Summer

by Frankie Rose

  “That’s not the worst thing I’ve been accused of.” She winks and beelines for the refrigerator, pulling the door open and leaning down to stick her head in.

  Morgan’s doing better with her drug addiction. The thought of her even having to struggle with something so foreign is still pretty difficult to understand. Like all addicts, she’s very good at hiding her problems until she physically can’t hide them any longer. Never in a million years would anyone guess that she’s attending counseling for drug abuse these days, under the strict and watchful eyes of her parents. The almost fatal overdose that she went through last semester was a blessing in disguise. She was found and rushed to the hospital just in time, thank god. Luke was still a cop then. He was summoned to the scene, and he kept her calm until the ambulance arrived. He rode with her to the hospital. He came and found me, broke the news to me, was there for me in the same way he’s always been there for whenever I’ve needed him in the past.

  I lean against the counter, waiting for the barrage of questions I’m sure is about to commence any second now. Morgan straightens and looks over her shoulder, one perfectly plucked eyebrow lifting. “How was it? How was Luke? You guys good?”

  “Yeah. He has a tan.”

  “Sweet Jesus. Luke Reid with a tan. There should be a law against anything that will make that man more attractive to the opposite sex.”

  “Yeah, it’s…it’s pretty disarming.” I grab some glasses, doing my best not to remember how amazing Luke looked when he tore his clothes off three days ago after I walked through the door of Cole’s apartment. Morgan tosses me a soda, which I barely catch.

  “Something’s wrong,” she says. “You’re normally quiet, but this,” she waves a hand in my general direction, “is too quiet. Even for you. Spill.”

  I pour the soda out for us, feeling itchy and uncomfortable even admitting this out loud. “I guess I just hate knowing that girls are hitting on him every night of the week.”

  “Every night of the week? Fuck. Yeah, that’s gotta be exhausting.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Sorry, babe.” Morgan accepts the drink I hold out for her, slinging her arm around my shoulder, and then planting a wet kiss against my temple. “I’m the worst. Tell me.”

  I shrug. “It was hard enough thinking about him being a cop back in New York, in danger of getting shot and stabbed every five minutes.”

  “And now he’s in danger of severe alcohol poisoning and ball-withering STIs?” She grins like a mad woman. “He’s totally in love with you. I’ve never seen a guy so in love. You have nothing to worry about. I mean, how many girls can say their man gave them CPR for forty-five minutes while they were dying themselves?”

  “Yeah. True.” Great. That’s the last thing I need to be thinking about. Other girls may need help moving heavy furniture in their apartments. Their cars might break down and they might need a ride. My life is so filled with drama that I needed rescuing from a crazed psychopath.

  “He’s one of the last good guys out there,” Morgan continues. “He’s more concerned with love than lust.”

  “I don’t know. He can be pretty focused on lust when the mood takes him.”

  Morgan starts to glow in that odd way she does when she’s excited about something. “Details. Give me every last moment. Now.”

  “No. Hell no,” I tell her, shaking my head. It suddenly dawns on me that she’s dressed up, her black shirt dipping into her breasts, her jeans white and classy. “Wait...where are you going after this?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Morgan, I’m exhausted. I’ve been travelling all day. I’m not going anywhere.”

  My friend bounces on the balls of her feet, a wild glint in her eye. “Yes, we are. I met a new guy, and you know me. I am not a lone wolf. I need my wing woman.” She takes a long drink of her soda before belching in a way that would make my Uncle Brandon quite proud. My father’s best friend, Brandon, raised me after the events of my childhood caught up to me. He’s crude, hilarious and just about the most spectacular man I know. I should really let him know I’ve arrived home safe and sound.

  “Hey! I’m talking to you!” Morgan snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Stop disappearing into your porno daydreams and get dressed. Think of us poor serfs who aren’t lucky enough to have porno dreams of their own to relive.” Morgan waves in front of my face, her smile wide. Her eyes contain promises of debauchery and a bad hangover tomorrow morning.

  “The hell are you talking about, woman? You came out of the womb with porno dreams.”

  “We. Are. Going. Out. To. Night. The bar on sixth and Jefferson is featuring my new guy’s band. I’m not going alone. You’re coming with—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Morgan folds her arms across her chest. “I went with you to see Luke when he played. Now it’s your turn.” She lifts an eyebrow, as if daring me to defy her.

  I sigh, trying to meld myself with the couch so she can’t possibly drag me away from it. “You think this place still smells like Luke?” I ask quietly.

  “No, I think it smells of laziness and terrible friendship. Come on, Avery. You’re my best friend.” She sticks out her bottom lip, and I instantly feel sorry for her parents. Morgan really does get what Morgan wants. She must have been impossible to say no to as a child.

  It’s no wonder she has a new boyfriend. With her dark auburn hair and piercing gray eyes, by rights she should be on the covers of magazines all over the country. Too bad she’s bat-shit crazy most days. “Fine. But I’m not drinking, and we’re not staying out all night. I’m exhausted and I have assignments to do.”

  “We’re on summer break, Avery! No one actually does those assignments.”

  “Yes. Yes, they do. That’s what mandatory means, babe. They’re non-negotiable.”

  Morgan pouts. “You’re obviously just not as good as negotiating as I am. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about school. We are about to have the best fucking night of our lives.”

  “Ugh. Fine.” I groan as I reluctantly stand. “Do I even know this guy?” I place my drink down on the counter, fighting the need to locate a coaster. My mom would always flip her shit if I put a glass down without one. Abandoning my drink without resting it on something seems like a form of rebellion. My mother’s a self-serving, class-A bitch. After my father’s death, she abandoned me with my Uncle Brandon and changed everything about herself but her face. New name, new city, new life and a new girlfriend. Have I told Morgan about Mom being a lesbian now? Probably not. I sure as hell don’t feel like bringing it up now, that’s for sure.

  “I’ve mentioned him, but you’ve been pre-occupied.” Morgan shrugs, pointing toward the bedroom. “Go. Hurry. They’re the opening act tonight. They go on at eight-thirty.”

  “You are the most demanding person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” I tell her.

  Smiling sweetly, she sidles up to me and rests her head on my shoulder. “But it is a pleasure, though, isn’t it?”

  I do as she wishes, heading to the bedroom to get changed. I make a point of leaving my cell phone on the couch, determined not to let the damn thing rule my life. Luke will message me when he gets a chance. I have my own life, and I need to live it. Dependency is not a good look on me.

  “And don’t think you’ve gotten out of spilling all of your dirty sex secrets,” Morgan calls as I change. “I need to know how many times you fucked.”

  Damn it. She’s never going to quit. “Eight times,” I yell, scowling as I wriggle into my dress. I sure as hell wouldn’t normally be wearing something to fancy, but by the look of Morgan I’m going to have to do better than my usual Saturday night get up, or she’ll be physically dressing me herself.

  “Eight times in three days? You dirty whore.” Morgan enters the room, eyes wide, playing at being scandalized.

  “Not eight times in three days,” I correct her. “Eight times on Thursday night. Six on Friday. We only had sex four times yest
erday. We were starting to get a little sore.”

  Morgan collapses onto the bed, hands pressed against her cheeks, groaning, like the idea of that much sex is enough to kill her dead. “Where’s the prude who chastised me for my whoring last fall?” she wails.

  “I guess she died in that pool in Wyoming.” I know it isn’t right to bring it up, but having death so close at hand changed everything. Living life to the fullest everyday is my focus, as best it can be. If that means giving in and screwing my boyfriend at every available opportunity, then so be it. Sex injuries be damned.

  “I’m glad she died in that pool,” Morgan says, her eyebrows waggling up and down. “This Avery is a badass. She and I are soul mates if she’s getting laid this much. Fuck, girl, your tits look so great in that dress. I hate you right now.”

  I don’t know what she’s complaining about. Her cleavage is impossible to miss at the moment. This new guy of hers will be able to see her boobs from the other side of the venue, no doubt about it. “I’ll wear a trash bag instead, shall I?”

  Morgan laughs, rolling over onto her stomach. I work fast to slip on my favorite sandals, and then I run a brush through my hair. The curls are heavy. I’m in need of a serious haircut.

  Morgan grabs the brush out of my hand and spanks my ass with it. “Come on, you. Let’s go. And if you steal my man with your perfect ass and your long legs, I’m never going to speak to you again.”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, babe.” We leave the apartment and head out into the night. “I mean, you’ve met my boyfriend, right? Lucas Reid isn’t the type of guy you forget about in a hurry.”

  *******

  The club is busy, the band rocking the crowd into a frantic mass. Everyone’s hands are swaying in the air, beer and wine spritzers spilling from cracked plastic cups. The soles of my shoes stick to the floor as I move in close behind Morgan, keeping my eyes on the ground. I don’t wanna step on someone’s foot and end up in a bar fight. With my luck, that could easily end up being my Saturday night story.

  “There.” Morgan reaches back, locking her arm into mine as she tugs me forward. I run into a tall figure—the guy could be a linebacker—who turns to look over his shoulder. The anger on his face fades as he sees me. He winks before turning back around, and I squeeze in beside him, standing on my tiptoes.

  “Is…is that Cole?” I crane over the tops of people’s heads, trying to get a better view. I start to wobble a little—it’s almost impossible to stand on tiptoes in wedges, but I’m panicked. Panicked and ridiculously excited. My heart’s beating too fast. Did Luke follow me back into town? I reach out and brace myself against the big guy next to me. He doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he flashes very white, very straight teeth at me in a broad smile as I shoot him an apologetic grimace of my own. Scanning the stage, I hunt for the other members of D.M.F.

  Morgan growls next me. “It’s not Cole. His name is Jag. He doesn’t even look like Cole.”

  “What? How the hell is that not Cole?” On stage, the Cole look-alike’s voice is raspy, like he ate glass for breakfast. It fits the music perfectly. They’re good. Not as good as D.M.F., but still… “The guy looks like he could be Cole’s clone. Morgan. It’s creepy.”

  “That’s twice today you’ve called me creepy.” She tugs me back. I almost stumble, but I manage to right myself before landing on my ass, cursing her under my breath.

  We share a beer at the bar as the band continues to furiously play. They have a fiery energy that’s setting the crowd alight. I’m having a hard time getting over this Jag guy’s likeness to Luke’s bandmate.

  “Do you really think he looks like Cole?” Morgan sticks out her bottom lip again. She does that far too often. Must be a product of being a spoiled only child. I was an only child, but my father was the only one that spoiled me. Odd emotions flow through me over the quick stop along memory lane. My father’s name is clear of the heinous lies that ruined my formative years, but he’s still dead. I miss him now more than I ever have. Everyone says the hollow ache in my chest will get easier with time, until all that remains is the simple joy of the memories he’s left behind. That’s not true, though. He sacrificed himself to save my life. There’s no getting over that. The pain of that knowledge is still as bright now as it was when Chloe Mathers forced me to watch the recording of my father’s death back in Breakwater. It will never go away.

  “He does look like Cole, but I get it,” I say

  “Yeah...I just miss him, I guess. He was the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

  “You…when did you fuck Cole?”

  Morgan laughs like I’ve just cracked a joke. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Uh, no?”

  She gives me a pitying look. “Ah, honey. That night after they played at Papa Joe’s. I slipped him my number on a coaster when I bought him a drink. I’d barely been home five minutes before my phone was blowing up.” She winks, her eyes misting over. I can tell she’s reliving the experience. “He was barely through the door before I had his clothes off and his dick in my mo—”

  “Oh, come on.” I pretend to gag.

  “I’m serious. Sometimes I pretend Jag is Cole. Makes it easier to co—” I raise my hand and cut her off.

  “No. I’m not hearing this.” I glance up at the clock on the wall behind the bar. It’s nine pm. Thirty more minutes and I am dragging her ass straight out of here.

  Thirty minutes passes quickly, and surprisingly Morgan leaves without too much of a fight. The streets are busy outside, crowds buzzing in every direction. I glance over at Morgan as she slumps in the passenger seat. She’s staring out the side window, the look on her face a cause for concern,

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, just didn’t realize how obvious the Jag/Cole thing is. There’s something to be said about that.” Her words slur. I have to turn a little to hide the smile that’s spreading across my face. She’ll be crying like a baby by the time we get back to the apartment.

  The sound of her sniffling gives weight to my prediction. By the time I have the key in the door, she’s bawling. This always happens when she drinks too much. I am pretty sure it should be me who’s crying, but I let her have her moment. I tuck her into my bed and walk into the living room to find my phone. Surely Luke must have responded by now. It’s been six hours since I texted him that I was safe. I pick it up and sigh heavily.

  Nothing.

  Nothing? What the hell?

  “Where are you, Luke?”

  THREE

  LUKE

  I can still smell her on my skin. I need to shower, but I can’t force myself to do it just yet. Watching her leave earlier today almost killed me. She’s all I think about, and it’s starting to consume me in an unhealthy way. I think it is because, in some ways, she’s my savior. She knows about my past and accepts me. Was it my fault that my father abused me in a way that would forever ruin most men? No, but the experience affected me more than I’ve ever wanted to admit. I can’t pretend that my soul isn’t black and tarnished, that my dreams every night aren’t violated by nightmare after nightmare. The truth has been staring me in the face for far too long.

  I need to get my shit straight before that darkness leeches out and into the bright moments I share with the most beautiful creature in the world. My broken girl. My sunshine.

  “Hey, dude, what the fuck? You’re lost in another day dream? I’m telling you now ain’t the fucking time.” Cole pops me in the chest, and I jolt upright. The large leather chairs around the over-sized executive table should leave me intimidated. This place is way classier than any of the meeting rooms we’ve found ourselves in so far, but I can’t seem to stay in the present. I’m forever running to the past or slipping into another reality, where I’m finally clean and good, whole and right. A place where giving Avery the future she deserves seems doable.

  “I’m sorry. I just...just...Fuck it.” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. It’s far longer than I w
ould normally keep it. It fits the bands style, though Cole’s always bitching about how our appearance and our attitudes need to be in line with who we want to be, not who we are.

  “It’s cool, man, but seriously, get your shit together,” he says. “Butler will be here soon and it’s you he’s going to be focusing on. If I could take your talent and that wicked badass voice from you, I would.” He reaches over and ruffles my hair. “I’d even take that mop on your head if it was part of the package.”

  “Fuck you.” I smile.

  “You’ve had enough fucking to last a life time.” Pete laughs, and the other guys snicker along with him.

  I’m not going to give them fuel. They’ve been riding me over the non-stop sex marathon that took place when Ave got into town. I couldn’t help myself. I hadn’t seen her for more than six weeks, and leaving so soon after she was released from the hospital was almost the end of me. If this were just about me, I would have stayed in New York, but it’s not. The amazing, kickass, mind-blowing sex with my beautiful girl almost makes my unwillingness to check in with her a bigger betrayal. I just don’t know what to say. Not sure there is anything I could respond with that won’t hurt her more than just not responding at all.

  “Leave him be. She’s hot, and he’s young. I was starting to worry his plumbing wasn’t working,” Pete says.

  I flip them off and reach for my phone, staring at her message. Knowing that I should text her back. I just can’t yet. I would spill my heart out on the damn phone and drag her in deeper. She needs to distance herself from me. I hate that I’m even thinking about doing this.

  The door opens at the far end of the room and I stifle a sigh, grateful that this Butler guy has a sense of timeliness. I’m not in the mood to be here, and yet I have to be. For Cole, Pete and Paul: the guys I’m giving up the next year of my life for. I’m more than thrilled that four months of that year is over. I’m ready to get back home and figure things out. I’m just hoping that LA doesn’t draw out the nastier parts of me and leave me more crippled, more diseased and more broken more than when I showed up. I’m not too sure that my fate isn’t moving in that direction, but for the present, I tuck that shit away and turn to nod at the three-piece suit that’s walking toward us.