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

Chapter 5

~April~

Although I loathe group
therapy, following my little talk with Dr. Medina, I left myself with the only
option of participating more. It doesn’t matter that Gabe stoically sits across
from me or that people may find out about me being in therapy. I have to make
it appear that the therapy is working to some degree because I have to get into
the program. Therefore I sit in my chair, listen attentively, and wait to
participate.

After his usual introduction monologue, Jeff asks
Chad then Misha to share. Apparently, he wants to get the usual crap out of the
way in the beginning. Next, he turns to Jason. Thumbs tapping on the sides of
his thighs, Jason tells a short story of his mother giving him a surprise
birthday party when he was ten. We’re all intent on listening since Jason never
says more than two words. And even with the shortness of the story, it’s
apparent that the memory is a fond one.

“I always wanted to give someone a surprise party,
so that was a great memory, Jason,” I say, wanting to participate with a bit of
honesty.

Jeff waits for other comments until the stale
silence has him giving Jason
an exuberant
thanks
before he asks Gabe to share.

Gabe’s eyes flick to me so quick that I almost miss
it, making me wonder if I missed any glances last week.

Though he casually leans back in the chair, his long
body is ridged steel. “When I retaliated against my father that first
time”—there’s no need for him to elaborate given that we all clearly remember
him announcing that he beat his father’s ass—“it wasn’t because I was defending
myself. I never tried to defend myself. It was because he hit his girlfriend
who had been living with us since I was thirteen. She’d been taking care of me more
than my father did the moment she walked through the door. After he hit her, I
lost it, snapped, and jumped on him, fists going wild.” He crosses his boots.
“He hit me from time to time after that, but he never hit her again.”

Misha looks at him with wide eyes. “And you were
only fifteen?”

Gabe nods.

“Did you ever beat his ass again?” Chad asks.

Gabe shakes his head. “He turned to threats more
than fists after that.”

“How much?” I blurt out in a demanding tone.

Gabe’s brow rises in question.
 

“How much d—did he hit you?” I almost said does.

His shoulders shrug. “Every now and then.”

“Well,” Misha sneers at me. “For someone who doesn’t
say much, you’re awfully intrusive.”

I actually agree with her. The question had come
more from the future counselor in me. I’m betting that Gabe has grown to
consider getting knocked around every now and then as acceptable. And as usual
when
Misha
is being aggressive, my gaze finds the
floor. I mumble, “Just curious.”

I glance up to find Gabe watching me, most likely wondering
why I backed down from Misha and not him. I wonder too—it’s always simpler to
back down—but for some reason, I spontaneously responded to him.

Jeff asks Gabe a few more questions about how he
felt before and after the confrontation with his dad. Gabe’s one word responses
are “angry” and “pissed.” Then Jeff swivels in his chair toward me. “Ready to
share, April?”

Dread fills me, but I nod and grab for my purse—some
designer brand my mother got from an outlet store—from the floor. I shuffle
inside for a few moments, buying time, even though the pamphlet is neatly
folded inside my planner. After a deep breath, I yank the folded paper out,
then set my purse back on the floor.

“This”—I wave the pamphlet in the air, unfolding it
and the thick paper flutters from my nervousness—“is the program from the
church service for my…my cousin’s funeral. She—she committed suicide.” I don’t
pay attention to anyone just flip the program over. “Her—my aunt had her bucket
list printed on the back. I’d like to share that.” Though my voice is even,
almost monotone as I read, the paper shakes. I can’t control my voice
and
my hands.

Speaking low and slow, I somehow get out the first
item. “Release a paper lantern, get a tattoo, kiss at the top of a Ferris
wheel, get belly button pierced, meet Michael Thomas, ride on the back of a
motorcycle, slow dance in the rain, walk through a drive thru, share a bottle
of strawberry wine, and sleep under the stars.” I fold the program with
trembling hands, my throat tight with the urge to cry. Done, I raise my gaze to
find everyone staring at me, even Jason.

Gabe’s gaze is unexpectedly thoughtful.

To my surprise,
Misha
asks, “When did your cousin…” She lets the question hang in the air like a clap
of thunder inside of our circle.

I clear my throat and let all the tangled feelings
inside of me go—actually, I shove them deep down
like
I always do. “Almost four years ago.”

“Four years ago?” Chad echoes. “I mean the whole
thing sucks, but four years… that’s a long ass time.”

It’s actually been three years seven months and
eight days since Rachel passed.

“Chad,” Jeff says in a warning tone. “You—”

“Need to shut the hell up,” Gabe says, glaring at
Chad.

Chad sinks onto his folded chair.

“I’d like to sleep under the stars,” Jason says
softly, breaking the tension.

“I’d like that too, Jason,” Jeff says, latching on
to the calmness Jason’s soft announcement brought to the tension filling the
circle.

As Gabe sits back, Jeff turns to me. “Thank you for
sharing, April. That took a lot of courage. And whenever you’d like to share
more, we’re here waiting to listen.” He then starts his closing monologue, a
long explanation of how sharing and listening to each other helps us understand
and respect others. I liked it better when I tuned him out, but I’m determined
to
participate
. He ends the session
with not only telling us that we need to think of something to share again for
next week, we also need to think of someone we could do an act of kindness for.
Merely decide on an act kindness at this point, worry about the doing later.

Two assignments for next week. Great. Let the
healing begin.

I grab my purse and make it out into the hallway in
record time. Passing the receptionist, I offer a quick goodbye, then step
outside. On the sidewalk, I ask Jason, “Would you like a ride?”

“No thanks,” he says, pulling his hood over his
shaggy black hair.

“All right, see you next week,” I say, moving into
the parking lot. After last week, I practically run to my car. I’m pulling out
when I notice Gabe marching across the lot toward me.

I’m not sure if he’s going to his car or coming to
demand I quit again, but I drive past him without looking, staying calm, cool,
and collected.

Well, except for the tremor in my hands.

 
Chapter 6

~April~

Since the warm weather
is holding out, Riley decided to have dinner on the patio in her backyard. Her
mother took her little sister to a movie, so we have the house to ourselves.
Riley made chicken enchiladas, while Allie—Justin’s girlfriend—and I cut
vegetables, like a million tomatoes, onions, and peppers, for fresh salsa.
Peyton—Sam’s new girlfriend who I just met this evening—brought dessert: spicy
chocolate cupcakes. Sam and Justin brought stuff for margaritas—I stick to
water. And Romeo brought the entertainment in the form of a fiddle, an acoustic
guitar, and a thin drum or precisely a bodhrán.

Though being in close proximity to Gabe puts me on
edge, especially after he claimed I hit on him
and
my revelation in therapy, the night has gone smooth. The
discussion about Luminescent Juliet signing with a label dominated most of the
dinner conversation. Plus I made sure to sit on the opposite end of the table
from Gabe. Then I spent as much time possible clearing the table.

Now the band sits across from us on the stairs
connected to the deck for the above ground pool. Surprisingly, Gabe has been
pleasant and easy going. But after quietly arguing—I’m guessing about who would
play—with Riley off to the side of the patio, his expression is rigid and
intense as he holds the thin drum. Actually, if memory serves me correct, Gabe
is always intense when he plays the drums.

Riley comes over and plops in the chair next to me.
“Ah, Romeo playing the fiddle,” she says with a wistful smile that has me
smirking. Riley is whipped but then so is Romeo.

They start “In the Pines” by Nirvana. Actually, it
is Led Belly’s version of an American folk tune that has been done by numerous
artists. I’ve heard the band play it in an acoustic version—and each time they
play it, the sad song brings on memories that I strive to forget about
—yet
 
this is slower, sadder, somehow
more melodic with the fiddle added to Sam’s guitar playing and the slow booming
beat of the antique drum.

As Justin lowly sings, “Don’t lie to me, where did
you sleep last night. I stayed in the pines where the sun never shines, and
shivered the whole night through,” a shiver inches along my spine. This new
version is stunning. It’s a mix of rock and folk that’s deep and dark and soul
touching. My favorite kind of music.

Or at least it once was.

And though I try to ignore its melancholy appeal, I
can’t help being transfixed as the music tries to fill the hole inside of me
left from the absence of it. As Justin’s voice rises, the dark space within me
lightens a touch. Romeo is in deep concentration with the fiddle stuck under
his chin. Sam strums and watches Peyton. Sitting on the top stair, Gabe looks
at the ground, the drum between his spread knees. Suddenly, he does glance up
and I’m caught in his intense gaze until I have to look away.

The song ends and Riley elbows my arm. “Didn’t Gabe
do great?” she whispers.

“Yeah, great,” I slowly say, bewildered at her
asking me about him.

“He’s gotten really good this past year,” she adds
in another whisper as they begin another soft melodic tune.

This time I keep my eyes from Gabe. Across the
table, Peyton and Allie sway to the rhythm. I don’t know the song—it must be
newer—but Sam’s light strumming combined with the melancholy tone and the
refrain, “My heart’s on fire,” has me wishing the song would end, though they
play it beautifully.

Finally, the song does end, and as soon as Romeo
sets his fiddle in the case, I grab the remaining dishes on the table and head
into the house. We had left all the dirty dishes on the counter per Riley’s
instructions. Now I’m a dishwashing loading machine.

Through the window above the sink, the energy around
the table as everyone talks and smiles and laughs is nearly visible. The music
leaves me melancholy and wistful at the same time. I wonder if I’ll always be
stuck on the other side of the glass, left alone. Shaking the water from a
dish, I shake the thought off.

I belong on the other side of the glass.

I’m rinsing a plate when I notice Riley bending
toward Gabe and gesturing toward the house. Brows low, he nods at her.
Recalling her elbow and words earlier, I’m suddenly suspicious the girl is
playing matchmaker. Once the suspicion settles, I almost laugh. Other than a
few dates, anyone and me is a stretch. I went dead to romance a long time ago,
but
Gabe
and me is preposterous.
Whatever Riley has got going on her head, it’s a waste of time. He obviously
doesn’t like me, and I’m not much of a Gabe fan.

Unsurprisingly, within minutes Gabe is in the
kitchen. “Getting a little too gushy out there,” he nonchalantly says, reaching
for a bottle of hot sauce and sour cream. Face impassive, he opens the fridge.
“Thought I’d come in and help.”

I turn toward the sink and pick up a dirty
pan along with a sponge. “No need. I’m
almost done.”

The fridge shuts and I sense him leaning on the
island counter.

“Listen, April,” he says in a wary tone. “I
shouldn’t have demanded you quit therapy. It was a dick move. I was just
shocked at you being there. I tend to get pissed, let off my steam, and think
later.”

He wasn’t the only shocked one.

“Honestly, I still don’t want you there.” He lets
out a sigh of frustration. “After this Tuesday, I get that you probably need to
be there but…”

The pan in my hand bangs against the sink as I stare
at the loving couples outside.

“I would think we’d both be uncomfortable,
especially after you—”

“I didn’t hit on you.” The words come from behind
clenched teeth. “I rarely drink, and obviously drank too much. I was just being
silly.”

“Okay, maybe I should have said because we share the
same circle of people or some shit, but come on, you have to be uncomfortable
too.”

Now I let out a sigh and start furiously scrubbing
the pan. “You don’t seem to take it serious. I have a hard time taking that
therapy group serious. What’s the big deal?”

Dang. Why am I so honest with him?

“It is hard to get serious with Jeff and the clowns
in that group”—I hear him shuffle along the island behind me, then tap on the
counter in a quick roll that echoes a drum fill—“ yet this label thing is big.
Big enough that I want to get my shit together. I
need
to get my shit together.”

The plea in his voice has me turning around. His
eyes are pleading too, his expression
so
desperate I want to reassure him.

But I cannot.

I slowly shake my head. “I can’t quit. I would if I
could, but the head of the psychology department has made group therapy an
unofficial hoop to get in the graduate program for Clinical Counseling.”

His jaw tightens as he runs a hand through his hair
dragging it back and revealing black barbell hoops in both of his ears. “Funny,
how you can’t take it serious, but it’s what you want to do.”

I can’t help a scowl from forming on my lips until I
finally nod. “I want to help people but it’s probably easier leading, easier
helping—you just have to have patience to help. With the other you
need…courage.”

Gabe is studying me with what appears to be
speculation and I’m gnawing on my lip, trying to overcome a wave of guilt, as
Riley bounces into the kitchen.

Her smile stiffens at our expressions, mine tense,
while Gabe’s is still contemplative, but she cheerfully says, “All right,
enough with the dishes. I can finish later.” She shuts the dishwasher.

Gabe continues staring at me with that weird
speculation as Riley drags me by the elbow outside.

His look sends a tinge of nervousness running
through me.