September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (7 page)

The heat coming off of his confession
charged the air between us. Our mouths were mere millimeters apart.
Every other part of my body was flush against his—my shoulders and
both arms, my side, my hip, and the whole length of my leg. I
wanted to kiss him. I wanted to taste those delicious lips to see
if they were as sweet as my memory told me they were.

“You do?” My heart leapt inside my
chest when the edges of his lips curved sweetly up.

“I’m a sucker for laying it all out
like this, but yes. Very much,” Jake said. “The only thing holding
me back was I thought maybe you were too young. I was right about
that.”

I cringed at the reminder of my lie.
“It’s only three years.”

“It’s closer to four. So I need to be
able to trust you—especially if we’re going to keep doing what we
did last night.” He smirked, and the arm that was slipped behind me
reached down my back and into the tops of my jeans. I felt his
fingertips tug at the lace of my panties and blushed
furiously.

“So? You promise?”

“I promise. I won’t hide
anything.”

“Good, Liar.” He closed the gap
between us, sending beautiful shivers through me.

6

—
Angel

It was a blazing Saturday afternoon, a
little over a month since that first night at the motel. I really
was seventeen by then.

Jake and I were lounging in the
pick-up truck he’d borrowed from his mom. We were parked in a small
patch of shade behind one of the few drive-thru burger stands in
Carlisle. The small tree only shaded my half of the cab. The radio
was tuned to a local rock station which played an eclectic mix of
modern and classic. As I sat beside Jake on the bench seat of the
Chevy, the speakers churned out Sebastian Bachs’ aching screams
about the tragedy of being eighteen.

A gentle breeze floated through the
windows, cooling the beads of moisture building on my neck and
back. I had my feet up on the seat and my back against the
door.

Jakes’ expression was raw. It had been
that way since he surprised me with his pledge of love in the line
of the drive-thru only a few minutes before. He was thoughtfully
staring at his half-eaten burger peeking from the foil
wrapping.

In a way that always seemed so very
Jake, he began speaking mid-thought. “I mean, you get it, right?
I’m too young and I’m still four years older than you.”

“Three and a half,” I
disagreed.

He locked his entrancing gaze on me.
“It makes you way too young.”

“Does my age really bother
you?”

He shook his head. “Not as much as it
should.”

“It doesn’t bother me at
all.”

“That’s because you’re the minor.” He
ran a hand through his much shorter hair. “There’s every reason to
go slow. So much I don’t get about you and me. Still . .
.”

From his place in the sun-drenched
driver seat, he watched as I sucked the frosty chocolate milkshake
from a freshly dipped fry. He grinned when a melted droplet fell
onto the spaghetti strap of my tank top. Reaching over, he wiped
the mess with his thumb and put it to my lips. I took his fingertip
in my mouth.

“I should, at least, have something to
offer you.” He shook his head, smiling at my scandalous
ways.

“I can work for what I want. But there
is serious misery in those three little words.”

“Misery?” Jakes’ eyes darkened as he
set his burger on the dashboard. He took my food next, placing my
fries and sweating cup in the hot sun beside his. He leaned over my
outstretched legs. “Just misery?”

“Other stuff, too.” I breathed, caught
in his spell.

“Like what?” He smoothed my feet over
his lap and came closer.

“Good stuff.”

“How good?” He asked, leaning and
shifting to come at me head-on.

“Extra-super-good and extremely
fantastic.”

His knee came up onto the seat as he
stretched, pressing his weight against my thigh and the vinyl
bench. “I used four words, remember? ‘I fucking love you.’ Does
that scare you?” His voice was husky, his eyes on my
mouth.

The radio’s commercial break ended.
Joan Jett and her Blackhearts began a wailing chant about hate and
love as I adjusted myself, preparing to receive whatever Jake
wanted to give and bit my lip. I wasn’t sure I should say what I
felt, but Jake was always very open with his feelings, and
encouraged me to do the same.

“Well, does it?” He whispered, sending
my heart into double-time as he swooped through the small bit of
space between us, pinning one of my raised knees against the
seatback and the other against the dashboard. Jake occupied all the
space in between.

My breath caught. The burning sun had
nothing on him.

“I don’t—” I stopped, swallowing a
deep breath before starting again. “I can’t believe how good it is
to be with you. Jake, I don’t care about what that means.” I
watched his beautiful face, trying to guess what he was thinking.
The steamy air of his eyes never wavered, making me think his
thoughts were as naughty as mine.

I shook my head to clear it, still
needing to answer his question. “Maybe that’s irresponsible, but
everything besides you and me feels secondary.”

“Us,” he whispered, as if trying out
the word. The smirk that followed gave me goose bumps.

“And I—don’t judge me, okay.” I rolled
my eyes, feeling pathetic and needy. “When I think about what’s
ahead, I get really worried about what might happen when Analog
goes back on tour.”

Jakes soft eyes immediately hardened.
“I’m not a cheater.”

“No, that’s not it.” I smiled,
embracing the warmth of this admission, though Jake had never given
me a reason to doubt his fidelity. “I’m worried . . .” I took his
hand from the dashboard and set it over my hammering heart. “What
if this—what we feel like—changes, if we’re apart for too long?” If
he met a girl who could create like him, understood music like he
did, who could offer him things I couldn’t, like stability and a
family—it would break me.

“My whole life, I’ve been shoved from
one place to the next. Every single person that was supposed to
love me didn’t, but you, Jake, you say you do. As unbelievable as
it feels, I believe you; but that makes me need you, Jake. And that
terrifies me.” It was only half true. I’d needed him from the
moment he first kissed me, but could only now bring myself to admit
it.

After a moment of waiting for his
response, I had to know. “It’s the potential for misery. I wouldn’t
know how to go back. Do I sound as pathetic as I feel?”

Jake answered by taking his hand from
my heart and gripping the back of my head, pulling me closer to
him. His heat shot fire through my veins. His teeth gently scraped
my lips as he kissed them, and then pulled away. “I’d sooner forget
my reflection in the mirror, how to play guitar, or the way my
mother smells. The way I feel for you, Angel, it’s part of
me.”

My chest filled with flutters as his
lashes brushed my cheek. Jake whispered in my ear, “There are
millions of songs, baby. Sonnets. Monuments, even. It’s a story as
old as time. It’s the inspiration for the greatest works ever
produced by mankind.” He leaned back minutely to look in my eyes.
“They are all devoted to our cause. Because they know that you
never let go, not when it’s real. Love lives, like music. It’s
ageless and indelible.”

He closed his eyes, kissing me again,
deeper than before. His hands moved down my back pressing my hips
forward until they smashed his. The sundrenched seat burnt my legs,
but I barely noticed.

“What are you doing to me? I sound
like a pussy.” Jake chuckled into my mouth. “But I’m keeping you,
anyway.”

When his tongue wrapped
itself around mine, it was like two unstable chemicals meeting.
Reacting. It was explosive. The heat rippled through me in waves,
burning over every fear I had. Jakes’ kisses could do that: chase
away everything. Until there was only him. And me.
Us
.

I fought when he pulled
away.

“I promise . . .” His
lashes scraped my brow and I knew he was waiting for me to look at
him. When I did, he cleared his throat. “I promise you, my angel,
that no matter what—even if it breaks up the band—I won’t go
anywhere you don’t want me to. If you
really
need me to stay, tell me. And
I will.”

The electric air crackled as his
fingertips grazed the skin of my throat. “More than anyone or
anything, baby, I need you, too. I want you so bad.”

My lips skimmed along his jaw. “Take
me, then.”

+ + +

7

—Avery

This place has a way of picking you
apart. You think you’re whole, that you’re complete, but only
because it’s never occurred to you to be anything less. Being
inside, like I am, it’s a whole other story. The methods they use
to keep us in here have a way of washing over you, overwhelming
you, until your cracks are exposed. And then all you see are the
cracks, the breaks, the insufficiencies and imperfections, and you
know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you need . . .
more.

My own cracks came at the cost of
expressing myself. I can’t crack anymore, though. Not in this
place, where no one listens. I’m suffocating in here; on this
island of locked doors and barred windows. Caged like some kind of
animal, but treated like a zombie-slash-puppet, forced to brush my
watercolor feelings onto paper, forced into silence with pills and
schedules.

There is no longer any such thing as
conversation or interaction. There is only division, regret, and
ruin. Cracks are dark recesses with deaf companions. My voice,
waiting to be heard.

In prison, it’s all routines inside
walls drenched in mildew and sweat. I spend every second surrounded
by guards who don’t actually see me. I don’t get to talk to anyone
anymore. Not that I was ever interested in engaging with people.
But now . . . I’m not even here. I have no name. I have nothing.
Not even my own will.

I’m a ghost.

And like every ghost, I spend a lot of
time haunting the memories of the life I lost.

No one cares. Certainly not Angel, who
occupies those haunted places with me but hasn’t spoken to me in
ages.

That last night, when we
were still free, I looked at Angel and knew.
Knew
that I had pushed too far. Way
beyond ‘too far.’ So far that any control I might have had in what
happened next, was gone. I forced the situation and it got out of
control. Seems like it happened so quickly. In a moment, things
were said and done that shouldn’t have been and I had to take
responsibility for that. I tried to. Angel still hates me for it,
though.

I can’t stand that she won’t forgive
me: that she hates me so much that she’ll look right through me,
pretend like I don’t exist. If I don’t have her attention, then I
have no ones.

I don’t have right now, so that only
leaves what was. All I can do is look back and wish that I would
have chosen a different road. Maybe then our lives would have
turned out differently.

We used to be our own little clique.
Most times, when we were together there was perfect synchronicity.
A strange family; small, but true. There was me, the older
sister-type, struggling to be everything she needed: a nurturer, a
friend and confidant.

Angel was always the most frail and
dependent between us. I admit that I sometimes preyed on her
weaknesses, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love her. She
was the best friend I ever had, the only person who had ever seen
the true me, the one I hid away from the world. Those glimpses
ended up costing her but she still stuck around. Still let me in
and appreciated me. I loved her more for that.

And Jake was a fool. For needing her
like he did. For taking her at her word. For thinking he could be
truly honest with her. For thinking she was strong enough to take
the hits that came with being his girl.

He was a damned fool.

+ + +

8

—
Angel

I toss myself onto my thin bunk and
close my eyes, glad to be out of that suffocating room and back in
this little cell that is no less cramped, but feels a little more
comfortable. I’ve been out of there for over an hour and still have
sweat rings on the underarms of my jumpsuit.

Taking a deep breath, I let my mind
drift. It was tough and wonderful talking about him, but I haven’t
gotten to the hard parts yet. I still don’t understand how I got
from that reasonably happy girl to waiting to die. I mean, I know
how it unfolded, I just don’t understand how it could happen to me.
And I’m stuck in it.

This situation leaves me nothing to
smile about. I used to think of my nomadic life as a curse, but I
would give anything to go back and live there again. To just pick
up and go like I used to. If one of my foster parents said I
couldn’t do something, I would just wait until they went to sleep,
or went off to work. Then I would cut and run: do whatever the hell
I wanted for as long as I wanted to. Then it was wasting time in
juvenile hall—which was like a freaking vacation compared to some
of the places I stayed in—or doing time in a shitty group home
until they placed me with another foster family. I was disposable,
but so were they. That was my way of dealing: at any moment if
things got too heavy, I could always walk away. Life got heavy a
lot back then.