental listings I have of songs. That particular one doesn’t resonate. “I don’t think I know that one.”

  Tyke closes his eyes and begins to sing. The lyrics are haunting and move me to my very soul. It’s about a man looking at the person he loves through the glass and how when he gets asked questions, people expect in-depth answers from him.

  That line really hits home. Every time I see him, I ask him how he feels, but he always holds back, never giving me the complex truth I know he’s hiding behind his smile.

  I close my eyes along with him, allowing myself to get lost in the words he’s singing. This song may not be about me, but it sure feels like it. More than anything, I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances—in a time when we both weren’t trying to overcome our demons.

  But rewinding time isn’t possible. There’s nothing left but to trudge forward and see what our current situation holds.

  When he finishes, I open my eyes to find his green eyes focused directly on me. The right thing to do in this situation would be to drive home the point that, no matter how we both feel, we’re still off-limits to one another. But I can’t bring myself to do it. The look in his eyes...it’s the same one I saw that day out by the fountain. The one that made me ache for him, and lose all resolve once I found out he was thinking of me while he was expressing so much hurt. I feel the same desire to say fuck the rules and allow myself to have him right now, but I take a deep breath and will that feeling away.

  “That was beautiful,” I tell him. “Sad, but beautiful.”

  He nods. “Kind of like us together. We’re beautiful, but we both have an aching sadness inside.”

  I smile. “Have you ever thought about becoming a counselor?”

  He laughs. “I guess I do sound like one, huh?”

  “A little,” I tease but then clear my throat, ready to ask questions that I know will be hard for me to hear the answers to. “Do I even want to know what made you choose that song?”

  Tyke shrugs. “I’m sure it’s not hard to guess that part of it is directed at you. The other part is about my brother.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Trip?”

  “Yeah,” he confirms. “I just feel like it’s been forever since he and I really connected. These past few weeks, being here, having a clear head, have allowed me to look back on things I’ve said or done to him and see how big an asshole I’ve been. It’s hard for me to admit that I hurt him pretty bad. Hell, not just my brother, but Noel and Riff, too. I can’t believe I let prescription drugs take me over like that. It makes me never want to touch that shit again.”

  I reach over and pat his knee. “I’m so happy that you’re ready to make big changes in your life. It’s epiphanies like this that will give you the drive to stay on the straight and narrow.”

  He stares at my hand on his knee and then drags his gaze up to my face. “When did you know you were ready to change?”

  I pull away from him as I think about one of the darkest moments in my life. I debate whether I should tell him or not, but figure we’ve already crossed the line of professionalism, so I might as well be open with him.

  “The moment I stared at my own reflection in the mirror and was disgusted at what I saw. I’d just had sex with a married man while his pregnant wife was home tending to their other children. I knew he was married before I slept with him, but in the moment, that didn’t matter—nothing did. All I cared about was getting my fix and forgetting my life just for a while. I wasn’t thinking about how what I was doing could destroy someone else’s family. I was selfish and I hated myself for it, so I decided I was going to change. I swore off sleeping with random men—even threw out my birth control to make myself stay clean.”

  He bites his lip as he processes my story. “I’m sorry I screwed up your sobriety—I truly am—but I can’t say I’m sorry for what happened out in the woods. I know you believe that it was just sex, but I care for you, Frannie. You’re more than some random lay to me.”

  Tears begin to threaten my eyes. “I am?”

  “Yes.” He reaches over and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “Much more. I want to know you.”

  “What do you want to know?” I whisper.

  “Anything. Everything,” he replies quickly. “You fascinate me.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t...how...what if someone finds out?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Let them. There are other jobs out there, Frannie. Don’t let a stupid job keep us from discovering if we could be happy together.”

  “This is a huge risk,” I admit.

  “Isn’t it worth it? Give me a chance to make you happy. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

  My brain drifts to the thought of what a life with Tyke might be like. There’s a fire between us that neither of us can deny, but what happens if that fire goes out? Will we still last then? Will I still be enough? It worries me that if things go south, we might revert to our old ways. But I’ll never know what might happen unless I take a risk and follow through with what my heart truly wants.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  He smiles. “Okay.”

  He leans over and cradles my face in his hands before pressing his lips to mine. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” I whisper against his lips.

  “For giving me a shot at your heart,” he says as he gazes into my eyes.

  It’s then, at that moment, that I know that my heart’s a goner. I’ve never had someone be so sweet to me, not to mention the romantic little note he left on the pick as well as the heartfelt songs he sang about me. A heart can only take so much thoughtfulness and love being thrown at it before it gives in. I’m not going to rush in, though. My heart still needs to be guarded until I know for sure that he’s not going to hurt me.

  “All right, everyone line up for a head count,” Randall orders.

  The clients stand in front of the two vans, waiting for Randall to come through and mark them off on his clipboard. Tyke winks at me the moment Randall passes by him and my cheeks heat up, surely causing a severe blush.

  “It’s a beautiful day for an art show,” Wayne says, causing me to jump.

  I place my hand over my heart. “You startled me. I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  Wayne crosses his hands behind his back in a way that makes his already perfect posture even straighter. “I wasn’t planning on attending, but it seems that every client in the facility wanted to join in on this little expedition, so Timothy and I had to come as extra chaperones.”

  I nod. “Yes, most of them seemed excited when it was announced a couple of weeks ago, so it doesn’t surprise me that none of them wanted to stay behind.”

  There’s a long pause of silence between us as we listen to Randall go over the rules with everyone.

  “There’s no wandering off alone. Everyone must stay paired up.”

  “I’ve had nothing but good reports from the clients, Frannie,” Wayne says, as soon as Randall’s finished.

  “Really? Wow. That’s great news.” Pride fills me, and I’m starting to think that maybe I’m a pretty decent therapist after all. Sometimes it’s hard to know if I’m actually helping someone or not.

  “Mr. Douglas, especially, has been showering you with compliments. He says you’ve been working with him about showing more emotion through music. That’s very clever, reaching out to th
e clients through channels they’ll relate to best. I think you’ll do very well here.”

  I smile. Leave it to my secret lover to butter up my boss and earn me some brownie points. “Thank you. I really feel like I’m starting to get somewhere with Mr. Douglas.”

  My grin widens even further knowing that Tyke appreciates the method of therapy we’ve been using.

  Randall opens the doors to the first van. “Dr. Shepherd and Timothy will be in charge of this bus. I’ll need the following people on this one: Rosa, Elaine, John...”

  “That’s my cue,” Wayne says before throwing, “Keep up the good work, Frannie,” over his shoulder.

  Randall turns to the rest of the group and tells them they are in the other van with him and I. Tyke grins as he heads to the van I’m in, while Josie calls shotgun and races toward the front of the van like a little kid.

  It takes us about an hour to get to the quaint little town where the art show is being hosted. I’ve been to several art galas with my parents, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited than to go to this particular one, and it has nothing to do with the artists. For the first time since I’ve met Tyke, we’re away from Serenity Hills. It’ll be nice to pretend, if only for a little while, what it might be like if we could be in public together.

  Although walking through the halls of the art gallery as a huge group kills the illusion that we’re alone, Tyke stays next to me throughout the entire tour.

  Standing next to him is the hardest thing in the world. All I want to do is reach out ever so slightly and touch him to let him know that he’s on my mind, but I can’t. Not here. Not now.

  Tyke tilts his head, studying the painting before him intently, scrutinizing what it could be conveying. The other clients stand in front of us, blocking us from the direct sight of Wayne, who is lecturing the clients on what he thinks the painting of two little children could mean.

  The group moves on to the next exhibit, and it’s of a photo of a couple lost in the throes of passion. My pulse increases and my chest heaves as it evokes the memory of Tyke and I together.