September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (9 page)

“I know the drill.” I said, gathering
my things.

Troy’s face took on that dead look,
the one he used when other people were around. It only came to life
when we were alone, which only happened in his bedroom.

“Never again,” I
whisper-yelled, rising from the chair and trying to hide the utter
shock of my eyes blurring. He was a horrible person; so
not
worth crying over.
But that didn’t matter. The melancholy fit came on against my will,
emptying me completely.

+ + +

10

—
Angel

The morning finds me wide awake. I
don’t know when I fell asleep, I usually have a tough time of it,
but I can tell, when I stretch out, that I feel okay. My brain is
foggy, but in a good way.

The clock radio on my small shelf
plays an AM station. The Bach piece sends my thoughts immediately
to Jake.

If the music of Analog Controller was
the soundtrack of my youth, then Jake was the vinyl it was pressed
in. Yeah, I had other shit going on; bully’s at school, damn
appointments to keep and no viable transportation besides my legs,
keeping my grades up, and trying to work out how I was gonna pay
for college—but none of it was as important to me as my
relationship with Jake.

Jake was my heart and soul.

Avery was the friend that always had
my back, my voice of reason. We were synchronized, like one
organism. Symbiotic. Full of heart and hope. We had potential. We
had promise.

Or so I thought.

+++

Inside the interview room once more, I
look across the table and sigh.

I still don’t know their names: the
lady with the gray overcoat and tight hair bun; her name badge is
still flipped over. So, I don’t know who she is or what she does.
It’s almost like she doesn’t want me to see it, she doesn’t want me
to know. And the quiet man, I can’t read his badge, either. The
letters look smeared. I wonder if that means I need
glasses.

The committee of two stares quietly
back at me while my lawyer and his awful jacket—that is also gray
today because it seems he’s joined whatever little club the other
two are in—stares off into space, chewing on the cuticle around his
thumbnail.

Biting back the irritation, I speak
up. “I’m jumping ahead to a few weeks before the big tour
started.”

I close my eyes to focus, imaging the
moments I picture are wrapped onto a reel of film, fast forwarding
until I get to that time: the one where my world was spinning in
two different directions, simultaneously ripping forward and
back.

“Everything was coming together and
falling apart . . .” My hands unconsciously grip the chair as I
open my mind and let the memories fly out, rearranging the
space.

Transporting me.

+++

Analog Controller would get their
shot. One chance to make their dreams come true.

And with that, the threat of being
forgotten became all too real for me. I was happy for the band. I
wanted them to succeed. More than anything, I wanted what was best
for Jake, but I was terrified I’d be left behind in the
process.

It was a real tour with three other
bands, a piggy-back set of gigs and a huge source of stress. Mostly
for me, because of that fear of separation, of not being enough. I
tried to keep it in check, especially since everyone else was so
excited. It was a huge opportunity and the biggest tour Analog
Controller would be a part of, up to that point. They’d been
invited to play six dates with Anemic Psychos. The Psychos had a
label backing them, an album dropping, and were known throughout
the state. They invited Analog to fill a spot that opened when one
of the touring bands had fallen out of the lineup for whatever
reason. Some of those dates were filled right away, but someone
from another group on the tour, the Proselytes, threw Analogs name
out there (Jake had played with them before) and the invitation to
finish off the last leg of the tour was extended.

It was so easy, like filling in a
bubble on a Scan-tron test. Everything was complete once Analog
answered. All they had to do was show up.

The scariest part for me was that the
band was actually going to play a few shows in Southern California.
The scary part for the band was that they had little time to
prepare.

Jake was determined. Los Angeles was
the place to be if you wanted a record deal. And to get that, you
needed exposure. And to get exposure, you had to be a part of the
music scene. That scene played out mostly in Los Angeles and New
York.

My mind gnawed on the meaning of this
huge opportunity as my feet crept along the wide corridor, aiming
for the back parking lot and then the waiting school bus. There was
a smear of gum on the bottom of my sneaker. Every other step left a
stretchy pink trail along the asphalt. The black diesel fumes
coming off the line of buses was unbearable.

My hands were numbed by nerves as I
climbed up the steps of the bus. My gaze wandered down the single
aisle while a commotion rumbled behind me, reminding me that I
should move along as other people were trying to get on, too. I
sipped at my can of Diet Coke, aiming to down it before the
constant summer air warmed it. The line pressed in as I made my way
into the aisle. The bus driver kept the radio on the classic rock
station. The speakers pumped an old power ballad by a band whose
name reminded me of breakfast cereal.

Quickly scanning for an opening, I
snatched up the last empty bench seat, two spaces behind the
forgettable driver and set my backpack in the spot beside me. The
bus kept filling, the way it always did. Single file, with bland
passing faces, just not the ones I was used to seeing. Some looked
around unsure while others went directly to a particular spot.
Thankfully, hardly anyone took notice of me and the ones who did
didn’t look hostile. The ever present tension in my shoulders gave
way.

The day had dragged on, relentless,
but only because I was looking forward to seeing Jake. I smiled
into my hand, cupping my chin as I looked out the window into the
school parking lot.

It was going to be a long ride, so I
settled in, and let my mind wander.

I spent as much time as I could with
Jake, but he worked full-time and had the band, so that mostly left
the nights and weekends. If Analog Controller wasn’t playing a gig
somewhere. Even then, I usually had to contend with my foster,
Deanna, to let me go over to see him. That’s why it was easier to
simply take the bus straight from school without saying anything.
If the Foster ever asked, I made up a random classmate, saying I
had to work with them on a school project. Or said I was at the
school library, which was the most convenient place and she never
asked on Fridays, because I had to go see my shrink on Fridays. But
my appointment wasn’t until five-thirty, which left me a small
window of time to spend with Jake.

The school bus was nearly empty by the
time it hit Jakes street. After the driver pulled over and opened
the door I hopped out, only a half block away from his house—at the
corner that opened up into his cul-de-sac. The plain suburban area
was filled with older track homes and dead lawns that were as
familiar as my own bedroom.

All of Carlisle was brown year-round.
What little spring green there was usually dried out by March.
Before May was over, the only living green left was cactus. I don’t
think there is a type of grass that can survive an Arizona summer.
Maybe Astroturf?

My feet swept over the hardscaped lawn
that made up Jakes front yard. It was all decorative stones and
gravel. In the very center, there was a great big cactus with a
large, broken wagon wheel resting at the base.

I knocked on the door as my
stomach went into flip-flops. My constant anxiety was morphing into
hope, because there was no van in the driveway, which meant someone
was gone.
Hopefully, two
someone’s.

He didn’t answer the door. Jake never
did. His voice drifted from unseen places, “Get’ch your ass
inside,” over Black Sabbath.

That was a constant—Jake and
music—indivisible like those jars of peanut butter mixed with
jelly. Couldn’t have one without the other. He breathed it: in the
nose and out every pore on his body. It made everything around him
come alive.

The humming air conditioner cooled me
as I stepped into the dark entry. I dropped my bag at the front
door and rounded the corner into the hall that met the kitchen. I
made my way slowly, as my eyes adjusted.

My face heated the way it always
did—only for Jake. I could see the side of his face as he stood,
his mouth puckered in a look of concentration as he bent over the
scratched up dining table that held his favorite guitar, a black,
curvy Fender with the sunburst design. I could tell from the wiry
mess surrounding it, that I had interrupted him polishing and
changing the strings.

The music oozed from the living room
stereo into the sparsely furnished, open kitchen.

Jake looked up and his pucker
stretched to a welcoming grin. “She’s here, my girl, Friday.” He
met me half way, greeting me with a sweet peck on my forehead, then
one on my nose, and the corner of my mouth.

“Drink?” He held out a sweaty
twenty-ounce of Coke he’d been drinking on. Jake always
shared.

“Water.” I veered to the left, towards
the sink.

“You’ll probably have to wash a
glass.”

While waiting for the tap
water to run cool, I plucked up a nearby sponge and sniffed.
Seems safe
, I thought
and set it under the running water, soaped it, and began washing.
Three plates and four glasses later, I decided the water was as
cool as it was going to get and filled a special edition jelly jar
that doubled as a tea mug.

While I gulped, his arms crept around
my waist from behind. His lips fell to my neck, ticklishly pecking
at the nape. I moved my head, squeezing him out of the tickle zone
and giggled.

He turned me around in his arms,
turning the full power of his worshipful gaze on me. “You look
sleepy, baby.” His fingertips grazed the hollow under my eye.
Before I answered, his lips met mine for a wonderful, long-awaited
kiss that sent scorching shivers through me.

“Good mood?” Jake whispered against my
lips. He loved to talk through kisses.

“The best.” I answered, setting my cup
on the counter behind me to embrace him with both hands. “Are we
alone?”

As much I liked Max and Andrew, I was
really glad when he told me they were gone.

I felt Jakes’ lips stretch into a
smile. “We got thirty minutes—tops.” His hands swept up my back,
gaining momentum as he tangled his fingers into my hair, holding me
to him. “I missed you.”

My heated heart completely melted.
“Me, too.”

Jakes hands disappeared from my hair,
resurfacing on my waist. “Alley-oop.” He murmured, lifting me onto
the kitchen counter. Droplets of water soaked into my
shorts.

I gasped, in faux-horror. “What if
they walk in?”

His hazel eyes glowed dangerously. “We
won’t give’m any.”

My responding laugh was interrupted by
him plundering my mouth. Jake lifted me again, pressing my legs to
his stomach in a way that made me wrap them around his waist. The
gentle breeze of controlled air brushed against my back as he
carried me to his bedroom—one of the three in the house he’d been
sharing with the guys in the band.

I squealed as he hurled me onto his
bed. My fingers spread out to caress the smooth, black and green
comforter as I watched Jake remove his Dead Milk Men t-shirt. He
could undress faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. One fluid move and
he was half way there.

One more kiss and so was I.

+++

Jake jumped off the bed at the sound
of tires screeching into the driveway. “They’re back.” He announced
and tossed me my clothes.

My heart sank a little, watching Jake
get dressed in one, smooth swoop. Jeans and flip-flops—he was
done.

Sated and covered in a thin sheen of
sweat, I maneuvered into my panties, quickly followed by my shorts.
I heard the front door open as I fastened my bra. Jake moved in
front of his bedroom door, staring at me as he leaned against
it.

The second my shirt was back on, Max
tossed the door open, not caring that he clipped Jakes shoulder,
and looked around with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I’ve got the
fuse for the amp!” He brandished the small tube between two fingers
as if it were a trophy. “Practice commences in five,
assholes.”

“Get the fuck out.” Jakes’ jaw was
tight as he shoved Max back into the hall. Turning back to me, he
acknowledged, “I gotta fix that knob.”

I took his arms and set them around my
waist. Jake leaned down and gave me what I wanted—one more, long
kiss—before heading out to the garage for band practice.

+++

At any moment, Jake would start
humping his microphone stand. His hips already swayed back, sexily
making ready. Making me want to keel over.