Playing by Heart

by JB Salsbury

  Jesse scopes out the fire and smiles proudly. “Oh, that? Yeah, well, that’s dad’s chair.”

  Ben interlaces his fingers on the top of his head as he studies what’s left of the chair.

  “I’m sorry, Ben,” I say lamely. He doesn’t know it yet, but this is all my fault. The burning thing was my idea.

  Jesse steps to my side, so close his arm brushes mine. My entire body sizzles with awareness, and I inwardly scold myself for feeling anything other than remorse during a time like this. “Bethany has no reason to be sorry, this is on me.”

  “Jesse,” I hiss.

  He looks at me, his gaze sliding down my neck to my chest. He grins then looks back into my eyes. Seems I’m not the only one who’s having a hard time being remorseful.

  “Don’t lie,” I whisper.

  “I’m not,” he whispers back. “I want you.”

  “What?”

  He shrugs, but he’s still grinning. “Nothing.”

  “What’s going on between you two?” Ben says in a way that makes me think he already knows the answer, but he’s also assuming a lot more.

  “We’re just friends!” I blurt.

  Jesse leans into me. “Now who’s lying?”

  “Friends,” Ben says unbelievingly.

  Jesse shakes his head. “We’re more than friends, but if it makes you feel better, you walked in on our first kiss.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, if you don’t count the time she watched me jerk off.”

  I choke.

  Ben’s eyes pop open wide.

  Jesse acts completely unaffected, squints one eye, and says, “We’re not counting that, right?”

  I gape like a fish.

  He winks. “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.”

  Ben drops to the top step of the porch and cups his head. “I knew I should’ve just stayed asleep.”

  “Speaking of sleep…” Jesse says. “It’s late. I need to take Bethany home.”

  Ben’s eyes snap to Jesse’s. “You can’t leave. There’s a fire in my backyard.”

  “It’s in a pool. It’ll be fine.” Jesse grabs my hand and drags me toward the house.

  I dig my heels into the grass. “No, he’s right. We should wait until it burns out. Or we should put it out before we go.”

  Jesse stares at the fire, and his shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine, but you know what that means, right?”

  Ben and I share a confused look.

  Jesse hooks his arm over my shoulders and pulls me close. “Looks like you’re staying the night.”

  15

  Jesse

  The fire finally dies out after three o’clock in the morning.

  On a blanket in the grass, I sit beside my brother and stare at the black water and charred pieces of the punishment chair. Bethany curled up and fell asleep shortly after she lay down, leaving Ben and me to our uncomfortable silence. I told him he didn’t have to stay out here, but he insisted. Whether he did it to watch the chair burn or to make sure I didn’t molest Bethany in her sleep, I’m not sure.

  So here we are, with nothing but crickets to entertain us.

  “It’s burned out now. You can go to bed,” I say, still fixated on the space where the flames once roared.

  “What are you doing, Jes?” There’s accusation in his voice.

  Twenty-four hours ago, I would’ve given some smartass answer that would’ve made him shake his head. Then I would’ve said something hurtful to get him to walk away and leave me the fuck alone. But tonight feels different. Maybe burning the chair really did break the chains that shackled me to the past. Maybe I’m just too tired to put forth the effort.

  “I fuckin’ hated that chair. When I saw it again, it reminded me of how much my family hated me for my music. I pretended you guys were jealous because I was successful. Deep down, I knew your disapproval was bigger than that. I didn’t realize how badly it hurt. When I’m drunk and high, I don’t feel a thing.” That felt weird. I can’t say I like the way it feels, cutting myself open and exposing myself to the one man who has the ability to make me feel so fucking small.

  “I appreciate you sharing that, Jes, but I already knew that. Not a day has gone by when I didn’t feel horrible for not being a better brother to you. I saw the beatings. I wasn’t strong enough to stick up for you because I was afraid they’d turn them on me.” He picks at the grass. “Ya know…” He clears his throat. “The reason I became a pastor was because since the day you left, I’ve been trying to earn forgiveness for what I did to you.”

  I tilt my head and study him.

  “I know it’s long overdue.” He sets sincere eyes on mine. “I am so sorry.”

  His apology catches me off guard, and I struggle for what to say. “Why keep the chair?” Might seem like a pointless question, but I have to know.

  “I don’t know. I guess keeping it was a reminder of how badly I needed God. After Maggie died, I was so mad at Him.” He gazes at the sky than back at his hands. “Still am. Seeing that chair every day when I wake up is a reminder that I have sins I don’t feel forgiven for yet.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  He shrugs and picks at the grass. “No one does.”

  “Don’t stay doing something you don’t love just because of me, Benji.”

  He looks at me, and even in the dark, I can see the hope in his eyes at my calling him by his nickname.

  I lean back on my hands. “The shit our parents practiced when we were kids? It’s not the same as what you’ve got going on at your church.”

  “I didn’t think you were listening when I preached,” he says, watching me from the corner of his eye.

  “Yeah, well, I did. You’re different. They were brainwashed. You were just a kid.”

  “I was old enough to know better.”

  “Either way.” I look at him. “I forgive you.”

  He flashes a half smile. “Yeah?”

  I nod once and grin. “Hell yeah.”

  His gaze darts to my hand, and his brows furrow. “You confident about what you’re doing here?”

  Huh? At first I don’t understand the question—until I follow his gaze. My hand is resting close to Bethany’s head, and I’m absently rubbing a thick strand of her soft hair. I stare at the brown locks wrapped around my finger. I must’ve reached out to her while we were talking and not even realized it.

  “She’s not like you, Jes.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s going to happen when it’s time for you to leave?”

  I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her delicate profile illuminated in the moonlight. “I don’t know.”

  I have no clue what I’m doing.

  Bethany

  One of the most frustrating feelings in the world is waking up and realizing I still have my bra on. How much better would I have slept if I’d taken it off before I went to sleep?

  With my eyes still closed, I reach back to rip at the eyehook closure and rid myself of the midnight torturer, then my hand brushes against something warm. My lids pop open, and I flip to my back only to see the sky.

  “Oh good, you’re awake.” Jesse’s deep voice is followed by the strum of a guitar. “I want you to hear this.”

  I push up to sitting and blink at Pastor Langley’s backyard, and last night’s events come rushing back to me. The chair, the fire, the kiss! I slept outside. I must look like crap. As slyly as possible, I pull the elastic band from my hair and smooth back my hair, raking through new tangles and bunching it all into a messy top knot. “Where’s the pool?”

  “Ben and I cleaned it up.”

  I turn around and find him leaning against the deck with his guitar in his lap. He’s wearing the same clothes he was last night, which makes me feel better about still being in my uniform. But whereas I must look like a woman who’s been living on the streets for days, he looks as if he just walked out of a Rolling Stone magazine.

  “Typical,” I mumble.

  His eyes dart to
mine, and his expression softens. “Did you say something?”

  “Oh, what? No.”

  His eyes narrow. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “I guess. Did you?”

  He strums his guitar. “I haven’t been to sleep yet. I wrote a song.”

  “Really? Last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh, I assumed it takes longer than that.”

  “You assumed wrong.” He does something with his fingers on the strings that seems really advanced or, I don’t know, just sounds awesome. “Wanna hear it?”

  I sit cross-legged on the blanket. “Of course.”

  He goes into some complicated-looking guitar playing that involves plucking strings. I begin to wonder if the song has lyrics or if he’s just playing the music. But he answers my question as he opens his mouth and sings.

  This is what I imagine heaven sounds like. Ethereal with dark notes that make the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. His eyes are closed, and he’s not belting out the words like I expect he does when he plays those huge arenas. Instead he sings quietly, as if he’s putting a baby to sleep.

  The song starts out soft and almost sorrowful as he sings about pain and regret. In parts of the song, he talks about wishing he’d fought harder, wishing he’d stood stronger, and as the music builds, the passion of his lyrics, combined with his deep, raspy voice, makes tears spring to my eyes. The song climaxes when he sings of burning old picture books and ashes of a past life. His voice cracks with such emotion that I grip my chest to keep my heart from breaking along with his. His fingers beat up the strings until I expect to see blood.

  There’s no question why Jesse Lee is a world famous singer/songwriter. His passion and talent is transcendent.

  I suck in a shaky breath as the song slows, but the heaviness of emotion in his voice doesn’t let up. He sings about ashes of days gone, he sings of a future without torture. After his final chord gets swept away on the wind, his eyes open. He doesn’t seem as broken as I’d expect a person to be after ripping out his soul and performing it in song.

  “What’s it called?” I ask through the thickness in my throat.

  “‘From the Ashes.’ Do you like it?”

  I blow out a breath and try to compose a response that doesn’t involve crying and gushing. “Justin Timberlake needs to give back your MTV music award.”

  He barks out a laugh that showcases all his teeth and makes his shoulders jump.

  “You give me his number and I’ll get it back for you.”

  He sobers. “I bet you would.”

  “I would. That was…” I put my hand over my heart. “I felt that. I still feel it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me!” I pat my chest again. “This is all you. You’re really incredible. I don’t think the stuff I’ve heard on the radio does justice to—”

  “Bethany, stop. What you helped me do last night? With the chair? You can’t possibly understand what that set in motion.” He puts down his guitar, leaning it against the deck, and crawls closer to sit on his knees in front of me. “I burned away a lot of bad shit last night. Ben and I talked. I wrote one of the best songs I’ve ever written, all because of you.”

  I lick my lips and avert my eyes, feeling insanely bashful all of the sudden. “I can’t take credit—”

  He cups my face. “You can.” He presses a simple, closed mouth kiss on my lips. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I whisper.

  His expression changes from kind to contemplative, which has me shifting my weight.

  “What time is it? I should probably get home and shower. I have to be back here at nine.”

  He releases my face and sits back, seeming a little dazed and not in a good way. “Ben took the day off. He said he wanted to spend some time with Elliot.”

  “The day off…” I shake my head. “He’s never taken a day off, at least not since I’ve known him.”

  Jesse frowns.

  I hop up to my feet. “Why don’t I take the car home and get cleaned up? I’ll be back in time to take you to group, then you can drop me off at work.”

  “Sure, yeah.” He stands but doesn’t look at me. “The keys are by the front door.”

  We need to talk about the other thing that happened last night. The kiss that was quickly turning into more before we butt-planted in the grass. Going off the look on his face, I don’t think now is a good time.

  “Right, so… I’ll see you later.” I stand awkwardly, wondering if I should hug him, shake his hand, fist bump? I decide to cut my losses and get the hell out of there as fast as I can.

  Jesse

  After a two-hour nap, a hot shower, and a mug of coffee, I’m able to get a handle on my thoughts. Bethany’s reaction to “From the Ashes” was not at all what I expected. The tears in her eyes, the way she clutched her chest—she was visibly moved by my music.

  The cheering I’m used to. The screaming fans… I’m accustomed to that kind of response. But her reaction was different.

  Approval shone in her eyes. Acceptance. That someone as good and wholesome as her would respond to my music as if it were the worship music she hears at church… well, it did something to me. Beyond making me feel good and beyond my pride, she made me feel… worthy.

  I’m grateful when the doorbell rings, signaling Pete’s here for my daily drug test.

  With Bethany gone and Ben and Elliot at the zoo, I answer the door myself.

  Pete seems disappointed I’m not Bethany. Horny dickhead. “Hey, man.”

  I open the door for him to come inside.

  “This was on your doorstep.” He hands me a package that must’ve come when I was in the shower.

  The return address is Dave’s office. I rip it open and pull out an iPhone box with a sticky note on top.

  Charged and programed with the only numbers you’ll need.

  Don’t fuck this up.

  - Dave

  I pop open the top and pull out the device. It lights up with a generic screensaver, and I hit the contacts icon. Dave, Ben, Pete, Dr. Ulrich, and Pizza Hut? Asshole.

  Being upset that Bethany’s number isn’t in the phone makes no fucking sense, so I shove it in my pocket and look at Pete. Nothing takes my mind off a woman like taking a piss in front of a man wearing rubber gloves. “Let’s go.”

  Drug and booze tests come back clean, and before I have a chance to dick around with my new phone, there’s another knock on the door.

  Dr. Ulrich.

  I let him inside and ask him to sit on the couch.

  He studies the space. “You wouldn’t prefer to do this in your room where you’ll have privacy?”

  I drop onto the opposite couch where Ben’s been sleeping. It’s lumpy and uncomfortable, which just goes to show that my brother must really care about me to save me from what must be the shittiest of night’s sleep. “No chair in my room. I lit it on fire last night.”

  His gray eyebrows rise to his hairline. “You lit a chair on fire?”

  “I did. Don’t take this the wrong way, doc, I know I haven’t made things easy on you, but burning that chair was the best form of therapy I’ve ever received.”

  He cracks open his leather folder and jots something down. “Would you mind elaborating?”

  I want to tell him that yes, I do mind. Instead, I tell him everything. I explain in detail the beatings on that chair, the ceremony with the snakes, all of it. Even the kiss.

  He listens attentively and writes things here and there. “Do you have feelings beyond sexual ones for this woman?”

  “That’s the thing, doc. I want to fuck her. I really want to fuck her. In every possible position and for days until she can’t walk, that’s how badly I want her. I can deal with that. It’s familiar territory for me. I want to fuck a lot of women. But then, I also want to burn shit down with her, ya know?”

  His expression turns cold as if he’s shutting down because he knows I’m feeding him bullshit even though I’
m not.

  “I look at Ben and his dead wife, Maggie, and I can’t for the life of me see what brought those two together. He may have loved her because, let’s face it, we get sex when we’re in love, but she’s gone now and he’s not moving on. You’d think he’d want to be in love again and go fuck someone else.”

  “So you’re telling me you equate sex with love.”

  “Sure.”

  “That means you’ve been in love many times.”

  “Thousands.”

  “You might want to consider redefining your definition of love. It’s not—”

  The rumble of a car in the driveway has me on my feet. “She’s here.”

  He checks his watch. “We ran over today,” he says as if he’s shocked. “I’ll see you next week, but please, call me if you need to talk before then.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say absently as I swing open the door as Bethany gets to it.

  She’s wearing a clean uniform shirt and black shorts, her hair down and damp as though she just got out of the shower. She spots the doctor. “If I’m interrupting, I’ll come back later.”

  I snag her hand and pull her inside. “Nope, you’re right on time.”

  We say goodbye to Doctor Ulrich, and I pull her down the hallway to my—Ben’s—room.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I close the door behind her and press her against it. Our lips come together, and if I thought she might resist me, I was wrong. She presses off the door, pushing into me. I grind my hips into hers, giving her a hint of what I want so badly, I’d give up everything I own to get it.

  “Wait,” she says against my lips but continues to kiss me.

  I smile as she sucks my tongue as though she can’t get enough.

  “No.” She presses her back into the door, but I follow her and pin her to it.

  “What? Say it quickly so I can get back to sucking those lips.”

  “Why…” She shakes her head as if she’s trying to clear the fog of lust from her mind. “When I left, you seemed upset, like maybe you regret kissing me last night, and if you do, we really need to stop.”