Just a Crush

by Tabatha Kiss

  Graham pauses beside me and pats my bare shoulder. “Well, she looked pretty upset and it might be a good idea to give her time to calm down... depending on what happened.”

  I nod again. “You might be right.”

  “But then... you go after her,” he says. “Don’t be the guy who didn’t. Don’t be me, okay?”

  I look up as my big brother’s wisdom settles in. “That’s good advice,” I say.

  “I know. I got it from you.” He taps my shoulder once more and pulls his room keycard from his breast pocket. “I’ll call down to the desk; get Ira up here to let you back in.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  He waves and disappears into his usual room across from mine.

  I’m not sure why my brothers assume I know everything there is to know about women and romance but they’ve come to me for advice ever since high school. Maybe it was the natural gravitation men and women alike feel toward rockstars the moment they prove themselves on stage or something, but I didn’t mind. It was nice to feel like an expert at something, so I went along with it and offered all sorts of clichéd epitaphs to help get them through rough times. Sometimes it did help. Sometimes it didn’t, but that never stopped them from coming right back the next time they needed advice. Even I honestly began to believe I knew what I was doing after a while.

  I never knew how wrong that was until I met her.

  I was never sure what she was thinking or how she’d react to things I said or did and honestly, I loved it. I loved the feeling of getting lost around her. I love the way I feel around her. I love her — body and soul.

  But I’ll take Graham’s advice this time. I’ll take a step back, find a shirt, and give Marla the time she needs to work things out, but I’ll stay close to my phone for when she needs me. Her family business is not my business, she’s made that more than a little clear when she rejected my offer to help — twice. I won’t cross that boundary again.

  But I’ll wait.

  She’s worth it.

  Thirty-One

  Marla

  I pause on the front porch and stare at the door. After all that insistence on coming here via the slow route, I still have no idea what I should say to my mother. Should I lie and tell her some fib about falling asleep whilst studying? That’s just stunningly out of character and not something I’d ever do, but it crossed my mind on the shame-fueled bus ride back to our neighborhood. Why not lie? What’s one more sin on top of an already sinful night?

  Should I tell her I was with Jonah? Surely she’s figured that out already. She knew I was at his show last night. She knows that we’ve been... close.

  She knows.

  But how am I supposed to tell her that I was so selfish last night that I never even thought about giving her a head’s up about where I was? If I had, I would have seen her messages. I would have been here like I should have been.

  Instead, I was with Jonah. I became that girl, the one who shirks her responsibilities for a damn boy.

  Maybe I’m overreacting but I didn’t exactly have rebellious teenage years. I had to get up, go to school, go straight to work, come home, do homework, go to sleep, wake up, and do it all again. I never did anything like this before. Boys weren’t part of the schedule.

  I slide my key into the lock and push open the door.

  The house is quiet but the silence is thick and heavy. I can tell things have changed already. The rug beneath the coffee table is gone. I smell soap and bleach in the air.

  “Good morning.”

  I startle at the outline of my mother sitting up on the couch with a small blanket draped over her.

  “Hey,” I say. “How’s Dave?”

  She stands and tosses the blanket onto the arm as she passes. “He’s asleep,” she says.

  “Is he okay? What happened?”

  Her hand flinches toward the coffee table. “I turned around for one second and he fell — somehow — and bashed his face on the table corner.”

  I wince. “And he needed stitches?”

  “Four of them. Right above his left eye. An inch more to the side and…” She shudders. “Not even gonna think about it.”

  “Oh, my god…”

  “I spent a while when we got home trying to get the blood out of the rug but ultimately just decided to toss it. The thing was old anyway.”

  “Mama, I’m so sorry.” I’m not sure where that came from. I haven’t called her Mama since before puberty but it just slipped out. “I feel awful that I wasn’t here.”

  “I’m just glad you’re home safe now,” she says. “You have no idea what goes through a mother’s mind when her kid doesn’t answer after a dozen text messages.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. I’ll keep saying it. “My phone was on silent for the show and then I just lost track of time.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was... with Jonah,” I tell the truth.

  She nods. Already knew that. “And you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I shrug. “Just worried about Dave right now.”

  “He’ll be all right. Stitches can come out in a week or so, they said. No concussion, thankfully. Over the counter painkillers when needed.”

  “And Sammy?”

  “Exhausted but fine.” She stares at me over the dark bags of her eyes. “Are you okay?” she asks again, the words a bit more pointed this time.

  I shift on my toes, suddenly achingly aware of how sore I still feel and how obvious my face must be. “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m really okay.”

  “No harm done then,” she says, her expression soft. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No.” I scan the room, searching for a change in subject. “So, what now?” I ask.

  “Now, we chill. Try and get some rest. My boss is letting me have the day off, so that’s good.”

  “I’ll ditch my classes today. We’ll take shifts watching Dave.”

  She doesn’t like that but she doesn’t argue against it either as she turns toward her room. “Then, later, we need to sit down and figure out how we’re gonna pay for this new hospital bill.”

  My gut churns. Hello, square one. It’s nice to see you again.

  “All right,” is all I can say about that. “Mom.” She pauses in the hall and looks at me. “I’m really sorry. I screwed up.”

  She shakes her head once and smiles. “You’re not quite me yet, kid,” she jokes. “Still got a ways to go…”

  I exhale a little tension but my shame lingers on.

  Thirty-Two

  Jonah

  When I said I’d wait, I guess I didn’t mean long.

  Botsfords aren’t exactly known for their patience.

  I slide my phone from my jeans pocket to check and see if Marla called me during the short drive from the hotel to her house. The bright screen illuminates the car and practically a few feet outside of the windows; one of the only lights in the dark neighborhood from what I can see from my front seat. Even Marla’s porch light is off. Not looking for visitors, perhaps.

  But I’m not just anybody.

  I step out of the car and walk up to the front door. The curtain is slightly open, giving me the smallest glimpse into her world but it’s large enough for me to catch a bit of her red hair. She’s sitting on the couch with a textbook in her lap and a mug carefully balanced on one knee. The glow of the television bounces off the corners of the room and I can’t help but smile. Seeing her again, even in a simple, innocent state like this...

  She’s beautiful.

  That’s really all I can say.

  I roll a loose fist and knock twice on the door. She reacts to the sound, raising her head and sliding her book off her lap as she stands. I take a step back so it’s not so obvious that I was staring at her through the window and stand up tall.

  Her face appears from behind the curtain and I see her hesitate as she sees me. After a moment, she unlocks the door and steps outside, discreetly closing it behind her.

  �
��Hey,” she says.

  I smile. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing here? I said I’d call you.”

  “And you didn’t, so I’m here.” I glance over her shoulder. “How’s Dave?”

  She nods. “He’s gonna be fine. Kids bounce back quickly these days.”

  “And how are you?”

  Her lips press together and she crosses her arms. “I’m feeling pretty conflicted about things.”

  “What things?”

  She exhales. “Jonah, I need to step back from this for a while,” she says. “From us. I’m needed here.”

  My chest clenches. I expected this, a little. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. “You’re needed here, too,” I say.

  “Jonah...”

  “Marla, I know things got mixed up this morning but that doesn’t mean you can’t have both.”

  “I don’t expect someone like you to understand.”

  I frown. “Someone like me?”

  “I don’t mean...” She pauses. “Some people can’t have everything they want whenever they want it, Jo. I have priorities I have to focus on for now.”

  “Just for now?” I ask.

  “For... as long as I need to. Yes.”

  I sigh. “And I guess there’s nothing I can say to get you to let me help you?”

  She looks down, heavy eyes and shoulders. Without a word, she reaches into her back pocket and pulls something out; small and flat. I can’t see what it is until she holds it out for me to take.

  A Botsford Plaza keycard.

  I don’t take it. “Keep it,” I say.

  She shows a half-smile that rattles my knees. “I can’t have the temptation right now.” She extends her arm toward me a little more. “Jonah, please.”

  “And lose the possibility of you sneaking into my bed in the middle of the night?” I shake my head. “Not a chance.”

  “You said you wanted to help me.”

  “Not like this.”

  She steps forward to forcefully stick the thing in my hand so I grab her by the wrist and pull her close to me. “Jonah—”

  I silence her with a kiss. She doesn’t try to pull away but she doesn’t lean into it either. She just stands there with quivering lips, her fingers pressing that card into my palm as if it still had a chance of leaving here with me.

  “This isn’t over,” I whisper, my mouth still warm against hers. “You hear me?”

  Marla looks down again, effectively breaking the kiss as she plants her back to the door. “I hear you, but...”

  “No,” I say over her. “You might not be one of those people who can get whatever they want whenever they want it, but I am.”

  She holds out the card again. “Just take it, Jonah.”

  I step back. “No.”

  “Jonah.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “I don’t want it either.”

  I exhale through my nose. “You’re being stubborn, you know that?”

  She squints hard at me. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. Why won’t you let me help you?”

  “Because throwing money at a problem doesn’t magically make it go away.”

  “Actually, yes. It does. Especially when lack of money is the problem.”

  “And what happens when that coffer dries up?” she asks. “You just refill it again?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “And when you leave me?” Her voice shakes. “You gonna refill it after that, too?”

  My breath catches. “Marla, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her throat clears. “This isn’t about us anyway, Jo. It’s about me and my mother building a life for ourselves that no one can take away on a whim. I’m sorry to say that’s something I picked up from your dad but you have to admit, he’s right.”

  I bite my cheek. “No, I don’t,” I mutter like a child.

  She smiles, that little half-smile I can’t get enough of, as she extends the keycard to me again. “For now,” she says, her hand firm and steady. “Take it. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  I reach for it with a sigh and do as she says. “You know, it’s pretty hot when you’re bossy,” I say.

  Marla steps back into the house and smirks. “Yeah, that I got from your mom, so... get your shit together, man.”

  I chuckle-wince. “I knew that felt familiar.”

  “Goodnight, Jonah,” she says with a laugh.

  I give her one last smile as I step off the porch. “Sweet dreams, Marla.”

  She closes the door and it takes everything in me not to go pounding on it again for one last kiss, too.

  I walk back to my car, reaching for my phone as I do. Honestly, she’s right despite all my instinctual urges to kick back. My father always did preach the wonders of carving your own place in this world; one no one could take from you. Whether he’d care to admit it, that’s what I did. I have my music and it’s never let me down. It got Marla through pain before, too.

  It’ll do it again.

  I send Knox a text from the driver’s seat.

  Hotel bar 20 minutes?

  A few seconds pass and he replies.

  k

  I send it to Addison, too.

  And Katrina.

  Bronson.

  And finally, Jordan.

  We have work to do.

  Thirty-Three

  Jonah

  I pluck the strings on my acoustic, counting in time in my head while I sing the second verse. Addison does the same with hers as she sits across from me on the edge of my hotel bed. We play together, notes over notes, and I can’t help the smile building on my lips as it all comes together.

  But it’s not done yet.

  There’s still so much left to do.

  Knox and Katrina chat on the other side of the bed with sheet music sprawled around them. Bronson snoozes on the chair by the window but I’m not worried about him completing his part.

  Addison leads us into the bridge and I stop as she mixes up a few notes. “You’re doing it wrong again,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “No, trust me. It sounds better like this.”

  I sigh. “What’s wrong with how we wrote it before?”

  “Nothing. But I changed my mind.”

  “Fine.” I relax my hands. “Play it the way you want and then we’ll go back to how it was before when you see I’m right.”

  “No, we won’t.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  “All right.” She readies her posture with a smirk. “You know I love a good I told you so.”

  The room phone rings by the bed and I focus my ears to listen to her changes.

  Knox points at the phone. “Hey, if that’s room service, ask what the hold up is on my club,” he says to Katrina.

  Katrina curls her nose as it continues ringing. “Excuse me?” she asks.

  “You’re closest to the phone,” he says.

  “So?”

  “So, answer it.”

  “That’s not a rule.”

  “It should be.”

  I release a grunt and stand up from my chair by the writing desk. “How about I answer it, hmm?”

  I sound a little more annoyed than I should be but we’ve all been cooped up together for days now. Addison rolls her eyes and I know I’m not the only one getting fed up with the sibling bickers.

  “Oh, hey—” Knox gives me a thumbs up. “If that’s room service...”

  “I’ll cancel the food you keep sticking on my tab,” I quip as I grab the receiver and Addison kindly stops playing so I can hear. “This is Jonah,” I say into it.

  “Hey, man. It’s Rian downstairs.”

  “Are we being too loud?” I ask, expecting another noise complaint.

  “No. There’s a Ms. Gorchinsky down in the lobby,” he says. “She has requested to speak to you.”

  I pause as a feeling flutters my gut. “I’ll be right down,” I say before dropping t
he phone onto the cradle.

  Addison plucks her B-string. “Everything okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I just need to go take care of something downstairs.” I point at her guitar. “You were right. It sounds better your way.”

  She smirks. “I told you so.”

  I give her a respectful bow as I back out of the room into the hallway.

  What happened?

  The question repeats in my mind the entire 25-floor ride down to the lobby. It’s been over a week since I last spoke to Marla in person. Hell, it’s the last time I heard her voice. She asked for space and I agreed to give her that, so what happened? Did she change her mind? If she had why didn’t she just come up to my room? She knows which one it is...

  I figure it out a split second before the doors open on the lobby and I see her standing near the front desk.

  Marla’s mother, Angie. The other Ms. Gorchinsky.

  I glare at Rian’s shit-eating grin behind the desk. Clever bastard.

  That same flutter wrecks my gut as I walk over. From the right angle, they could easily pass as sisters, which is actually possible considering their age difference now that I think about it. It’s nice to see Marla again, even if it’s just the smallest part of her in her mother’s eyes.

  I reach her and she turns to face me. “Angie,” I greet, offering her a kind smile. “How are you?”

  She snorts at the golden columns. “Feeling a little under-dressed, actually...”

  I look at her waitress uniform and chuckle at my own wrinkled shirt and ripped jeans. “You and me both.”

  “I don’t have much longer on my break but I wanted to talk to you, if you’re not too busy,” she says.

  “I’ve got time.” I gesture to the empty seats across the lobby and she follows me over on her silent, flat-bottom shoes. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, too,” I say as I sit down. “I wanted to apologize for the night of the concert. Marla was with me but I really didn’t mean to pull her away from—”

  Angie waves a hand as she plops onto the firm cushions, looking happy to get off her feet for a while. “I appreciate the gesture but you don’t have to apologize. Whatever happened that night between you two isn’t my business nor my concern.”