I guess I underestimated her willingness and her ability to make trouble.
Stupid thing to do, when it comes to a girl who thrives on stirring the pot.
She keeps singing, but I move away to follow Frannie. Rowan grabs my arm to keep me beside her, but I shake it off. There are too many people between Frannie and me, though, and I lose sight of her. No, there she is. She's going into the women's bathroom. To hide from me, I guess.
I won't ambush her when she comes out. Not a good idea to try to talk to her here. She's already overwhelmed. I'll wait an hour or so, let her calm down, then I'll call. If she doesn't answer her phone, then I'll text. But I must contact her, somehow, tonight. I'll never forget the expression she had on her face when Rowan came onto the scene. She looked absolutely crushed.
I can't imagine why Rowan would do such a thing unless she just can't stand that I'm interested in someone else. Maybe her ego just can't handle the idea of me being interested in a girl who is her polar opposite. Regardless, I'm devastated for Frannie. It's horrible for someone like her to be publicly humiliated in such an ugly way. Rowan called her mousy. That's probably another word Frannie hates, up there with shy, except anyone who would think of her as mousy would have to be blind and have no more sensitivity than a rock. She's luminous, lovely, almost otherworldly. I've never known anyone like her. She's already a musical powerhouse inside, and with love and encouragement in the right ways, she could let it out, let it fly, and light up the world.
But now, she's gone.
The song ends and now it's someone else's turn. Doesn't matter. I wish I'd never suggested this. I guess it was too soon. I got swept up in the glow of how Frannie was warming to my encouragement. But singing for a friend and singing for an audience are two very different things. It's hard for me to relate to, personally, since I'm nowhere near shy. I know something about shyness from my sister Hetty's struggles. I think she and Frannie would get along very well.
But they won't ever meet unless I can patch things up with Frannie. That's number one priority for me tonight. After I give her a chance to cool her jets.
I sit down at a corner table in the Old Grind, only to groan when I see Rowan headed my way. She smiles at me in what I'm sure she thinks is a sexy way and sits down next to me. After what she did to Frannie, there's no way I'd ever find anything about Rowan sexy ever again.
“That was a disgusting thing you did,” I tell her.
“She was making an idiot out of herself. I did the right thing and put her out of her misery. She doesn't need to be singing for an audience. She's not the type.”
“It's not up to you to determine anybody else's choices.”
“It's a merciful end to a hopeless situation,” she says, utterly merciless.
“Why are you doing this, anyway? It's just crazy.” Then I remember who I'm talking to. Rowan, while mega-talented, doesn't exactly have a reputation for sanity and groundedness. “But I also know you're better than this,” I tell her, hoping it's so. “You're a very talented person with a lot going for you, and you don't have to act like you did tonight. It's cruel and it's hateful.”
She leans closer to me. “You know I didn't want us to split. We were so good together, you know? Sex. Music. All of it. We were unbeatable. Unstoppable. We could have been huge. A music legend. But you let it go.”
“You did a lot to make me want to let it go,” I say, remembering the screaming fights, the histrionics, the drama and trauma and how she couldn't be relied on for the simplest thing. And yes, I recall, too, her wild talent. She's amazing, yes. But no more amazing than Frannie, and a lot more high maintenance. And the longer we stayed together and tried to make it all work, the more it fell apart. The more she fell apart.
“I got with Raw Reefer to make you jealous,” she says. “But they're not a very good band, and they're starting to bore me. I always figured you'd come back to me. We're too good together for you not to come back.”
She's right, we were good together, musically and sexually. But her instability threw everything to the winds. If she'd been grounded, solid, things might have been magnificent.
If she'd been more like Frannie.
“And then you hook up with this little mousy, shy nothing,” she says viciously. “I could pour salt on her and eat her anytime I wanted, whether as a musician or a woman.”
I seriously doubt that, but I don't say it out loud. It would only rile her further, and I don't want to sit here for another hour listening to Rowan's delusions. I want to find Frannie. Talk to her. Make things okay again. Make her believe in me again and, most importantly, make her believe in herself.
“Rowan, I've got to go.” Before she can offer another protest or say anything else at all, I'm up, away from the table, and heading out the door. I'll go to my apartment and wait a little while, then try to call Frannie and hook up with her at a more private place to talk things out.
No, scratch that. After I give her a little more time to cool down, I'll go to her dorm to see if she'd like to go somewhere quiet with me. Hopefully, she'll say yes and we can straighten things out.
Chapter Twelve (Frannie)
My cell phone goes off. It's got to be Granville. Question is, do I want to talk to him?
Lying on my bed, I grab my phone from my desk and check the display. My eyes widen in surprise.
It's Jake.
My heart beats double-time. “Hello?”
“Wildflower.”
What a joy to hear his deep voice again! It touches me like a warm, sweet breeze following an arctic blast. “Oh, Jake.” My voice trails off in a sob.
“I've missed you, Wildflower.” His voice enfolds me in warmth, comfort, and solidity. Always Jake, always him. He's been there for me for so many years, and despite everything, he still is. “What's the matter, babe?”
He called me babe. Sobs burst from me. “It's been an awful night. Please. Come and get me. I need to be with you.”
“Right away,” he says without even asking what's wrong. He doesn't need to. He'll find out when we talk.
I lay on my bed, sobbing into my pillow, partly in anger and humiliation over what happened tonight, and partly in relief that Jake is coming. He'll soon be here and I'll soon be in his arms. It's all going to be okay. I might be a loser in most people's eyes and even in my own eyes, but never in Jake's.
Ever.
He doesn't live far away. He, Ty, and Kelsey share an apartment in downtown Knoxville, not far from campus. There's nothing in the world I want more than to feel Jake's arms around me, feel his cheek nuzzling mine, and maybe feel his lips on mine.
Oh, I need him so badly.
He probably had a gig tonight, but it's late enough for it to be over and done with. As far as I'm concerned, he can take me to his apartment and never bring me back. I'm worn out, heartbroken, and I need to be with someone who makes me feel like a worthwhile human being again. Granville did for a while, to be sure, and he was becoming a good friend and maybe more than that, but now, when I think of him, all I can see is the Girl in Black, ultra-talented, ultra-sexy, and ultra-disdainful of me. How can he possibly be interested in me when he has a girl like that in his life?
He'll probably call, though. He's been too good to me to just walk away after what happened. I won't answer his call while I'm with Jake, though. I could use some space from Granville for a while, though I'm certainly still open to being his friend. He's been kind to me, and he's a wonderful guy. It's not his fault that the Girl in Black pulled what she did, though I'm sure it showed him how hopeless I am.
It isn't long until my phone plays Beethoven, announcing a text. Jake is here to pick me up. I go out the side door, and there's the Hickory Hollow Mobile, parked in front of my dorm building. I climb in and scoot straight across the bench seat into the circle of his arms. He holds me close, rubbing my back gently. I can't help it. I cry. Loudly. I can't hold back. His caring touch opens my floodgates, my frustration at failing so badly tonight and at being shown
up by a girl who, though spiteful and cruel, has more singing talent in her little finger than I could if you cloned me a million times. I'll never amount to anything more than sad, sorry little Frannie who's never noticed, never commended, and who never makes waves in any appreciable or notable way.
He strokes my long hair and his big fingers linger at the small of my waist, tracing gentle little circles. “Sweet Wildflower. I'm here. I'm not going away.”
I cuddle closer to him. Oh, how I love bench seats! Granville's spiffy BMW just can't compete with Jake's old truck in cuddle capability. Jake brushes his lips across my forehead, then he pulls back a bit, enough to look in my eyes. The streetlights highlight the rugged angles and planes of his face. “You want to go to my place?” He pauses just a moment, then adds, “Ty and Kelsey are out for the night.”
Oh. My. God. Despite my sorrow at what happened tonight, anticipatory fire licks through me at the thought of being alone with Jake at his apartment. “Yes, please. I would love that.”
Before Jake can pull away from the curb, a BMW parks in the space in front of us. A spiffy black BMW with a bumper sticker that says “The Neutron Stars.”
Granville.
My stomach twists into knots.
Jake senses my agitation and anxiety and follows my gaze to the BMW and to the silhouette of the person sitting in the driver's seat. Granville's head is bent over, as if he is doing something like texting into a cell phone to let me know he's there.
My cell phone plays Beethoven.
Jake looks at me, then at the BMW in front of us, at its bumper sticker, then back to me. His brow darkens.
I feel like I have a desert in my throat. I wish I could ignore the text, but I can't. I look at my phone. It reads, “Are you in your dorm room? I'm outside. Please come talk. I'm so sorry.”
Jake reads the text over my shoulder. “What did that son of a bitch do to you?” he asks roughly.
“Nothing,” I say softly, tears back in my voice, but this time, I can't let them out where Jake can see them. “He didn't do anything. It's just that–”
“What did he do to make you cry?” he demands. “You'd better tell me right now, because if you don't, I'm going to assume the worst and I'll haul that rich son of a bitch out of his fancy car and pound his ass into the pavement.”
“Honest, Granville didn't do anything. We went to karaoke night at the coffee house, and I blew it, trying to sing in front of an audience. I choked badly, really badly. And some girl came up and kind of elbowed me away and tried to sing with him. I'd never seen her before, but he seemed to know her. He left her singing the song alone and tried to talk to me, but I was so upset that I called a cab to take me back here.”
Jake softens, just a bit. “Why didn't you call me?”
I stroke the side of his face and feel raspy stubble. He hasn't shaved in a while. I push down an urge to kiss that roughened cheek and say instead, “You haven't exactly been making yourself available to me this week, have you? I called and texted you so many times, but you ignored me.”
He lets out a long breath. “I was trying to stay away from you because I thought it was best for you. But oh, God, babe, I missed you. I...”
My cell phone plays Beethoven. Granville again. The text reads, “Where are you? Are you okay?”
Jake frowns again. “If you're going to come home with me, how about you send him a text and tell him you're busy tonight?”
I nod, then I text Granville a short message. “I'm okay. I'm with Jake.”
Granville knows Jake is my best friend, but he doesn't know my deeper, more romantic—and much more complicated—feelings for him. Maybe he's intuited them. I'm not sure, but at this point, it doesn't matter. I don't owe him an explanation, at least not right now. And it sure seems as though he has plenty of unfinished business with the girl who showed up at the Old Grind.
“Okay,” I say. “Let's go.”
Jake pulls away from the curb. We slip by Granville, who's still sitting in his BMW and has, no doubt, received my text. He has no clue we just passed him by.
Talking to Granville will have to wait until later.
It's Jake I need.
Chapter Thirteen (Granville)
Who's Jake? I wonder. Then I remember. Frannie's best friend, also her ex-boyfriend. I can't parse out that weird dynamic. I mean, it's nice that they stayed friends after their breakup, but what about the weird vibe when I came into the practice room that time and she was talking to him on the phone and I could have sworn I detected a vibe like the guy was jealous?
Frannie hasn't told me much about Jake. The subject hasn't come up since that morning. Maybe, since he's her best friend, she called him to talk about what happened tonight at the Old Grind.
My heart hurts. I wish it were me she wants to turn to when she's upset, when she's feeling brokenhearted and devastated as I saw, on her face, she's feeling tonight. And when she looked at Rowan, listening to her sing, I'm sure she felt she isn't as good a singer.
But that isn't true. Her voice is luminous and beautiful, though she can't yet understand how good it is and how far she could take it if she could free herself from her prison of shyness. I wonder how the hell such a talented young woman got stuck in such a stifling prison in the first place. I hate how much the shyness hurts her. Because it does. I know it does.
I feel damn jealous of this Jake guy right now. I wish it were me comforting her and not him. But I also have to say that if he's a good, supportive friend to her and makes her feel even one iota closer to the incredible person she truly is, then jealousy aside, I'm glad she's with him. I'm a new friend, yeah, but sometimes a person needs a tried-and-true old friend.
After all, I caused the scenario that hurt her so badly, by suggesting karaoke when she wasn't truly ready yet. And that's my fault.
I'll let things rest for now, then call her again later. I really do want to talk to her as soon as possible.
Chapter Fourteen (Frannie)
I'm not used to being at Jake's apartment without Ty and Kelsey around. Jake was still living at home when we were dating. He, Ty, and Kelsey got this apartment after we broke up. Since then, Jake has been very careful to only bring me here when the two of us wouldn't be alone. With the chemistry between us, I guess he was aware something could happen, despite the fact we'd broken up. The chemistry between us didn't go away just because we split as a couple.
I figured I'd be crying myself to sleep tonight, maybe talking to Granville about what had happened at the Old Grind if I'd been in the mood to talk to anyone, but I never dreamed Jake would call. I'd hoped he would call again at some point—I couldn't see how our friendship could disappear like a puff of smoke—but being alone with Jake, at his apartment tonight?
I love how life can sometimes surprise me in happy ways, even in the midst of failure and disappointment.
Jake and I haven't said anything to each other since we drove away from my dorm building, leaving Granville sitting there, looking at my text message.
Now we're standing in Jake's living room, which doesn't have much except for a couple of bean bags in two of the corners, a scruffy couch, a computer system which all the guys share, a tiny kitchen area, and a few posters on the walls. Bill Monroe. The Carter Family. The old bluegrass greats. The Hickory Hollow Boys don't have a lot of money, but they're staying afloat, playing their gigs. The living room is the central portion of the apartment. There are three small rooms that branch out from it, each of which one of the guys uses as a bedroom. And there's a little bathroom, too, hardly bigger than a closet. But the apartment works for them.
He moves closer to me. I stand rooted to the spot, sizzling with desire from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I've never felt like this. We've never been so completely alone before, just the two of us, the whole night ahead of us.
“Turn it off,” Jake says gruffly.
What? I'm genuinely perplexed, but his intense, dark expression makes me realize that he's talking about
my cell phone. Granville could call again, text again, whatever, and Jake doesn't want Granville to interrupt our evening.
I can't say I disagree. Granville missed the boat tonight. Maybe he always has. Maybe he never really had a chance as long as Jake was in the picture. And it seems that Jake is definitely in my picture, and not just as a friend. Mom notwithstanding. His insecurities notwithstanding.
I hope it can stay this way.
He takes another step toward me, and as he does, I become aware of what a big guy he is. He's a couple of inches over six feet, and I'm barely two inches over five feet. I pull out my phone and turn it off. He holds out his big hand, I put my phone into it. He tosses it over onto the couch, where it bounces once, then settles to the rear of one of the cushions. He takes another step toward me, then another.
“Is this what you want, Wildflower?” he asks, his voice husky and deep, his gaze seeming to burn me with its intensity.
“Oh, yes.” My heart, I'm sure, is in my eyes. I close the rest of the distance between us and rest my head against his chest. “I'm glad you're back. All the way back. I've missed you so much.”
“I hope we're doing the right thing,” he says. “I want the best for you.”
I nod.
“And it doesn't look like that other guy is good for you, after all,” he says.
What happened at the Old Grind wasn't Granville's fault, but of course, Jake associates it all with Granville. If it had been Jake up there with me, he would have thrown the mic down and immediately come after me once that girl had bumped me away, but then, most people aren't as emotionally raw as Jake. He makes choices more in line with his heart than his mind or intellect. It makes him passionate, but it can make him heedless, as well.
“Don't I get a vote?” I say, looking up at him.
“I want you to be happy,” he says. “At peace and happy.”
Neither Jake nor I have known a lot of peace in our lives, what with family stresses, difficult relationships with our parents, and hurtful, unreasonable expectations. Each of us is, in a way, a disappointment to our parents. But not to each other. Never to each other.
Shy Page 9
