Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4) (21 page)

Chapter 31

~April~

I stare at the rolling ocean. It’s a strange sight on Christmas day.
I’ve never been at my father’s for Christmas. I always spent the holiday with
my mother and flew out a few days later for New Year’s with my father—except
for the last three years when I didn’t come at all. My mother completely
flipped when I told her I was swapping the holidays around this year, but even
her flip out couldn’t stop me. I needed to get away, and the calmness of my
father and California seemed like the perfect solution.

And it had been.
Between graduating and both of my parents coming in for commencements, I had
stayed busy in Michigan. Then traveling to Malibu, getting the house ready for
Christmas with my dad, and doing a bit of shopping, I stayed busy here. Last
night we went to a Thai restaurant on the beach. This morning his girlfriend
came over and we opened presents, then we made a huge breakfast.

Right now people—mostly
musicians—are streaming into the backyard below me. Like always, the special
moments of my father’s life are surrounded by music. They will soon be having
an impromptu jam session.

When the sun began to
set, I came upstairs to the living room and took a selfie of me by the tree
with the sun setting over the ocean. Keeping my vow not to give up on Gabe, I
call and text him every day, even if he never responds. Though I typed out,
Merry Christmas! Wish I was with you
,
next to the picture, my finger hovers over the send button.

This is starting to
kill me. His stubbornness is breaking my heart.

I’m trying to stay
strong but I seem to be breaking down a little more each day. I fall on the
couch, wipe tears from my eyes, and draw in calming breaths. More than wanting
to be with him, I’m worried about him, distraught that he might be lonely,
might be fearful of going to prison, or might be depressed. But he won’t let me
in. And the last time I talked to Romeo—about a week ago—he still won’t let
anyone in. Their album has even been put on hold.

After I give into a few
more tears, I push send and go to the kitchen.

I’m going to be strong.
I’m not going to give up.

This is my daily
mantra.

Since my dad will start
grilling soon, I pull out trays of steaks and start seasoning them. Though I’m
determined to be strong, I’m a little too melancholy to be around people on
Christmas day and don’t want to gray up their day
.
I’m wrapping potatoes in tin foil, when the front doorbell rings.
It must be someone new. Someone who doesn’t know you just go around the house
to the unlocked gate in the back.

As I open the door, my
heart jumps into my throat. “What are you doing here?” I gasp at Gabe as shock
has me questioning the sight of him in long shorts and a tank on my doorstep.
His mahogany eyes are conflicted. I peek behind him, wondering
what the heck
is going on.

He buries his hands in
his pockets. “I need to talk to you.”

Yup, it’s him
, I realize before I pinch myself. Then I almost snap out a
sarcastic remark, seeing as how he had to come across the country to talk with
me while I’ve been trying to talk to him for weeks while we were mere miles
apart.

He runs a hand through
his hair. “Can I come in?”

“Um…” I step back on
wobbly legs. “Sure, yeah...” I shuffle farther into the foyer and sit—before I
faint from the surprise of seeing him on my doorstep—on the bench across from
the door. Scenarios are rushing through my head. Some good. Some awful. Why is
he here? “Why are you here?” I ask, blurting out my thoughts.

He shuts the door with
a trembling hand. Why would his hand be trembling? What is going on? I’m not
emotionally ready for whatever he is going to dish out.

“Romeo talked—guilt
tripped—me in to finishing the album. We flew in this afternoon.” He comes to
stand a few feet from me. Everything I want is so close yet could be a world
away. “I have to meet with my probation officer next Tuesday, and I’m not
supposed to leave the state. Therefore we decided to start today and get
another half day in.”

“Oh,” I slowly say,
trying to understand his words past the emotional storm rolling over me. “But
why
here
? Why aren’t you recording?”

He comes closer,
standing inches from me.

A lightning bolt of
anxiousness strikes along my spine at his closeness.
 

“Since we started a
couple of hours ago, I couldn’t do shit, played like shit. Maybe because it’s
thousands of miles away from home and Christmas day, I keep thinking how I’m
only miles from you. How much I’m hurting you.” He kneels, setting his hands on
the bench next to my thighs. “And no matter, how wrong I am for you”—I start
shaking my head at that, but he continues—“How being with you makes me feel
brand new as if none of my past matters.”

My head stops shaking
and I simply stare at him. Okay, okay, okay, that was good. So good
astonishment is starting to melt into
a warmth
that is
slowing spreading across my limbs.

 
He looks above my head, then back to me,
drawing in a deep breath. “But mostly how much I’m in love with you.”

 
In the following silence, a new shock hits me
like an electrical zap as he gazes at me with a mixture of desperation and
longing. My bottom lip trembles while I attempt to let his words sink in. They
feel impossible, the thought of someone—Gabe!—loving me. I do reach out and
pinch my thigh. At the sharp pain, shock, mixed with relief, has me bursting
out in tears.

“April,” Gabe gently
whispers, embracing my face with his callused hands. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a
complete ass. I believed I was doing the right thing. I tend to get angry and
over react. But when Romeo handed me your address less than an hour ago—”

Craving physical proof
of those words, I stop him with a kiss. Within seconds, he kisses me back,
long and deep
and soft.

He pulls away, brushing
the tears from cheeks with his thumbs. “You forgive me then?”

Still feeling out if
it, I let out an
unlady
like snort. “I think my
actions said more than any words.”

He shakes his head. “I
always seem to fuck things up.”

I lean back on the
wall, shaking
my
head. The thoughts
that have been swirling in my mind over the past few weeks have me saying, “I
think we’re both…scared. Neither of us believed anyone could love us…couldn’t
see what was happening…”

“I’m not sure what’s
happening should be,” he says in a tense, sad tone, releasing his hold on me.

I sit up, refusing to
let him be the martyr. “We’re both screwed up. You helped me confront the past,
but my guilt is
always
going to
linger. I did wrong, and no matter what you say, it’s the truth. And though I’d
give anything to, I’ll never be able to erase your father’s abuse. That pain
will always linger too. But together, we’re less screwed up. Together we’re
stronger, better people, like you said, brand new.” I let out a crazy laugh.
Yeah, still in shock here. “Guess it’s true, being in love can change a
person.”

The contemplative look
on his face changes to wonder.

I grin—I’m kind of
drunk on shock. “I think I’ve been in love with you since you made me dance in
the rain.” The truth, I realize. I just never admitted it to myself until now.

After a second of
open-mouthed bewilderment, he kisses me hard, plastering me against the wall. I
like being between him and the wall, in fact I love it.

Someone clearing a
throat, then saying, “April?” has us wrenching apart.

I glance up to find my
father. “Hey, Dad.”

He raises his brows
instead of asking.

On a giddy high, I
introduce them, explaining Gabe is one of the band members from Michigan
recording an album here. They shake hands and give each other a quick greeting.

Though my dad appears
confused, he returns to the kitchen. Unlike my mother, he doesn’t try to mess
with my life or tell me what to do. Guess he got enough of that from his
parents.

Gabe sighs. “I have to
go, but…Merry Christmas.”

I lean on him, looking
into his soulful mahogany eyes. “You’ve just made it the best one ever.” He
smiles as I wrap my hands around his shoulders. “With everything in your life
right now, I get why you’re hesitant, but promise me two things?”

“Two?” he says
cautiously as his hands find my waist.

“Don’t shut me out.”

“Don’t think I can
anymore.”

“And work with the
lawyer.”

His hands tighten on my
waist.

“Whatever happens, if
you go to prison, I’m not giving up on you. I’ll visit you. Write to you. Wait
for you.” He winces at that, but now that I have his attention, I’m determined
to help. “But don’t
you
give up. The
truth isn’t going to destroy your pride. People may pity the boy you were, but
trust me, they will be astounded at the man you’ve become, because
of all that boy has been through. I
know because I am.”

He stares at me with an
expression of confusion mixed with awe. “You shrinking me again?”

A sad laugh escapes me.
“I’m not much of a shrink. I just understand you, like you understand me and
the whole guilt twisting my perspective thing.” He nods but I persist. “Promise
me.”

“I’ll talk with the
lawyer,” he concedes.

Understanding that’s
all I’m going to get, I hug him tight. “When are you getting back to Michigan?”
I ask into his chest as his arms come around me.

“Late Wednesday night.”

“How late?”

“About one in the
morning.”

“Is that too late?”

“Hell no.”

Chapter 32

~April~

Allie gave me the extra key. I
sit and wait
and
watch the clock for over an hour as it ticks closer to one a.m. A nervous
flutter rolls through my stomach every few minutes while I wait, but the
flutter will not stop me from taking another leap into my past
.
When the sound of the door handle
turns, my stomach threatens to do far more than flutter, yet the sight of Gabe
walking into the apartment has me ignoring the nervous tsunami in my midriff.

I launch myself at him from
his couch. Though it was two days ago, I shout, “Happy New Year!”

Startled, he drops his
bag and catches me. After a long, hot kiss, he closes the door.

“The album done?” I
ask, leaning back to look at him.

He nods. “Except for
final mixing and mastering.”

“Congratulations. Feel
good about it?”

“Yeah, it’s good, maybe
great.”

“Oh, from the one song
I heard, I’m sure it will be great.” I move back, putting my wringing hands
behind my back. “I have a surprise for you.”

His brows rise and he
grins as he sheds his winter coat. “More than that attack welcome?”

Nodding, I step to the
side. My guitar case is on the table.

At first, he blinks at
it, then lifts his gaze. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” I say,
going to the case, appearing calm, although I’m anything but. I drag out the
guitar. “Or maybe I need to.”

Gabe silently watches
me for a long moment before moving to the couch. “All right, play something for
me.”
 

I drop on a chair
across from him. “I haven’t played in almost three years, so expect a few, or
maybe more, slip ups.”

“It will be better than
anything I could do.”

“Well it’s not the
drums,” I snort, attempting to appear calm. I settle the guitar in front of me
with trembling hands. I’m scared, actually terrified, but the instrument feels
right, the cool wood in my hands like a forgotten friend that I hadn’t realized
how much I missed. This friend and I need to become reacquainted.

I draw in a deep breath
and begin. Slow, soft finger picks, paired with changing cords changes into a fast
rhythmic progression of higher chords, then it repeats though the cords change
slightly. I keep my attention on the guitar, fearing if I glance at Gabe, I’ll
forget the memorized notes. The pretty melody builds and drops again and again.
I mess up on a few chords, the timing during a couple of transitions, and the
finger picking during the faster parts. There was a time I could practically
play this instrumental in my sleep. Although I remember the notes, timing and
finger motion need practice. Yet, it doesn’t sound flat. I’m startled—more like
elatedly shocked—to find there’s emotion behind the music. Something I had
believed I would never get back.

Finished, I draw in
another breath, cradle the loved instrument in my grasp, and meet the stunned
gaze across from me.

“What was that?” Awe
fills his tone.

“Mozart’s
Lacrimosa
from
Requiem in D minor, changed a bit for the guitar though. I used to do it much,
much better.”

Gabe’s brows nearly hit his hairline. “Better?” He
stands up, towering over me. “That was insane.” He takes the guitar from my
grip and sets it in the case. “And sexy, unbelievably sexy.” He grabs my hands
and pulls me up. “We could never be in a band together.”

“Why not?”

“Watching you play, I wouldn’t make it through one
practice. I’d want to do this.” He brushes my fingertips with his lips. “And
this.” His lips find the other set of fingertips.

I never thought the whisper of lips on my fingers
would be hot, but I’m practically panting.

“And this,” he says before kissing me.

“Is that all?” I ask a bit breathlessly when we come
up for air.

He tugs me by the hand toward the bed. “Nope. The
rest of the band would get quite the show.”

“Show
me
then.”

He grin is too sexy as he pushes me onto the bed.
“Oh, I plan to.”

****

Gabe’s harsh breath is
in my ear. My leg is around his waist. Water is pelting us. My hands grip the
slick, hard muscles of his shoulders. I’m going to have tile marks in my back.
Shower sex. Best way to wake up. Ever. Who would have thought? He lifts my leg
and changes the angle of his entry. Oh, good move. Quite, quite lovely. A few
thrusts later, I’m releasing one of those melodious sighs that he loves.

After the wake up sex that leaves me tired, he wraps
my limp body in a towel and helps me from the shower. “Other than a two o’clock
appointment with my probation officer, I have the day off. Want to go out for
breakfast?”

It takes me a few seconds to find my mind. “I’d love
to, but call your lawyer first.”

He gives me a level look.

I give him one back.

“He’s actually
Justin’s
lawyer.”

“Call him.”

His fingers lightly slide across my shoulder then up
the line of my neck, sending little, hot shivers through my body.

I step out of his reach. “Call him now.”

He lowers his hand. “Fine.”

I smile sweetly. “Excellent.”

While I dress on one side of the apartment, Gabe
calls from the other side. Wearing just jeans, he leans on the counter and
crosses his bare feet.

It’s quite the yummy sight, and has me questioning
if I should even bother with clothes. I try to give him some privacy by going
back into the bathroom. Done putting my wet hair in a bun, I step out into the
apartment to find Gabe leaning front ways on the counter, his back muscles
tensely bunched.

“What’s going on?” I
ask,
my tone fearful.

He slowly turns around. “The hearing is on Friday.”

Coming toward him, I almost trip. “This coming
Friday?”

He nods.

“How?” I expected a few more weeks with how slow the
legal system usually works, but this is too fast. We’ve just finally found each
other.

He shrugs but his jaw is rigid. “I already pleaded
guilty. Guess it should be quick.”

My fingers curl into his belt loops. “Three days…”

He leans down, resting his forehead on mine. “I
wanted—I wanted to…do so much with you.”

The sadness and fear in his gaze is breaking my
heart. I don’t want his possible last days of freedom to be dark and full of
trepidation. Knowing my gaze probably reflects his, I force a smile to my lips.
“Let’s make it the best three days ever.”

****

We sit on my couch
after dinner. Gabe in the corner. Me lying with my back against him. I went
shopping—bought everything the male population is known to love, from steaks to
potatoes to mushrooms—in the afternoon while he met with his probation officer
and then lawyer. After we ate, I offered to play the guitar. Gabe said to wait
or we’d be in bed before eight. We’ve been talking about anything and
everything. How Riley helped him become a better drummer. The huge crush I had
on my piano teacher when I was twelve. How Gabe is always nervous prior to a
show whether on the major tour they opened for this past summer or at a local
venue here. My one show in a teenage club basement with my retro band. He talks
about some of the good times with his father. I even share some humorous
moments from when Rachel and I were children. Then we talk music. He likes the
harder stuff, but doesn’t mind my favorite era of grunge.

Gabe breaks the lighthearted conversation by
announcing, “The lawyer wants my psychologist to offer a recommendation to the
judge.”

His frustrated tone has me twisting around. “You
don’t want him to?”

“Her. And fuck no.” His fingers tighten their hold
on my waist. “Isn’t that shit confidential?”

I turn all the way around until we’re face to face.
“You can tell her any specifics that you don’t want her to share, but no one’s
going to think any less of you.”

“I know. I know. It’s just…it was hard enough
telling her, but to hear it back out of her…”

“Like reliving it?”

“Something like that.”

I brush a finger over his top lip, the one that I
find so sexy. “Part of me doesn’t want you to have to deal with that, actually
all of me doesn’t want you to deal with that. Yet you could be trading one hell
for another.” Though I’m imagining, or maybe hoping, if it happens, he would go
to a
minimum security
prison with less restrictions.
However, being locked up would be awful no matter where. I’m very, very scared
for him, but I’m trying not to darken
our
short time together and be brave for him.

He draws in a harsh breath and lets it go, touching
my face. “Because of my promise to you, I’ll probably agree to it tomorrow when
we meet.”

“Do it for you, not for me.”

“I’ll do it for both of us.”

I shake my head, before falling on him for a hug.

All this talk of lawyers and psychologists has me
wanting to bury my face in his shirt and hysterically cry. Instead, after
several minutes of collecting my emotions, I push up and ask, “Ready for me to
play?”

“More classics?”

“Current classics.”

He tilts his head at that.

I push off him to stand. “I know a few thrash
songs…like say…” I reach for my case on the table. “Metallica.”

His brows go up, but he smiles. “I’m always ready
for you to play.” He stands and tugs me by the hand. “But you should play in
the bedroom. We’re going to need the bed.”

****

When I get home from
work the next day, Gabe is already at my apartment. Of course, I gave him the
extra key. He is sitting on the couch, appearing relaxed with an ankle resting
on a knee and an arm wrapped behind the couch. But the glint in his eye, the
hot smoldering look, exposes what is truly on his mind.

I kick the door shut, whip off my coat, and
practically dive at him. He catches me and within a few hot kisses, our
clothing is loosened and a condom unwrapped. He enters me and hisses out a,
“Hello.”

“Hi,” I pant, straddling him.

“Work good?” he asks, head tipped back, fingers
digging into my ribs.

“All right. This is better.”

“Yeah?” He forcefully surges upwards.

My
head falls back. “Oh, yeah, much, much better.”

He keeps it slow with deep, hard thrusts that have
my body striving to go into overdrive. Unintentionally, I try to speed the
rhythm up.

His hands grip my hips, slowing me down as he lifts
his head and presses his mouth to the center of my chest. “
I’m trying to hold on to these moments.
The feel, the scent, the sound, the beautiful sight of you. I may need them to
last a couple of years.”

Forcing my body to
slow, I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “I’m holding on to the fact that a
couple of years are nothing compared to forever.”

He nods, his mouth
brushing the clasp of my bra. “A couple of years is nothing compared to being
with you.”

****

My bedroom is dark
except for the faint shine of the lights in the parking lot out the window. I’m
lying sideways on the bed. Gabe’s naked stomach is my pillow. His fingers play
in my hair. The motion is sweet and comforting, yet melancholy hangs over us.
Tomorrow morning is his sentencing.
 

I want to cry and just let him hold me. But I won’t.
I
will
be strong for him. I’ll cry
later, buckets into my pillow.

“I’m not going into the graduate program,” I blurt
out filling the silence, wanting to share and wanting to dissipate the fear
hanging in the air.

His hand pauses near my temple. “Because?”

I turn, my cheek sliding across his skin, to look at
him in the shadows. “Because you were right. Guilt has been driving me, but I
don’t think I’m cut out to be a counselor, no matter how bad my remorse drives
me to be one.”

“Guilt can make people blind to the truth. Look at
how I tried to push you away.”

“Yeah, but that only lasted weeks.” I let out a
sigh. “For almost four years, I believed sacrificing my life as payment would
somehow pay my debt, somehow let me look in the mirror again without hate. I
finally get that I’m going to have to accept myself, even with the horrible
wrong in my past. There’s no erasing it by helping people.”
 

“There’s nothing wrong with helping people.”

“When you’re doing it for yourself there is.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, April.” He scoots down
and turns both of our bodies until we’re face to face. “But then you’re always
trying to be a better person. And you know what I’ve learned from you?”