The Secret 02 The Forever of Ella and Micha (19 page)

Her free hand begins to seek the same area when Ethan and Lila appear in the doorway. Ethan’s carrying a beer in his hand and Lila has a phone up to her ear, talking really loudly over the noisy room behind us.

“So she found you,” Ethan calls out with a smirk. “Thank God. She wouldn’t shut up about you.”

Ella burrows her face into my chest. “I’m tired.”

“How much did you let her drink?” I ask Ethan, annoyed. “Too much, obviously.”

Ethan shakes his head and tips his head back to take a swing of his beer. “She chose to drink. I left them out in the living room for, like, fifteen minutes while I was taking a shower, getting ready for this little shindig. When I came out, there was a half a bottle of our Bacardi missing and these two were in the kitchen drunk off their asses.”

Lila stumbles in her heels and supports herself with a hand against the wall. “Well, I don’t really give a shit what you do,” she says into the phone. “I don’t want you coming over.”

A big grin rises across Ethan’s red-tinted face as he points at Lila. “She’s breaking up with some dude over the phone. It’s fucking hilarious.”

“Are you drunk?” I accuse, stumbling backward as Ella puts all her weight against me.

Ethan nods his head. “Maybe a little.”

I smooth Ella’s hair away from her face. “Who drove?”

“We took a taxi.” Ethan gulps down his beer and sets the empty bottle down near the wall with many discarded bottles and glasses. “I’m not stupid enough to drive drunk.”

Ella cups her hand around my ear and whispers, “But he didn’t pay the cab driver. He made us jump out and run.”

I sigh and put my arm around her lower back. “Let’s go get you three sat down, so I can focus on what I need to do.”

I choose a booth in the far corner and ask the waitress who showed me where everything was to keep an eye on them and not serve them any more alcohol. They’re trashed—beyond trashed and it’s only going to lead to trouble.

Ella rests her head on the table with a sad, puppy-dog look on her face and I brush her hair away from her sweaty forehead.

I crouch down beside her and ask in a low voice, “Did something happen tonight that upset you?”

She shakes her head and turns her face away from me. “Nothing happened. I just want to go home and go to bed.”

She’s lying, but I can’t pick her brain right now. Even though it nearly kills me, I leave the table and head for the backstage area to collect my guitar. When I step out onstage and into the light, the room quiets down a little, but it’s still not the best scenario. The place is a real shithole, and for once I’d just like to play somewhere where people aren’t wasted.

I strum a chord, put my lips up to the microphone, and pour my heart out to a roomful of strangers who aren’t listening.

After the performance some big, bald dude corners me backstage in the hallway and hands me a card with his name and phone number on it.

“Hey, that was an awesome performance.” He’s got a scar running down half of his arm and a gold chain around his neck.

“Thanks,” I mumble, reading the card. “Mike Anderly.”

“And you are…” He waits for me to tell him.

“Micha,” I say, excluding my last name on purpose.

“Look, I’m gonna get straight to the point.” He talks with his hands out in front of him. “I’m a music producer. I work for a pretty small but good, honest company out in San Diego. I like your sound and I’d love to talk to you about what your future plans are in the music business.”

I stare at the card. “My future plans?”

He nods. “Yeah, with your music.”

I pick up my guitar case. “Yeah, I’m not sure what my plans are.”

“Well, when you do decide, give me a call,” he says and turns for the main room. “Like I said, I’m really interested in your sound.” He walks away and I figure he’s probably just some weirdo.

But what if he’s not? What if it’s some random act of luck? I may not have said I know what I want to do with my music, but I do. I want to play in a place that isn’t shitty, where people listen and understand. I want to be a musician.

I feel like a parent, getting the three of them home, and by the time we’re stumbling into my apartment, I’m ready for all of them to pass out. I pick up Ella and carry her back to my bed because she can barely walk.

“Keep your dick in your pants,” I advise Ethan as he ambles into the kitchen with his arm around a very intoxicated Lila. “And don’t drink anymore.”

He waves me off and Lila giggles as she opens the fridge, knocking over bottles. I descend down the hall and back to my room with Ella in my arms. Her breathing is soft and she keeps murmuring something about wanting it all to go away. It’s scaring the shit out of me.

Without putting her down, I kick my boots off into the corner with the rest of my shoes and carefully lay her down on my bed. The lights in my room are off, but the moonlight gleams through the window and onto her face, her plump lips, her beautiful, flawless pale skin.

She snuggles into my pillow and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

I pull the blankets over her. “For what, baby?”

She sighs, disheartened. “For ruining your first performance.”

“You didn’t ruin my performance, pretty girl.” With a small smile on my face, I kiss her cheek. “I love you. Now go to sleep.”

By the time I get my shirt off, she’s passed out. I take a quick shower, washing the icky feeling of the night away. I’m not thrilled to have to play in places where people barely listen. I want more, and even though the guy was sketchy, I wonder if maybe he could be legitimate.

When I return to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, Ella is sitting up on the bed and the lamp is on. She has a musing look on her face, like she’s about to start some trouble.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” I tell her, tossing my dirty clothes into the hamper and grabbing some clean pants from the top dresser drawer. It’s clear she’s checking me out, which would be great, except she’s drunk and I can’t do anything with her without feeling bad.

“I’m bored.” Her speech is slightly slurred and her eyes are red. “Can we do something?”

I climb into bed and sit down next to her. “I think we should go to sleep. It’s late.”

“Ethan and Lila are still awake.” She retrieves a bottle of Jack that was hidden behind her back, twists off the cap, and flicks it to the foot of the bed. “They’re playing strip poker.”

My eyes enlarge. “Right now.”

She bobs her head up and down. “They’ve already both taken off their shirts.”

“Were you just out there?”

“Yeah, where do you think I got this?” She shakes the bottle in front of my face and my hand darts out to steal it away, but she jerks her hand back, laughing. “Uh-huh. No way, Micha Scott. Not until you play with me.” She kneels up in front of me and swings her leg over my lap, tipping her head back to take a gulp. She gags, before her face turns serious. “You remember that time… that night my mom died?”

My body constricts. “How could I forget that night?”

There’s a mischievous look in her green eyes, and I wonder where the fuck this conversation is heading. “You remember how you kissed me before climbing down that tree?”

I nod, wrapping my fingers around her waist. “Of course I remember, but I’m surprised you do.” Because she was just about as drunk that night as she is now.

She licks her lips seductively. “It was a nice kiss, wasn’t it?”

I remove the bottle from her hands and force down a big swig, knowing I’m going to need it. I’ve never seen this side of her and even though she’s drunk, I am really fucking curious what lies ahead. “It was a very nice kiss.”

She leans forward and places her hands on my shoulders. “We should do it again.”

An internal struggle develops inside me over what’s right and what’s wrong and she softly presses her lips to mine. She rarely kisses me first and it’s a nice change, to know I’m wanted.

“You’re so sexy.” Her finger draws along my stomach muscles and my breath hitches. “I used to secretly stare at you all the time when you would work on cars with your shirt off.”

I try not to laugh at the secret she’s divulged and playfully trail kisses down her jawline to distract her from her confession. “How about we go see what Lila and Ethan are up to.”

Giggling, she leaps off the bed and knocks the lamp over. Not bothering to pick it up, she backs toward the hall. “If you want me in bed, you’re going to have to come get me first.” She takes off running.

I slip on a pair of jeans and a shirt, grab the bottle of Jack, and go out into the kitchen where Ethan and Lila are sitting at the table with their shirts off and cards out in front of them. Ella slumped over the fridge door, digging noisily through the beers.

Ethan drops the cards down on the kitchen table and surrenders his hands. “Lila talked me into it.”

Lila gazes up at me with little recognition. “It’s true. I did.”

I drop down in the seat between them and take a shot. “Alright, I’m giving up on trying to stop this regrettable night.” I collect the cards and shuffle them. “So don’t come crying to me when you’re all naked and cold.”

I didn’t plan on drinking this much, and I feel guilty for dragging Micha and everyone else into my mess. But I wanted to forget for two goddamn seconds that my father is going home for Christmas and invited Dean and Caroline back to the house for the weekend, but not me. I had to hear what was going on when Dean called and asked me where the key to the Cutlass were because he was planning on fixing it up and selling it or some shit—I hung up on him before I heard the full story.

Then the letter arrived from my dad. The freaking letter that I just couldn’t open, because it felt like whatever was in it could potentially crush my world into a billion pieces.

By the time we showed up to Micha and Ethan’s house, I was verging on a panic attack and I’d forgotten to take my medication that morning.

When Ethan had gone to take a shower, Lila pulled out a bottle of Bacardi and ordered me to spill my guts over a few drinks. A few turned into a very long blurry line and suddenly it’s several hours later. I have cards in my hand, a beer up to my lips, and a very intense game of strip Texas Hold’em going on. My shirt’s on the floor, along with my socks and boots.

Ethan and Lila left the house to go make a beer run. Micha made them give him the keys to the truck so he knew they would walk instead of trying to drive. Micha and I keep the game going, both of us determined to win. My drunken state has simmered down since I switched to beer, but my ability to make good choices is hindered.

Micha sits across the table from me, mulling over his cards. “I think I’ll raise you your bra.”

I shake my head with my eyes narrowed at him. “No way. Only one article of clothing per hand.”

He flicks his lip ring with his tongue, trying to seduce me and play dirty. “And who made up those rules?”

“I did.” I circle my finger above my head. “See this invisible crown right here. That means I’m the Queen of Poker and therefore I get to make up any rule whenever I want.”

An off-pitch laugh bursts from his lips. “That motion you made is for a halo, not a crown, and an angel is something you’re not.”

My jaw drops and I throw a chip at him, hitting him in the chest. “I am so an angel.”

“Ow.” He rubs his nipple where the chip scraped. “That was vicious.”

I nip my teeth at the air and then laugh, taking a drink of my beer. “Now back to the game. What do you have?”

He taps his fingers on the table, eyeing his cards and then targets an inside-melting gaze on me. “I want to up the bet,” he says, and when I start to gripe, he adds, “If you win you get my signed Silverstein shirt, but if I win you have to get naked.”

My heart thumps deafeningly in my chest. “I thought you said you’d never give me that shirt—that it was your pride and joy for getting it signed.”

He gives a blasé shrug. “I’m making an exception right now.”

I measure the pair of queens in my hand and the one laid down on the table, but there is also a pair of aces dealt. Shit. “I don’t know…”

“Come on, Ella May,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. “Loosen up.”