Better Than This

by Tia Souders

  He chuckled and stepped forward, then peeled my hands away from my face and leaned down to look me in the eyes. “Why didn’t you talk to me if this was bothering you?”

  “I didn’t realize it was. Until now.”

  “I’ll never pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do. You should know I wouldn’t.”

  I exhaled loudly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t let this worry you. Okay? I like you. I really like you and when you care about someone, you go at their pace, you take them into consideration.” Laird glanced around the room and smirked. “I think Tad fled. The kid has no stomach for the mushy stuff, does he?”

  I glared at Laird. “Of course, he did. Can you blame him? Besides, the kid idolizes me, but one PDA and he freaks.”

  “And what would you do if you saw him kissing some girl?”

  I frowned and glanced toward the patio. “Ugh.”

  Laird snickered. “Exactly. Come on,” he said, and grabbed my arm. We walked toward the back exit of the club and outside onto the patio to where Tad sat.

  He pushed his thick frames up his nose and raised a brow. “Get everything out of your system?”

  I nodded and stifled a laugh.

  The afternoon passed, taking with it the emotional toll of the past few days. I practiced my Juilliard pieces, doing very well for the most part. Tad recognized better than Laird the parts I fumbled. Without holding back, he pointed them out, and I played through them until I got them right.

  The three of us jammed for a while, just fun contemporary pieces. We snickered as Tad sang along to the lyrics and his voice cracked on a bunch of the parts. Laird teased him about it ‘all being a part of becoming a man.’ Afterward, we ordered pizza and sodas. We ate while talking about things unrelated to music—our favorite movies, books, school, and, at one point, Laird and Tad had a rather lengthy discussion on Tad’s latest fascination with cars. When evening rolled around and Laird suggested we go somewhere nice for dinner, Tad opted out—a notion I was thankful for. I craved some time alone with Laird and looked forward to discussing my worry over needing to have one of my parents present for my scholarship interview. Though Tad was great about lifting my mood when it came to most things, the parental portion of my worries was the exception. Maybe because he, too, had a deadbeat.

  Exhausted and content from a day together in the sun, the three of us drove in silence to June’s.

  “I just want to run in and change real quick,” I said as we turned onto my street.

  Laird nodded and pulled over to the curb at the border of our yards. Tad hopped out and wished us goodnight. Through the window, he and Laird shared a “manshake,” as Tad liked to refer to it—one of those fancy handshakes boys did that I never quite understood. After he made it inside, Laird turned to me.

  “Want me to go in with you?”

  “No. That’s okay.”

  “You sure?”

  I bit my lip. Something about the glimmer in his eyes told me he wanted to come inside, to see my home and possibly meet my parents. I glanced to the driveway. My father’s SUV was missing. Only my mother would be home.

  I pulled in a long breath and puffed my cheeks. “Okay,” I said.

  From previous conversation, he knew of my mother’s problem with alcohol. Regardless, the vice gripping my chest squeezed as we approached the front door. I dug the keys out of my pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed my way inside. Laird followed, and a momentary wave of relief hit me at the absence of my mother.

  Then my eyes adjusted to the darkened room.

  My chest constricted at the sight of her. I wanted to turn around, to grab Laird and leave before he could see what I recognized as one of Mom’s episodes. But I couldn’t move. I stood motionless on the threshold, mouth agape.

  She frantically paced the back end of the room, opening and closing the doors on the bottom of the entertainment unit. With each sharp thwack of the wooden doors, she whispered, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Her gaze darted around the room and the pink robe billowed around her when she walked.

  Breaking from my trance, I stepped forward. “Mom? Who are you talking to?”

  She jumped and turned, her empty eyes blinking back at me. “Michael’s here somewhere, but I can’t find him.”

  Too afraid of what his expression would be, I didn’t dare look at Laird. Instead, I took another step forward. We were in the thick of things, and there was no turning back. I raised my hands in effort to calm her and let her know I was there to help. All I could do now was damage control—try to de-escalate the situation so Laird and I could leave.

  Only a couple feet away, the intense scent of alcohol and vomit hit me. I staggered back, my stomach heaving at the stench.

  “Everything will be fine. I just need to find him,” my mother said, sweeping her gaze across the room. The lilt to her voice took on a dreamlike quality.

  “He’s not here. He’s dead, Mom.”

  Her head whipped in my direction. Eyes of steel zoned in on me. “He. Is. Not. That’s just what they want me to think.” She trembled with each word.

  I ran my hands through my hair and shook my head. “Yes, he is.”

  “They told me I’d be fine. They lied. Why couldn’t I have died with him?” Her face crumbled into a mask of anguish before she fell into a crying heap on the floor.

  I closed the gap and went to her. Sobs shook her body so hard, she gasped for air between spasms. “My poor Michael,” she cried. “My poor-poor-poor. Poor-poor-poor,” she chanted.

  I wrapped an arm around her and tried to lift, but the alcohol’s effect had relaxed her muscles and turned her body to stone. “Mom, come on. Let’s get you upstairs.”

  At the sound of my voice, she pushed away from me. Her eyes clouded. “You’re not my daughter. I have a son. Michael. Where is he?” Her words slurred, almost incoherent.

  The tops of Laird’s boots appeared in my field of vision as I stared at the floor. I glanced up at him, the flame of embarrassment moving from my neck to my face. The soft look in his eyes almost made it worse somehow.

  “Let me help,” he said. I nodded, unable to say anything.

  He scooped her frail body into his arms like an infant. “Michael?” my mother asked. She gazed up at him with an enthusiasm I hadn’t known her capable of. “I knew you weren’t dead. They lied.”

  Laird said nothing, keeping his expression placid. He carried her up the stairs with me leading the way. We passed family pictures on the walls, all from ten years ago, reminders of a past life. At the entrance to her bedroom, I stepped aside and let Laird take her in, watching as he placed her on the bed and covered her with the blue quilt. I turned away and went back to the stairs. Hushed murmurs escaped into the hallway, and within seconds, Laird emerged by my side. I didn’t ask what he said to calm her. I only whispered my thanks. We descended the stairs together and left the house, my change of clothes forgotten.

  Once outside, I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Unable to put it off any longer, I turned to him, and my voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and his touch unraveled me. Without hesitation, I moved to him and buried my head in his chest.

  “Do you still want dinner?” he asked.

  I dared a peek into his eyes, rimmed with concern, nothing more. No judgment. No mortification.

  “I should probably stay here,” I murmured, realizing I was no longer hungry. “But can you stay a few more minutes?”

  He lowered his face to the top of my head and kissed my hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “The things she said to you, about you not being hers. No child should have to hear things like that.”

  I shrugged like it didn’t affect me. “It’s not the first time she’s said them.”

  But Laird saw through my act of indifference. He placed his fingers under my chin and tilted my face toward his. “She was just drunk. Sh
e didn’t mean them.”

  How did he know me so well? How did he know I was anything but unscathed from her words?

  “I know,” I whispered, but even I heard the doubt in my voice.

  He frowned. “No, you don’t.”

  I smoothed the wrinkle forming between his eyes with my finger. “How do you know me so well?”

  Lowering his lips, he swept them over mine. His kiss smoothed away the ragged edges of her words. I deepened it, parting his lips with my own, never wanting it to end. Emotion flooded out of him and into me until I felt his desire and matched his heat with my own.

  His hands tangled in my hair while mine ran over the hard plains of his chest. I needed him. I needed this. And all thoughts of what occurred only moments before left me. Nothing existed except the two of us.

  Only when a blood-curdling scream penetrated the night did we part.

  Breathing hard, we stared at each other, unsure of whether we really heard anything at all. But when he closed his eyes and leaned toward me once more, another shrill scream pierced the air, overriding the sound of our thumping heartbeats.

  My eyes flew open as Laird squeezed my hand and tugged me toward the door.

  16

  Life’s not all sunshine and rainbows.

  The expression from my childhood—one of June’s favorites—came back to me. And boy, wasn’t that the truth? In fact, I had difficulty thinking of a time when my life was anything close to “all sunshine and rainbows,” even before my mother’s accident.

  I rolled the window down, letting the balmy air hit my face and arms and the roar of my truck’s engine soothe me. Driving proved to be difficult as I found myself fighting sleep. I glanced in the rearview mirror to switch lanes, but my gaze caught on my reflection.

  Tired, bloodshot eyes rimmed with dark circles stared back at me. A ring of smeared mascara further highlighted my exhaustion. My ponytail had come loose, creating a halo of frizz and flyaway strands at the crown of my head. I was a mess. I only prayed I hadn’t looked this bad until after Laird left.

  The animalistic screams that broke the night and interrupted my steamy kiss with Laird came from none other than my mother. She fell down the stairs, doing who knew what. Probably searching for Michael again.

  When we found her, she was unconscious in a pool of blood. Thank God Laird had been there. The sight of the blood, combined with my debilitating panic, rendered me useless. He checked her vitals and insisted the injury looked worse than it was. Apparently, head wounds bled a lot.

  After she got to the hospital, they pumped her stomach. I can’t say I didn’t derive at least a little bit of pleasure at the idea of them pumping away all the alcohol she had so lovingly consumed earlier in the day. Of course, my father was nowhere to be found, leaving me to provide my mother’s registration paperwork and insurance information. The hospital had been the same one she had given birth in, so they had her records and a health history wasn’t needed. But by the time I finished, my father still hadn’t shown up, leaving me to speak with the doctor.

  The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped me. There I was, eighteen-year-old daughter of the patient, acting like the adult, but when I had been in the hospital, Mom had remained at home, tucked away with a bottle of her favorite bourbon. I still wondered whether she even realized anything had happened to me at all. She was too drunk most of the time to make observations or remember conversation. The only acknowledgement I got out of her was a grunt when she noticed my bandaged hand a few months ago.

  I turned onto my street, thankful I was almost home. My eyelids drooped, and I made a mental note to tell my father if he was going to run off on an all-night tryst, he needed to give me the contact information of where he’d be staying so I could reach him. Maybe I could hang it on the fridge for future reference.

  I pulled up to the house, shuffling up the walk and through the door I had forgotten to lock in my haste to leave for the hospital. I went straight to bed and woke up in the morning only slightly revived. One glance at the empty corner of my room, the one which usually held my guitar case, reminded me I was supposed to go over to June’s to practice.

  Less than three weeks until auditions. Time was critical.

  I stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen where, to my surprise, my father sat with his head cupped in his hands. Ignoring him, I moved to the pantry and removed a protein bar from the box and grabbed a bottle of water. I supposed these would have to suffice. Lingering longer than necessary would probably be a mistake I’d regret.

  Of course, nothing was that easy. My father’s head whipped up at the sound of the cupboard closing. Tension radiated from his stiff spine, as he said, “Hey, Sam. I need to talk to you about your mother. But not now. Do you have time later today?”

  “Sure.” I made a mental note to avoid him like the plague for the rest of the day.

  “Okay, good.” He stared at me through puffy red eyes, and for a moment, I wondered whether he had been crying. “Aren’t you going to ask me how she is?”

  I shrugged. “I spent several hours with her last night, so I should know. You’re the one who showed up so late. Where were you, anyway? I tried calling you several times.” For once I just wanted him to say it. To admit the truth. While I was here dealing with her, he was off with another woman.

  “Ah, I was working late and then I had an overseas conference call.”

  It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. Why did he pretend?

  “Whatever.” I walked into the hall where I removed my army green messenger bag from the closet. I shoved my breakfast and phone inside, then turned for the door.

  Somehow during the night, the air had already gone chilly, back to normal temperatures for the time of year. I hugged myself tightly as I hurried across my yard into June’s. Even after I completed my punishment, purging all of June’s files and possessions, my presence had become expected over the past months.

  I opened the door without knocking and walked inside to the scent of frying bacon. As I approached the kitchen, my mouth watered. But when I rounded the corner, the sight of Tad standing behind the stove wearing a red and white-checkered apron with grease-splattered glasses left me holding back my laughter. I clutched my shaking stomach and pressed my lips together as June hovered next to him, giving him a play by play on turning the bacon.

  Tad glanced up at me. “Hey.” He smiled.

  “What is this?” I cocked a brow at the stove.

  “We figured we’d make you breakfast.”

  “I’ve been teaching him how to cook for a while now. So, if you ever need a good meal, this is your guy,” June said, pointing at Tad.

  Did June look thinner today? Paler? My gaze roamed over her as if seeing her for the first time. “Well, looks like both of you could use a little meat on your bones,” I said, taking in the way her clothes hung off her bony frame.

  Tad lifted his arm and curled his bicep. “Look at this. It couldn’t get any bigger if I tried.”

  I squinted and peered at his arm. “Wait… wait, I think I almost see a muscle.” I snickered as he scoffed and turned another piece of bacon.

  “Just wait. Laird told me he’d help me beef up. Maybe show me around the weight room sometime.”

  Grinning, I leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I don’t remember that conversation. When did you guys discuss this?”

  “When you went to the bathroom yesterday. You took forever. And when you came back, your lips were pink and glossy, and every hair on your head was in place.” He rolled his eyes. “Amazing how you enter looking normal and come out like you just got back from the salon.”

  “Very funny. But don’t you think you’re a little young to be lifting weights?”

  Tad puffed his chest. “I’ll be thirteen—.”

  “In a month, I know.”

  June held out a plate layered with napkins and some bacon. Slipping the fresh meat onto the plate, Tad turned off the
burner and grabbed a bowl of eggs warming in the oven.

  “Why don’t both of you sit and we’ll eat,” June said.

  I watched as June picked at the eggs on her plate, not even touching the bacon, and I couldn’t help but wonder if everything was okay.

  “So, did you find out when your scholarship interview is?” Tad asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  My head snapped in his direction. His plate was empty already, but he reloaded it with another scoop of eggs and more bacon. The kid might be skinny, but he sure could eat.

  “Yeah. It’s this week. Friday.”

  He itched his head. “Wait. Isn’t that when you’re supposed to do your show with the band?”

  “Yep.” Up until he mentioned it, I had pushed the comeback performance to the back of my mind and nearly forgotten. The reminder sunk in my stomach like lead.

  “Fridays are when The Clover has its biggest crowd. We’ll get the most exposure,” I said, mocking Derek. “I think they’re also planning something on Saturday at some kind of art festival in Richmond.” I took a bite of my food, wishing the subject hadn’t come up. “If the scholarship thing ends up being a disaster, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Assuming I get in—”

  “Which you will,” Tad chimed in.

  “Financial aid will only allow me so much in loans. The rest I’ll have to come up with. I definitely can’t count on my father for money, so I have a lot riding on this meeting. Mr. Neely set it up, and since it’s with one of his friends, I’ve got a good shot, but I’m still not a shoo-in. They give it to students with talent, but I have a feeling personal preference comes into play. Like most things, it’s who you know, not what you know.”

  “You’ll be personally preferred.” Tad smiled.