by Fiona Cole
It was easy.
So easy that hours passed before I knew it.
The scrape of my paintbrush against the canvas matched the strum of Parker’s guitar. And when he started humming, I closed my eyes and absorbed the music we made together in my quiet room.
The strumming turned to quick plucks, and pitch changes. Unable to help myself, I put lyrics to the tune. Not that he needed to know. I kept that portion of the song in my head. I just couldn’t help but let the upbeat staccato tune that bled into long mourning chords pull the words from my head. Like he’d plucked them himself the same as he plucked the strings.
When he stopped, I opened my eyes to take in the canvas and what our music created—the way the bold blue in the corner bled into the pale, neutral pink. Kind of just like how Parker bled into my life a little more each day. I turned to watch him jot notes down on the notebook beside him on my bed. He propped himself upright against the pillows, one leg bent, and the other stretched out, his bare feet their own work of art.
Dragging his hand through his wavy hair, I watched the music note tattoo on the inside of his bicep dance with each flex. He had a small handful of tattoos apparently his mom signed off on. They were small, hidden like a treasure hunt I loved to play.
“Let me see,” he said, interrupting my perusal.
I blinked and met his smirking face. Even when he didn’t smile, his face looked like he was smiling. The happiness shining from his blue eyes like he had the world at his fingertips, and he knew it.
“Oh, I don’t think it’s done,” I said, turning back to the canvas, assessing it.
I tipped my head back and forth, squinting my eyes to try and see it from another angle. His bare feet padded across the floor, closing in, and I held my breath. This was my favorite part of our time together.
His hand rested on my shoulder, sending a blazing path down my chest like I’d never experienced before, and his warmth surrounded me when he leaned over, resting his other hand on my table. With his face next to mine, the painting faded away. All I saw was Parker’s profile staring at my art, only a small distance from mine.
He tipped his head too, and the seconds ticked by. Part of me never wanted him to move, while another part needed him to before I passed out from holding my breath.
Finally, slowly, his cheek ticked up, and he stood. “Damn, Nova. This is good.”
The air whooshed from my lungs, and I swear I almost collapsed off my stool.
“One more thing though,” he added.
As if in slow motion, his hand reached across my body for the paintbrush I still clutched in my grip. Without removing it from my hand, but instead wrapping his fingers around mine, he dabbed the brush in white and placed the tiniest dot inside one of the blue circles. Usually, if anyone tried to touch my art, I’d cut their arm off. But just like relaxing in the room together, this was also our norm. He’d asked the first few times he’d added his special touch, and I’d been useless to say no. But now, he did it at his leisure, and I let him.
When he let go of my hand, I wanted to chase his and beg him to never stop touching me, but he stood, and I managed to control myself.
“There,” he said, standing tall, nodding at the painting with crossed arms. “Now, it’s our art.”
And that was why I let him do it. Because when we were in my room, it was our art. Even if he only added a speck of paint that anyone could barely see, the reality was, he filled every stroke, line, and dot I created with his music as my backdrop.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “Perfect.”
He turned, and like always, his smile brought mine out to play. As if in slow motion, the shift from friends to something else started. His smile faded, and his eyes dropped to my mouth. Unbidden by me, my tongue peeked out to slide across my parched lips.
Maybe it was good that Parker wasn’t home as often because this band around my chest squeezed tighter and tighter with each passing second, and I was scared of what would break free when it snapped.
I’d had crushes—this wasn’t new. I’d kissed boys and even let them put their hands on me, but I’d never had this. I’d never had the all-consuming urge to go, go, go until we were one. I’d never had the urge to crawl inside someone and never come out.
Until him. It kind of scared the shit out of me at the same time as exciting me. It made me want to give in and pull back. Especially when I had the daily reminder of him being my stepbrother from everyone in the world weighing on me. It was one thing to crave a boy—it was another when that boy stood across a forbidden line with a million consequences on the other side.
I broke the stare and cleared the need crawling up my throat. “What time are you meeting Ash?”
He tugged his phone from his back pocket and checked the time. “I should probably head down there now.”
“Cool. I’m probably going to hop in the shower to get all this paint off.”
“Yeah, you might want to start with your face,” he said, poking my cheek.
I tried to dodge his finger and rolled my eyes. “Damnit. I thought I did good not touching my face.”
“Maybe one day you’ll get through a project without being covered in it.” I raised a doubtful brow, and his smile broke out. “Yeah, probably not. You should just go ahead and own it. Maybe get shirts made. I’m an artist. Ignore the paint in my hair and the charcoal on my…everything.”
“You’re sooo funny.”
“I know I am.” He backed away with a bow and collected his stuff from the bed. “I’ll see you later?”
“I’m always here.”
“You know you could come, right?” he offered.
“Yeah, but I’m good hanging out here.”
I did, but I never took him up on it.
He’d won me over at school, slowly pulling me over to sit with him at lunch, but my introvertedness kicked in each time he invited me to go with him to see the guys. They were great, but maybe subconsciously, I was trying to keep some distance between us. Maybe subconsciously, I was trying to protect myself from others noticing what Parker did to me. I could only imagine what everyone would say—all the rumors.
Incest. Illegal. What do your parents say?
Nothing because despite everyone calling him my brother, Parker Callahan wasn’t my brother.
He also wasn’t mine, and it was good to remember that to help control my growing fantasies. Fantasies that came to a screeching halt when girls tagged along with the guys. As much as I wanted to control this desire, I didn’t need to stab it with a knife, creating painful jabs from watching some girl hang all over him. Last week, I saw him kiss a girl in school and immediately wanted to bleach my eyes and scrape the memory from my brain and heart.
Yeah, I was good with not hanging out with them.
“Thanks for the offer, though.”
With a nod, he left, and I gathered my things to shower just as the front door closed, marking Parker’s exit.
Silence. The apartment didn’t make a noise beyond the quiet hum of the heater kicking on. I didn’t mind because, like a total cliché, I loved to sing in the shower.
Rubbing the loofa across my chest, I was about a minute and a half into belting out the best part of my favorite Adele song when the door banged against the cabinet drawers I always kept open for just this purpose of alerting me if a serial killer was breaking in to kill me. My vocal cords seized up, choking off all sound.
My heart thudded faster and faster. Adrenaline flooded every ounce of my body. In those point two seconds, my mind whirled with possibilities, and I slapped a hand to my chest as if to hold my heart inside and scanned the shower for a weapon. Why didn’t I put a weapon in the shower?
“You can fucking sing,” Parker crowed from beyond the curtain.
Just Parker. Not a serial killer. Not someone I would have to throw shampoo bottles at and try to shave to death as I stood there naked and wet.
My legs almost gave out when the adrenaline ebbed.
Only t
o come roaring back because Parker fucking Callahan was just on the other side of the shower as I stood there naked.
“What the fuck, Parker,” I screeched.
“You can fucking sing,” he repeated, this time the words slowly processing.
Except, it didn’t change my response because Parker was still there while I was still naked. “What the fuck are you doing in here, Parker?”
“I came back in and heard you singing and kind of just acted.”
“What if I had been naked and not in the shower?”
“I have my eyes closed,” he explained like that made everything all right.
“Jesus Christ,” I screeched again. It was about the only pitch I could make with that kind of shock zinging through my body. “How would you feel if I barged in on you in the shower?”
“Uhhh…” he dragged out. “Not sad.”
Wait. What?
“What?”
For an answer, I got a cleared throat and change of subject. “Nova, your voice is amazing. I had no fucking clue, and it’s so fucking good.”
“Parker!” I shouted.
I stood there with my arm across my chest and the other blocking the apex of my thighs just in case the shower curtain collapsed or something, and he wanted to talk about my voice. I couldn’t even fathom dwelling on the comment he made about not being sad if I barged in on him.
“Fine, fine,” he said, exasperated. “But we’re not done with this. I’ll be outside, and we can talk then.”
“What about Ash?”
“He’s on his way up. I was halfway down the stairs when he said his parents were home, and we decided to meet here.”
Keeping my arm across my chest, I abandoned my groin and held the curtain back just enough to peer out and narrow my eyes at him. Hearing the rustle of the rings against metal, he cracked one eye open, and I gave him my most deadly glare. “We will not talk about this with him around.”
As if I yanked the curtain back to bare my whole body, he stared, taking in every minuscule inch bared of my shoulder and face. Heat burned where his eyes touched, but I couldn’t tell if it was from his look or embarrassment.
“Parker,” I snapped.
His eyes shot to mine before slamming closed again. With his hands up, he backed away. “Fine. But we will talk about it.” Before the door closed behind him, with his lids still squeezed shut, he brought two fingers to his eyes and then pointed at me. He looked so ridiculous that even though images from my possible death by serial killer in the shower still played, I laughed.
Not making another peep, I quickly finished up my shower and took the time to blow-dry my hair and put on makeup. My plan was to take so much time in the bathroom that they forgot about me, and then I’d dash to my room and lock the door.
I held my breath and turned the knob, pulling it open just enough to slip past and tiptoe down the hall. I was halfway there when they beckoned.
“Nova,” Parker called. “Come hang out.”
“Yeah, Nova.”
“Come on, Nova.”
Accepting defeat, I pivoted on my heel and tried to hide the fear that Parker would blurt out that I could sing and then I’d get harassed forever and ever. As soon as I rounded the corner, I met his smile with a glare.
“Damn, Nova. Looking good,” Ash complimented, looking me up and down. His dark perusal wasn’t completely hated.
I’d grown comfortable with the guys—at least a little bit as I stuck to the periphery of their group, but they did their best to pull me in. Oren did it with playful jabs and jokes. He acted the most brotherly to me. Ash won me over with flirtatious comments I put down to his own version of joking. Because even considering Ash wanted to seriously flirt with me was a joke.
I stepped into the semi-circle of chairs and couches, and Ash patted the minuscule amount of cushion next to him. “Come sit with me.”
“I’m small, but not that small,” I laughed.
“Then my lap it is,” he said, now patting his thigh.
Oren snorted, and I think Parker may have growled. Before I could dwell more than a second on why he’d growl, his hand slid around mine, tugging me to the space beside him and nowhere near Ash. Not that Ash seemed to care. He met Parker’s glare with a devious smirk.
“All right, ladies,” Oren interrupted. “Are we going to work or just stare longingly into each other’s eyes? I mean, I get it, Parker has those baby blues you could get lost in, and Ash yours are dark like the pits of hell, so anyone could take a wrong turn there, but I thought we were in a band, writing songs and not a circle jerk.”
“Tell them how you really feel, Oren,” I laughed.
“What?” He shrugged. “They have pretty eyes, but we also need to stay focused. We got that gig coming up.”
“You mean the basement party?” Ash deadpanned.
“Hey, dude. A gig is a gig. We’ll get more.”
“Okay, okay,” Parker said, grabbing his guitar. “I was working on this earlier.”
He strummed the tune, and Ash picked up his bass to find a rhythm with him as Oren tapped out a beat. I leaned back into the corner of the couch, observing them work—enraptured by how they fed off each other. They joked and ribbed, but all in good fun. It was like I didn’t exist in their realm, and I was completely okay with that. I just wanted to be close enough to watch the magic.
They got through the second verse and struggled over the ascending climax. I closed my eyes, listening to the beat, bobbing my head, quietly humming along.
“Uggh,” Parker growled. “It’s not right.”
“What if…” I spoke up before I could think better of it. I wanted to choke the words back as soon as they escaped, and I could only hope they hadn’t heard my quiet voice. No such luck, because a second later, all eyes were on me. I swallowed my nerves and forced myself to step out of the shadows. “What if you played something like this, Parker?” I hummed a quick tune with a slower beat. “And then you did a little lower like this, Ash?” This time, I hummed a quick pace similar to Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers. “And, Oren, your beat could match the bass. Maybe heavy cymbals?”
I stopped talking, but no one followed up. They all stared, blinking, and I worried that I had a booger hanging out of my nose. Or maybe a giant penis randomly sprouted on my forehead. That’s the only thing that made sense for why they kept staring in silence.
“Damn, Nova,” Oren said first. “That’s some shit. I didn’t even think of it. Let’s give it a try, ladies.”
Parker looked away last, his eyes hinting at a smile I knew laid just below the surface. They played what I suggested, messed up, and tried it again. By the third time, they nailed it, giving each other high fives with cheers of delight.
Oren wrapped his arm around my shoulder and jerked me into his chest. “Magic, guys. She’s fucking magic.”
Tucking my chin to my chest, I basked in their cheers, my face almost splitting in two from smiling so hard.
“What else do you have tucked up your magic sleeves?” Ash asked.
“Well,” Parker started, and I jerked a wide-eyed glare to him. With a shrug that was anything but apologetic, he announced, “She can sing. Like really, really fucking sing.”
“What?” Ash screeched.
“Hell, yes!” Oren said, clapping.
“Fuck you, Parker,” I grumbled under my breath.
“What? Don’t hate me. It’s awesome.”
“Sing for us,” Oren demanded.
“Um, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on,” Parker cajoled, shoving his shoulder against mine. “Don’t think I don’t know you have at least some lyrics for this song. I saw your lips moving when I was playing earlier.”
My jaw dropped. Holy shit. How had he seen that? I hadn’t even known he’d been watching. I’d been sure he was too engrossed in his music to notice I was even there. Had he noticed me watching him? Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and I considered the chances of making it to my bedroom before the
y stopped me.
Probably not good.
“I don’t sing in front of people.”
“But we’re not people,” Ash cajoled, giving me the most devious puppy dog eyes, his full bottom lip sticking out. I bet he got a lot of girls with that look, especially with that dark hair that matched his dark eyes. I knew for sure in school they tripped over themselves for a taste of him. He looked like sin, and I wasn’t even sure I could fathom what sin tasted like at sixteen, but he made all the girls want to find out.
“Yeah, we’re like family,” Oren added.
“Well, Parker actually is family,” Ash said, laughing. He laughed even harder when Parker screwed up his face in disgust.
“Come on, Nova. It’s just us,” Oren begged. “Pleeeease. Pretty, pretty please.”
The guys started chanting my name, and I buried my head in my hands, groaning and laughing. I tried to picture singing and what it would feel like to do it in front of them, and just the thought had my hands trembling.
But the cheers …
“Ugh. Fine,” I finally caved. I knew it’d been inevitable as soon as I’d opened my mouth about the song. I snatched the paper from the table and jotted down the lyrics that had floated through my head earlier.
With a shit-eating grin on his face, Parker opened the song, and the guys joined.
And like I was supposed to be there all along, I hopped in with the lyrics, joining the band.
Six
Parker
P a s t
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Come on, Nova,” I pleaded.
“Why?” she asked from where she lounged on her bed, messy bun in place. “It’s not like you’re playing or anything? It’s just a party.”
“Because it’s a Saturday night, and I want you to come hang out.”
She looked up over the edge of her book and cocked a brow. “What? To be your wingman?” She rolled her eyes and went back to the pages I knew damn well she wasn’t reading. “I really don’t feel like being left behind while you screw off with Kelly.”
