Release: A Ransom Novel

by Rachel Schurig

  “The ocean?”

  “How huge it is. When I think about stuff like that—about how, you know, vast it is—”

  “It makes you feel small,” she finishes for me, and I nod.

  “Exactly. But it’s a good kind of small, at the same time. Like, it reminds me how little control I have, or something. And I should just let go and let stuff happen. At our house in Ohio—our old house—you can get out to the roof from my bedroom window.” I think my voice catches when I say “our old house,” but if Paige notices she doesn’t mention it. “I used to spend hours out there, looking at the stars. It made me feel better about stuff—the stuff I can’t control, you know?”

  She stops walking suddenly, plopping down in the sand. “Can we sit for a minute?”

  Wordlessly I join her, and she pulls her knees up to her chest. She’s sitting close enough to touch and I have to concentrate on not noticing it, the image of her in the pool still fresh in my mind. I watch the ocean waves, instead, as they crash on the sand in front of us. That last bend in the tree line seems to have brought us to a little secluded inlet. I can’t hear the rest of the group at all, and the only light getting through the thick tangle of trees around us comes from the moon above. I can’t imagine a more private spot.

  “Sienna was cheating on me.”

  She turns to gape at me. “She what?”

  “Well, at least that’s what she told me. She might have been lying, trying to get a rise out of me for leaving. She does stuff like that.”

  “God, that’s terrible.”

  I shrug. “The really terrible thing is that I don’t even care, not really. I dated her for a year and it doesn’t even really bother me. How messed up is that?”

  “Maybe you’re just in shock.”

  I laugh bitterly. “I doubt it. We... we were never...” I sigh in frustration, not knowing how to express what I’m thinking. “You ever see how Daisy and Daltrey look at each other?”

  She snorts. “Yeah. It kind of makes me sick. Except it’s so awesome and I’m completely jealous.”

  “Yeah, exactly. Sienna and I never looked at each other like that. Not even in the beginning. So what was the point?”

  “Maybe it’s for the best, then,” she says softly. “If you didn’t care about each other that much, maybe this gives you the chance to find someone... better for you.”

  “Maybe.” We’re both quiet for a long time. “Regardless, that’s why I was thinking about the roof of the old house. More stuff I need to let go, you know?”

  “That’s something I have to practice too,” Paige says. “Letting go of the stuff I can’t control, I mean.”

  I laugh and even I can hear that the sound is a little bitter. “I completely understand.”

  I think about being a kid, sitting out on the roof of our old house, staring at the stars and trying to let go of the things I couldn’t control. There was a lot of that growing up—the oldest of four crazy boys. I wonder if Daisy ever told Paige about our childhood, how Mom left us suddenly, abandoned her own children without warning. How Dad had shouldered the responsibility of raising us alone, moving to be closer to his family for support, giving up on his own dreams of being a musician. I don’t know if Daltrey talks about Mom to Daisy very much but it was different for me—I was so much older.

  “You take a lot of responsibility for your brothers,” Paige says softly as if reading my mind. “And for the band.”

  I don’t respond for a long time. I find myself staring at her profile, trying to read the look in her eyes. Is she feeling sorry for me? I usually abhor any kind of pity, but Paige doesn’t feel like the type to pity someone—she seems like she’d be empathetic, though. She just has that way about her—like she’s someone you’d want to tell your biggest secrets to.

  “You know what image stands out the most for me on the last tour?” she asks. Before I can speculate, she goes on. “You, just sitting on the couch on the tour bus. You had your head in your hands, while the entire tour went to hell.” I know, immediately, what she’s referring to. It was right after a show in New York and Daltrey had just been arrested for his altercation with Daisy’s ex-boyfriend. “Everything was in an uproar,” she says. “The label executives constantly calling, the media hounding us, Lennon and Cash bickering, your dad so pissed he could barely speak. And in the middle of all of that, there you were, sitting alone on the bus.”

  The call came in that an attorney from the label was heading over to meet Daltrey at the police station. Lennon and Dad had immediately started arguing—Lennon thought Dad should be there, too, but he had flat-out refused. “I remember there being a lot of shouting about Daltrey dealing with his own mistakes,” she says. “That he was getting what he deserved. But then you just stood up and walked straight to the door, not saying a word to anyone.”

  “I had to go,” I say, shrugging. “He didn’t need to be abandoned, on top of everything else.”

  “You turned to look at your dad—that’s the thing I remember about you so clearly—the look in your eyes. Determination. A little defiance, too. And something else—something cold and unshakable. You were going to help your brother and there wasn’t a person on that bus, even your father, who dared to try and stop you.”

  It’s strange, hearing her describe it that way. Strange to think of her noticing me enough to have gotten all of that. “I take care of them,” I say, feeling a little uncomfortable with the topic. “It’s always been that way, since my mom left. I’m the oldest. Who else is going to do it?”

  “Who took care of you?” She blurts out the words as if she hadn’t thought them through before slapping a hand over her mouth, clearly regretting them.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I guess... I guess the music took care of me.” I shoot her a rueful grin. “I do know exactly how cheesy that sounds. But I think... I think music was what I turned to when I was lonely... or scared... or worried. And it made that stuff go away.”

  “You’re lucky to have something like that,” she says softly. “It was really hard for me, trying to find a way to keep my head clear.” She shoots me a look that’s hard to read, almost like she’s sizing me up. “I have ADHD,” she finally says. “It’s not a huge deal, but it makes it hard for me to relax, sometimes. Like... my brain gets a little scattered. I can’t concentrate or sit still. Sometimes, I do really stupid shit just because I feel so wired.”

  “I never would have guessed that,” I tell her honestly. “You seem like you have it all together.”

  She laughs. “You haven’t spent enough time with me.” I’m struck with a sudden urge to rectify that. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as easy to talk to as Paige. “Karen helps me a lot,” she continues. “She makes schedules for me so that things feel more ordered. Or lists of stuff to keep busy.” She grins briefly at me. “I’m really big on lists.” She’s quiet for a moment. “My parents have never really understood it, you know? Not like Karen has.”

  “Are you close? With your parents, I mean.”

  She shrugs. “They split up when I was younger. They both got remarried. My dad still lives in Tennessee but he’s pretty busy with his new family. My mom and her husband moved out of state when I graduated high school.”

  Her voice definitely sounds a lot sadder now, and I wish I had never brought it up. But then she brightens a bit. “I have a little sister, though. We’re really close. She lives with my dad so I get to see her a lot, even when I’m at school.”

  “And you have Karen,” I offer, wanting to keep that brightness in her voice.

  “Karen is the best. I spend a lot of holidays with her family, actually. Her place is more like home than my dad’s new house.”

  “I’m glad she helped you figure out how to deal with your focus.”

  She winks. “Me too, even if I do drive her crazy.” She pauses. “Music helps a lot, actually. It’s weird, because music—especially live music—gets me all amped up. But it also makes me feel less�
��manic, I guess.” She glances at me, like maybe she’s revealed too much, like she thinks I’ll be weirded out, now.

  “I think that’s really cool. That music has such an effect on you.” I nudge my knee with hers. “Makes me feel kind of kick-ass, actually. Like, I wield the power to keep you grounded.”

  She laughs. “You’re kind of a superhero.”

  “I always had trouble sitting still,” I tell her. “I’m sure it’s not the same as what you went through, but man, school is a nightmare when you have trouble focusing.”

  “Tell me about it. I actually got held back in first grade.” She giggles. “No one knew what was wrong with me. The teachers couldn’t figure out why they kept finding me twirling around in the coat closet when I was supposed to be doing math.”

  Held back, I think to myself. So that would make her... twenty-one? Twenty-two? I don’t know why I find comfort in that thought. There’s not much difference between twenty and twenty-one but, somehow, knowing she’s older than Daisy makes me feel like less of pervert for checking out her ass earlier.

  “You must have gotten the school thing figured out eventually,” I say, more to stop myself from thinking about her ass than anything else. “I saw your transcripts when we were setting up the work-study. That’s a hell of a GPA.”

  “Thanks,” she says easily. “Yeah. I’m actually, like, super smart. I just had to figure out how to focus.” I’m glad she can’t see me grinning in the dark—it’s really adorable, how she declares her intelligence without any reservation. “A lot of times people think I’m not smart,” she goes on, and there’s a more defensive note in her voice now. “They write me off as silly or ditzy because I like to have fun.”

  “You can have fun and be smart at the same time.” I snort. “Of course, I don’t do much of either.”

  “Be quiet, of course you’re smart. Plus, you’re going to have tons of fun on this tour.” When I shoot her a skeptical look, she widens her eyes. “I mean it. Don’t you know who you’re dealing with? It’s impossible not to have fun when I’m around. Ask anyone.”

  I can’t help laughing. She seems to be both joking and totally serious at the same time. “What kind of things will we do that are fun?”

  “Like, we’ll have amazing Halo tournaments—Levi taught me to play Halo last year, I’m totally awesome at it.” She brushes her black hair from her face and I have to force myself not to reach out and touch one of her curls. “We can go to karaoke bars. And play poker. I know tons of card games, actually. Poker and War and Euchere. Ooh, and stop at all those cool road-side attractions you find on the highway.”

  I find myself caught up in her enthusiasm, which is ridiculous really. I’ll probably be working way too much to do any of the things she’s mentioning. “Like what?”

  “You know, like, the World’s Biggest Ball of Twine. Stuff like that.”

  “That’s supposed to be fun?”

  “Uh, duh. We make it fun.”

  “I’m having trouble picturing my brothers enjoying something like that.”

  “We could participate in stealth,” she says. “You know, pretend we’re doing something else and then surprise them with the World’s Biggest Ball of Twine.” She giggles. “Like, we could tell Cash that we’re going to a strip club and then, like, take him to the Midwest’s Largest Teapot Museum.”

  Maybe it’s the beer or the infectiousness of her giggle, but suddenly I’m laughing harder than I have in months. “Can you picture his face?” I gasp, doubled over with laughter. Paige is laughing, too, and then she snorts, which makes me laugh even more.

  “Stop,” she cries, rubbing her stomach. “You’re going to make me puke.”

  “I’m sorry.” I shake my head, wiping at my eyes. But then I glance at her and we’re both howling again.

  “I don’t know why this is so funny,” she says.

  “Me, neither.” I go to bump her shoulder with mine and accidentally brush my arm against hers. The moment we make contact little shivers run down my skin. Suddenly, I’m not laughing anymore and neither is she. I’m sitting close enough to her that I can clearly see every detail of her face, even in the dark. Her pale skin is almost translucent, filling me with the strongest urge to be gentle with her. Her blue eyes are wide, outlined with thick, dark lashes. An errant tear, the product of her laughter, clings to her lashes. I reach out with my thumb and brush it away and I can hear her little gasp. My eyes are drawn to her parted lips, the red lipstick she normally wears long since faded.

  And then I’m kissing her. Or she’s kissing me, I can’t really tell. All I know is that one minute I’m looking at her lips and the next they’re pressed firmly against mine, her mouth slightly parted. I run my tongue along her lower lip and she moans, the sound instantly making me crazy with need. I press her back into the sand, lowering myself over her. This is so fast, I think, my brain spinning, but it feels physically impossible to stop. Her lips are amazing, the little noises she makes driving me crazy. I want to kiss her everywhere, feel her everywhere.

  “Reed,” she half-whimpers against my lips. Something in the needy, helpless sound of her voice has me once again feeling that urge to take care of her, to be gentle with her.

  Which, unfortunately, doesn’t really mean having sex on the beach where anywhere could see us.

  I pull away and the disappointed look in her eyes makes my chest clench. “Come on,” I say, pulling her up.

  “Come on where?”

  “To my room.” Her eyes widen but she doesn’t protest. “It was supposed to be your room anyhow, right?”

  “I have been wondering what the bed felt like,” she murmurs, licking her lips. I don’t know if I should laugh or groan with lust—but I do know I want to get her into that bed just as quickly as possible.

  I hold out my hand and she immediately takes it, like she doesn’t have to think about it all. That’s what this feels like—not thinking. Not worrying over every little decision, wondering who might need me, wondering if my brothers, or the crew, are having a good time. When Paige places her hand in mine and we start running down the beach, both too eager to walk, all of the normal responsibilities and concerns fade away.

  Maybe that should scare me, that she has that kind of power over me after just a few days, but I can’t make myself care. Not thinking feels amazing, and I plan to follow that feeling as long as she’ll let me.

  Chapter Seven

  Paige

  I stand in the kitchen, hands braced against the counter, while I try to convince myself to walk the few feet to Reed’s room. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself not to do it.

  I know that this is a bad idea, know I should be running in the other direction. Whatever he says about not missing Sienna, he’s hurting right now. He told me flat out that he wanted to get his mind off things—I’m clearly a means to that end. And while I don’t have a problem with using a hook-up for distraction—God knows, I’ve had my share of those—I know with Reed it won’t be so easy to brush off when it’s over.

  How will you feel tomorrow? I ask myself. When everything feels awkward and strained. What if he doesn’t meet your eyes? What if he feels guilty? What will Daisy say?

  My logic is sound, I know. There’s nothing here for me but hurt and embarrassment. And yet... what will I feel tomorrow if I don’t go through with it? If I walk away right now, and go back to my own room. What will I feel like, never knowing what it feels like to be with him? Never knowing what his body looks like, what it feels like to kiss him, to lose myself in him, to sleep next to him.

  Somehow, that future scares me even more than the embarrassment and hurt that I’m sure will follow if I go back out to his bed.

  “Paige?”

  I release the corner and spin in the direction of his voice. He’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his shirt off, a bottle of wine in his hand. The only light in the room comes from the lamp over the stove and it casts dark shadows over his face. For a moment I’m afraid,
completely unsure of what to do next. But then he takes another step closer, the light now falling fully over his face. I stifle a sharp intake of breath—he’s so gorgeous. The angles of his face are sharp, his brown eyes so dark they take my breath away. His bare chest is a masterpiece of long, firm, tanned muscle. I’ve seen him in a swimsuit, not to mention the fact that the boys have a propensity for walking around the bus shirtless. But I’ve never seen him like this before, in the soft light of a single lamp, knowing what those lips feel like on mine. Knowing what’s about to happen.

  I push off from the counter and cross the room, hardly aware of what I’m doing. My hands are reaching for him before I’ve even arrived at his side, my lips finding his the moment our bodies come together. With one hand still clutching the wine bottle, he pulls me into his chest, cradling my head as he backs into his room, never breaking contact with my mouth.

  Kissing Reed isn’t like kissing anyone else. There’s a power behind his kiss that both scares and excites me. Like I can’t get enough and there’s a part of me that is terrified by what that means for me. But then he’s swinging the bedroom door shut behind us and I push the worry from my mind.

  I want this. I want it so badly. And there’s no way I’m going to ruin it by worrying.

  Reed’s mouth dips from my lips down to my neck and I have to clutch his shoulders to keep my knees from giving way at the sensation. He stumbles a little under the weight I’m exerting and pulls back, chuckling.

  “I should probably set this down,” he murmurs, gesturing with the wine.

  “Yeah.” My voice is breathless and husky and I wince a little at the sound. If he didn’t know I was desperate for him, he’ll be able to figure it out now.

  “Do you want some?” he asks, pausing in the act of setting the bottle on the dresser. I nod, suddenly needing a breather. I’m feeling that familiar buzzing in my head, the scattered, unfocused feeling that I always try to avoid, at all cost. When he hands me the bottle I grab it and head to the open balcony doors. I see a surprised look on his face from the corner of my eye, but I can’t stop to explain—I need to get out of this room, away from his lips and his hands and his gorgeous and intimidating body.