by K. R. Grace
He led me over to one of the baseball dugouts to the left of the football field. I watched in shock as he leapt up onto the top of the dugout and turned, extending a hand out to me. It was about a six foot jump.
“What the heck?” I sputtered.
“Just take my hand,” he sighed, and I looked at said appendage extended out to me.
“You’re on crutches. How did you do that?”
“Just grab my hand.” Did he just snarl at me?
I had two options. I could take it and spend the afternoon on top of the dugout with this boy who completely mystified and unnerved me; or I could walk away and face my parents. I took my chances and grabbed his hand. He lifted me into the air as if I weighed as much as a small cat, and my feet landed with a loud clang on the metal roof.
“Is this where you bring all the girls?” I asked and immediately wished I could take it back. I didn’t want him to think I cared. I did, dang it! Why?
“Sit,” he instructed, and I plopped down onto the cool metal like a dog obeying her master. I watched him slowly sit and tuck his legs under him. His eyes briefly scanned over the angry scab on my wrist. If he recognized it for what it was, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he focused his attention on making sure his crutches were secure.
“Where is the triangle?” As soon as I asked it, I felt like smacking myself. For the first time since Clint’s death, I was starting to actually want to engage in human conversation. It was all wrong. Drake was getting under my skin, and I didn’t like it one bit.
Or did I?
What was wrong with me?
“You’re sitting on it,” he answered as he pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. I recognized it as the page they always put in front of me when we started playing in band. There were lines on it and black little characters, but I had no idea what any of it meant.
“You don’t have to know any notes for this instrument. It’s all about knowing when to make your ding,” he said.
“So, when’s that?”
“Do you see these black bars that look like someone used a black highlighter in the middle of the lines with numbers over them? Those represent measures of rest or the amount of time you don’t play. Do you see the two numbers on top of each other at the beginning of those five bar lines?”
“You mean the four over the four?”
“Yeah, that indicates how many beats are in a measure and what note gets the beat. All you need to know is how many beats are in a measure which is the top number.”
“Four? What is a measure?”
“Yes, four, and I’m getting to that. A measure is like a frame of time. Count to four and you have a measure. Does that make sense?”
“Getting there,” I nodded. In truth, I was so lost. I just prayed something intelligent came out of my mouth so I didn’t sound like a total doof to him.
“Okay, in the beginning, you have how many measures of rest before you ding?”
I looked at the number over the first bar. “Thirty-two.”
“That means you’ll count to four thirty-two times. The way you do that is by counting in time with the tempo Mr. Thomas gives you.”
“What?” The guy had just left simple-Star kingdom and gone into some alien land. “You know when he says, ‘one-two-one-two ready play’ and then everyone starts playing? That is him giving you the tempo. How fast he says it and how quickly his arms move are how you know what the tempo or beat is.”
“That’s where we have a problem. I have no rhythm.”
“Just trust me.”
It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know he was asking the impossible from me.
He spent the next hour trying to teach me how to follow the beat given to me. I never really caught on. The truth was I didn’t want to. I was the director of my own life. Also, I was way too distracted by those blue eyes and lean fingers of his. Every time our eyes made a connection, my heart did an Irish jig, and my stomach stirred up the butterflies. It amazed me how calm he was while I was battling with myself over the need to flee and the need to kiss him like crazy.
“I think more sessions are needed,” Drake chuckled.
“You know what? This whole thing is stupid. I didn’t even want to be in band in the first place,” I huffed and started for the edge of the dugout. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get off the thing, but I was determined to get away from him as quickly as possible. I might have been projecting my hormonal frustration onto him, but there was only so much a girl could take before she cracked.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he muttered and tossed his crutches onto the ground before jumping down himself. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, he turned to reach for me. Again, I was astounded. Why did he use crutches if he didn’t even need them?
I wanted to avoid him but fear griped my stomach as I studied how far I was from the ground.
“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to hurt you.” I bit my lip in indecision.
“Star, I’ll be fine. Come on.” I saw irritation flitter across his handsome face.
Finally, I jumped into his arms before I gave myself any more time to think. His hands stayed on my waist only long enough to steady me; then he dropped them as if touching me burned him. He turned to retrieve his crutches and prepared himself before leading me away from the field.
“Thanks,” I mumbled and slung my bag over my shoulder and began to walk away. “My car is in the other direction,” he pointed to the back parking lot, the opposite direction of where I was headed.
Rather than trying to come up with some reason why I didn’t want to ride with him, I chose to act like I didn’t hear and continued walking. Before I could really fathom what was happening, his strong hand clasped over my wrist, and I was spun around in a complete one-eighty. My nose broke my fall against his unwavering chest. I could taste the metal in my mouth before something warm start dancing down my face.
“Ow,” was all I managed to say. Tears stung my eyes, and I was positive I broke something, or at least fractured it.
“I’m sorry,” I heard him say and something made of cloth was on my face and pinching my nose.
“OW!” I screeched at the pressure.
“Hold still,” he spoke calmly.
The pain began to subside a little, but I could still feel the blood coming down. It was revolting, and I knew I must look like a slaughtered victim from a bad horror movie.
“What was that for?” I asked him once my eyes cleared enough to see him.
It was then I realized the cloth on my nose was his shirt. I suddenly felt very awkward. What were people going to think when they saw me standing with my face buried in his shirt while he held me wearing only shoes and jeans? I didn’t care if he looked lean and fit standing there with a concerned frown on his face. All I cared about was getting away, but not without an explanation. Besides, what made him take his shirt off? Didn’t he have anything else he could’ve offered?
“I think I overcompensated for your velocity,” he said.
“What?”
“You were walking fast, and I tugged a little too hard.”
“I know, but why did you tug?”
“I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you. Your mom wanted me to give you a ride and that’s what I’m doing.”
I stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “How do you know what my mom said? I was the one talking to her on the phone.”
“Oh, um,” he grew flustered, the way a guy gets when he isn’t sure how to tell a girl the truth after she asked him if her dress made her look fat. He ran his hand through his hair before shoving his fists into the front pockets of his jeans in a defensive maneuver. “I overheard her on the phone.”
“No, you couldn’t have. You were at least a good four or five feet in front of me in the hall.”
“Come on, forget about the call. Let’s just get you home before you drain out your life’s blood supply through your nose,” he growled.
&
nbsp; I was beginning to feel faint and decided that, despite my better judgment I would follow him rather than take my chances of passing out in a ditch for the roadside cleaners to find in the morning. Dying from a loss of blood on the side of a small country road was not how I imagined leaving this world.
He led me to the silver Jeep. The cover was thankfully in place. Maybe no one would see us drive off together.
Like a perfect gentleman, Drake opened the door and helped me in. I mumbled a “thanks” even though his chivalry was annoying. When he started the Jeep, loud music blared over the speakers. If my hands weren’t already occupied in trying to keep my nose from bleeding all over his nice leather seats, I would’ve covered my ears. I settled for a jolt.
“Put your seatbelt on,” he instructed and leaned across me to yank the belt down over my chest and snapped it into the buckle. “And keep the shirt on your nose.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“Keep your head tilted back. Pinch as hard as you can tolerate to try to stop the blood flow. You’re parents will kill me if I bring you home looking like an extra in a horror movie.”
“You should’ve just let me go.”
“You really never let up do you?” I heard him mutter under his breath.
Rather than responding to his comment, I stared out the window while trying to decipher what group he was listening to. It sounded like a cross between punk, rock, and Native American. Strange yet cool.
“It’s a group from the Reservation.”
“Huh?” I turned to look at him.
“The music.”
“What Reservation?”
“Cherokee.”
“You’re into that kind of stuff? That’s cool.”
“Sort of. I have family there.”
“Really? I thought Native Americans had long hair. I mean, yours is longer than most guys’ but, I mean, it’s just not as long as I thought Native Americans kept it.” God, I was fumbling it!
“It depends how you were brought up. Some of us don’t follow ritual.” It was a short retort, but I felt the heat in his words. Somehow I’d said something wrong. I thought I was merely making an observation. He did have longer hair than most guys, but where his hair stopped just above his shoulders, most Native American men I’d seen had hair ranging in lengths anywhere between a few inches past their shoulders to a few inches above their waists.
“What’re they singing about?” I decided to change the subject a little.
“It’s an old tribal legend. Some believe we came from the black Bear that lives in the Smoky Mountains, others the Wolf from further north. The Bears once were friends with the Wolves, but then something happened to destroy that bond. Some say it was over this one beautiful woman who came into the village. The Bear chief and the Alpha Wolf thought she was beautiful and fell in love with her instantly, but she wouldn’t pick one. They tried to destroy each other fighting over her. This song tells the Bear’s story. How much he loved the girl. How she broke his heart.”
“Bears?”
“Yeah, crazy, right?” he forced out a chuckle. Something in his ice blue eyes told me he believed in the legend. I pressed my lips together to prevent myself from saying anything else I’d regret later. As long as he was driving me, I wasn’t going to provoke him. My free hand clutched the handle bar at my side. My vision blurred, and I started to chill. When had he turned the A/C to the “meat locker” setting?
He was asking me about something or saying something. I wasn’t sure. The only thing I was positive about was that I was seeing stars.
I’m not really sure what happened next. One minute I was forcing myself to stare at a stop sign to regain focus and the next I was looking up into blue eyes filled with deep concern. The face they belonged to was only inches away from mine. Nice.
“Star, are you okay?” the deep voice rumbled.
“Huh?” I was clearly dazed. What happened?
“I think she’s going to be fine. Probably just weak from the loss of blood.” It was the voice again. I was almost certain it belonged to the face I was staring at.
“Star is known for being a klutz from time to time.”
I knew that high voice. Mom. Hearing her words brought me back to reality, and I became acutely aware of how dangerously close I was to Drake’s face. I tried to move, but I felt like someone had strapped me down to the ground. Said straps being Drake’s immovable arms. It was like being dead-bolted to an iron beam.
“Can I sit up?” I asked him.
As if my words somehow broke the spell, Drake leapt back onto his heels, and I was able to sit up. I looked down at my blood-soaked black t-shirt and winced. Great. It was my favorite one, too.
“Honey, put this on your nose. You really ought to be more careful where you go,” Mom scolded.
I took the bag of frozen peas she held out to me. It stung like holy fire as I pressed it against my nose, a sharp hiss leaking through my teeth at the contact.
“It’s probably broken, but there’s not much you can do,” my dad was saying.
I looked over at Drake and watched as an unreadable expression crossed over his face. I was usually good at reading people but he masked his emotions, reining them in like a guard outside Westminster Abbey.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” It came from Mom. She had that lilt in her voice she got when she was up to something.
“He’s got homework to do,” I answered for him before slowly trying to stand.
I had almost succeeded in my mission when my knees buckled and I lurched forward. Of course Drake was there to catch me. I wished he’d just let me fall. His strong, reassuring arms wrapped around my waist were doing funny things to my brain.
“Thanks, but Star is right. Got a chem test tomorrow that I haven’t started studying for,” he shrugged as he righted me.
“Well, thanks for bringing her home.” She was disappointed. Good.
Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the house. I could hear Drake saying something but didn’t try to make out the words. Once I was in my room, I collapsed on my mattress and went to sleep immediately. Mom woke me up every hour but eventually she just let me sleep. I should’ve been able to escape from the pain but it morphed into the pain that came from watching Clint die over and over in my dreams. I was never going to escape this torture, was I?
Chapter Five
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Drake
She’d lost her first love.
She blamed herself for his death and had convinced herself she didn’t have the right to enjoy life…or love.
Damn it! It explained the cutting, the depression, the determination not to feel the attraction between us.
My fist slammed into the punching bag I’d spent the last hour punishing. I watched it fly off its hinges and explode against the concrete wall.
I could handle competing with one of the Sterlings or Raeb, but I couldn’t fight a ghost. She’d memorialized him. If they’d had a soul-mate bond, none of us stood a chance. We’d all end up killing each other. But the pink tint to her memories gave me hope. Hopefully soon, all the dark stuff in their relationship would surface…if there was dark stuff.
I punched my fist into the wall. Seeing the concrete crack did nothing to alleviate the rage inside me.
She’d finally loosened up a little with me. Then I pissed her off. That hadn’t been so smart. I lost my head when I was around her. Something about her made me want to let down my walls. Not something I was comfortable with.
My phone chirped, cutting through my frustration for at least a moment.
Mack:First night on patrol. So far, no sightings. Keep you posted.
Me:Thanks.
Mack:What are you going to do about the dead boyfriend?
Shit, I knew I couldn’t hide it from Mack. I hated the damn wolf telepathy. It was like an old school party line. No secrets ever.
Me:I’ll think of something.
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Mack:You better.
As if I needed the reminder. I threw my phone across the room and stalked out the barn into the darkness. I needed to run. Breaking all the equipment in my gym wasn’t cutting it. I tossed my clothes onto the hood of my Jeep before I lurched forward. The Wolf pushed to the surface and my vision sharpened as I fell onto all fours.
Home
No matter how fast or hard I ran, I couldn’t shake her. Those haunting green eyes kept flashing in my mind. What mesmerized me about them was the bridled desire shining in their depths. She wanted me. I could smell it on her. But, she didn’t want to want me.
Back on the dugout I’d wanted to kiss her until I made her mine.
The snap of a twig halted me midstride, and I tilted my head as I trained my ear to the sound. The scent of cinnamon tickled my nose and I relaxed.
Why am I not surprised?
A few moments later, Meliena’s gray coat came into view. She nudged my side with her head as she sat down on her haunches.
What’s wrong, Drake?
I paced in a circle around her. Her tail swished, almost tripping me. I sent her a glare, but she just smirked.
She lost a boyfriend…recently. Her heart’s still loyal to him.
Meliena’s head bowed and a whimper escaped. John flashed into my mind and I winced. The years still hadn’t dulled his memory for her. If Star loved this Clint guy as much as Meliena loved John…
I couldn’t even think about what that meant for me.
How long ago? Meliena asked.
Not long. Probably a few months ago. Maybe a little longer.
She’s grieving, Drake.
You don’t think I know that? I shot her a vicious glare. This was going to go to shit fast and we both knew it.
You can’t come on too strong or she’ll run away.
I growled, letting my hackles rise. Mind your own business, Liena.
Meliena nudged me. You can’t give up before you even try.
I climbed onto a rock and looked up at the half moon. The man in me remembered how good it felt to have her in my arms. She’d smelled like heaven and felt like home. Even better than wolfing out. I’d wanted to stay in the front yard with her forever. It hurt to know I’d caused her pain, even if it was unintentional.
