Deepest Blues

by Heidi Hutchinson

  They had been trying to get Clarke to date the entire time they had known her. She went on dates, she did. She just didn't go on second dates.

  “Why do I get the feeling that you're shoving him at me?” Clarke arched an eyebrow, trying to disguise the amusement in her voice and slyly changing the subject.

  “I would never dream of doing that,” Greta said cheekily. “Besides, I'm living vicariously through Tatewin's love life.”

  Tate laughed and waved the server over for refills. “I do have it pretty good, can't lie about that.”

  Four drinks in and young men had started to stop by the table. Tate took it upon herself to wave them away.

  “I swear, you two draw more attention when you're together than Victoria's Secret models.” Tate shook her head in amusement.

  “It's 'cause we're stone cold hotties,” Greta giggled and Clarke joined her.

  Clarke looked around the table at her friends. She loved them so much. She knew their lives were shifting and changing, especially now with whatever it was Greta was or wasn't doing with Shane. Eventually, they would leave her too. But she wasn't going to even try to stop them. Because above all else, she wanted them to be happy.

  “Do you think we'll still have girls' night after Tate gets married and her rich husband moves her to Spain?” Clarke asked as she leaned against Greta.

  “I don't know.” Greta shook her head, her formerly swooped back hair now coming loose and dancing around her shoulders. She reached up and removed the remaining pins, setting the rest of it free. As if on cue, a couple of cuties left the bar and came towards them. Greta gave them a wink and tugged Clarke off her stool. “I don't want to think about sad things, let's dance instead.”

  “I don't want to dance, I want to hang with my girls,” Clarke protested.

  “Oh stop, just admit you're afraid of boys,” Greta baited her.

  “I'll show you who's afraid of boys.” Clarke took another shot that had shown up at the table and stumbled after her friend.

  ***

  Mike set the guitar down in the case next to him and took a deep breath of the ocean air. The condo he'd found for them to stay in was close to the beach and close to Greta and Clarke's place. Two things that had caused him to start writing again.

  The night was lit perfectly by the brilliance of the moon. Silver angles and reflections danced on the waves and brought out a yearning in his chest. The ocean could make him feel totally at peace, despite its power and unpredictability. All the hollowness and stress he tended to feel during a tour would dissipate with the crashing and roar of the waves. It didn't matter which ocean either, any would do.

  The chill of the water would numb the edge that he lived with. The tightness that he would feel building in his chest, threatening to make some sort of statement. If he could get away and get into the water for any amount of time, the edginess would fade, pull out to the depths and leave him refreshed. The salt would cool the heat that pounded in his head, burning through his skin. He had yet to find anything quite as effective as being in or near the ocean to help control his more stubborn impulses.

  They had a couple more tracks to record and then they were done. The plan was to spend a couple weeks just hanging out before joining Luke and Lenny up in Tahoe. Mike hadn't been sure what he was going to do to occupy his time, but it seemed his creativity had reared its brutish head again. And tonight was the first night where they didn't have dinner with the girls, apparently they had gone out, so Mike had gotten some good writing time to himself.

  He ran a hand over his short hair. No, being here wasn't as bad as he had feared it would be. He was thinking about going into the city within the next couple of days and getting fresh ink. He hadn't seen Tank in a while, and it would do some good to say hi to the friends who had never stopped believing in him.

  He heard Harrison's cell ring just inside the open doorway and Harrison paused his video game to answer it. Mike hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but it was kind of hard not to.

  “What?... Are you serious?... Sorry, yeah, we'll be right down.”

  Mike looked up to see Harrison standing in the doorway, agitation coloring his normally relaxed features.

  “That was Greta's friend Tate. She said she has to head out, but she didn't want to leave the girls in the shape they're in.”

  “What kind of shape are they in?” Mike felt unease crawl into his gut and settle there. He hadn't gotten the impression that they were party girls, but he'd been wrong before.

  “I don't know, we need to get going. It's only a few blocks away.”

  Mike followed his bandmate and friend. Hoping he'd be able to keep him from being too hard on Greta. And hoping that Clarke was okay.

  ***

  Clarke was yanked to the side. She lost her footing briefly but regained it. Greta was pulling her in a crazy serpentine pattern to the side exit. Was that Shane they had just passed?

  She tried to turn to look, catching his eye. When she attempted to wave she tripped and fell into Greta, who had come to a full stop. She was about to protest the unannounced flight when she realized Harrison and Mike were standing right in front of them.

  Oops.

  Shane caught up to flank Greta. Clarke tightened her handhold on her friend, but she was staring into the pale blue eyes of Mike Osborn. It really wasn't fair how attractive he was. Charismatic rock star, calm exterior with an underlying energy that put him on just this side of dangerous. The tattoos and the muscles and—wait, what was Harrison saying?

  “Excuse me, but we're adult women,” Clarke spoke up. “We don't need permission to have a good time.” At least that's what she tried to say, but “permission” came out as “persimmon.”

  Greta snorted with laughter, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. Clarke tried to maintain her serious face, but she had no way of knowing if she was successful. No way that Harrison was going to chew his sister out for having a few cocktails. If Greta was going down, Clarke would go down with her. That's what friends were for.

  “We'll get you home.” Harrison tried to grab Greta's arm, but she moved away.

  “No, I can get home without your help, thank you very much.” She looked around like she was looking for someone else.

  “Tate left already,” Harrison said with a sigh. “She gave us your purses and said you're smashed.”

  Greta pouted and looked at Clarke. “She called my brother on me, that is so not like her.”

  “Well, we did ditch her for those frat boys,” Clarke reminded her, leaning against her friend and pointing with her thumb over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, we did.” Greta fist-bumped her and they dissolved into giggles.

  “I can help you make sure they get home, man,” Shane offered slowly.

  Clarke noticed the uncomfortable expression on Mike's face and realized that being in a loud and crowded bar probably wasn't his idea of a good time. Damn, she could be so dense sometimes.

  “Can we discuss this outside? I need some fresh air,” she announced and looped an arm through Greta's, pulling her towards the door.

  Outside, Harrison tried to corral the girls towards his Volvo, shaking his head. “I just don't understand why you guys got so wasted,” he said in exasperation as he dug his keys out of his pocket.

  Clarke thought that was a fair observation. They never got wasted. Now she felt the need to explain herself. Her reasons were twofold. Harrison wasn't the boss of them, and she didn't want Mike to think she was some sort of lush.

  “Well, Greta said that I was afraid of boys and I said, 'I'll show you who's afraid of boys,'” Clarke tried to explain soberly, but she swayed slightly and then lost her composure when Greta snorted again.

  “So you were trying to pick up guys?” Harrison looked horrified and Clarke grinned at him.

  She realized she'd been missing a whole huge part of her life by no longer having a brother to give a hard time. This was fun. Harrison made it even more fun by being so theatrical with his worr
y.

  “No.” Greta waved a hand at his absurdity. “We were just dancing with cute boys to get free drinks.”

  Harrison tore a hand through his hair roughly and closed his eyes.

  “Get in the car, Greta,” Harrison said sternly.

  Thus commenced the back-and-forth sibling argument of who was the bossiest. Clarke tuned out and started to stare at Mike again, who may or may not have winked at her. She couldn't be sure, the lighting in the parking lot wasn't that great.

  “Steve will be annoying and Bo will try to make out with Clarke and I'm waaaay too drunk to hose him down tonight,” Greta explained.

  It was true. Bo always tried to make-out with Clarke when she'd been drinking. Hell, he tried to make out with her when she was sober.

  Mike spoke up quickly, “Then stay at our place.”

  Clarke loved that idea. She nodded several times to convey her agreement.

  “Fine, have it your way,” Harrison growled. “Get in, Clarke. I'll give you a ride to work tomorrow.”

  She was obliging herself to the back seat when she heard Shane say something about her job, or her, or whatever. She frowned and tried to focus. “What?”

  Harrison patted her shoulder reassuringly and she shrugged, slumping into the back of the Volvo. Sitting down felt so good.

  ***

  “I can't believe Greta left with Shane. What the hell is her problem?” Harrison gripped the wheel with white knuckles and Mike shook his head.

  “You told her to, dude,” he reminded quietly.

  “She likes Shane.” Clarke's voice came from the backseat. “She thinks I don't know. But I totally do.”

  Mike looked over his shoulder at her figure resting heavily against the door. He wasn't sure what to think of the whole situation. He had no idea that Clarke was prone to overdoing it.

  “How you feeling back there, Clarke?” he asked warily. The only reply was a small groan.

  “Do you want to flip for who's taking care of her?” Harrison glanced at her in the rear view mirror.

  “I'll do it,” Mike softly volunteered. “You had to take care of me too many times to count.”

  “True story,” Harrison responded sourly.

  They pulled into the parking lot and Mike went around to help Clarke out of the back seat. She fumbled with the armrest as she tried to leverage herself to a standing position. Mike wrapped an arm around her securely and kicked the door shut with his foot. Clarke's firm but soft body leaned easily into his, and he helped her to the door that Harrison was holding open.

  “The bathroom is at the end of the hallway.” Harrison nodded that direction and suddenly Clarke took off like a shot, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

  Harrison turned to Mike and he let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, when I said you guys should spend more time together, this isn't exactly what I had in mind.”

  Mike gave him a crooked smile. “It's not?” He grabbed some paper towels out of the kitchen and a glass of water. “This is good. It's a chance for me to make up for all the nights I can't remember.”

  “Holler if you need help.” Harrison settled onto the sofa to resume his interrupted video game.

  Mike tapped softly on the closed bathroom door and winced when he heard Clarke throw up.

  “Go away.” Her voice wavered like she had been crying, and Mike gently opened the door.

  Clarke had her head hanging over the toilet, mascara running down her face, her body crumpled and folded on the floor. She looked up at him with shame in her eyes. Mike immediately sank to the floor beside her and handed her a paper towel.

  “I said to go away,” she pleaded with him, but took the paper towel and wiped her mouth, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “I can't do that.” Mike rose up on his knees and started to pull her caramel hair back. It was darker underneath than on top and he thought how appropriate that was, since it was probably lightened naturally by the sun. She'd been able to keep her hair out of the mess so far and he wanted it to stay that way. He took the hair-tie she fished out of her pocket and wrapped it around the sloppy ponytail.

  Her body convulsed and she threw up again. Mike rubbed her back in pity. It had been a long time since he'd taken care of a drunk woman, and this was quite possibly the first time he'd done it while he was sober.

  Ilsa had loved to party with him. While he'd added more deadly things to his nightly cocktail, Ilsa had had a taste for vodka. She'd sworn it kept her skinny and runway ready. Looking back, he could see she had been as chemically dependent as he was. They only enabled each other. He'd hold her hair back as she threw up and then they'd collapse together on the bathroom floor. He'd wrap his arms around her and they'd talk about all the places they wanted to see and how their future was going to pan out. Until they both passed out.

  Clarke whimpered and curled into a ball on the floor with her arms under her head. Her normal poise and grace were a faint memory.

  No, there was nothing appealing about drinking to the point of involuntary expulsion.

  “You think you're done?” Mike asked gently. She looked up at him with glassy eyes and nodded mutely. “I'm gonna get you something to sleep in, okay?” She nodded again and he left quickly.

  After rummaging in his drawers through his few articles of clothing, he settled on a t-shirt and some lumpy sweat pants that would no doubt be way too big for her. But it was all he had. When he returned to the bathroom, she had pushed herself up and braced her back against the tub. He set the clothes down on the counter and hesitated.

  “Do you need some help?” he asked, and was surprised when tears welled up in her eyes. He dropped to his knees to look her in the face, pushed the hair back, and cradled her head with both hands. “Hey, what's wrong?”

  “I'm so embarrassed.” Large tears splashed onto her cheeks and Mike wiped them away with his thumbs.

  “Don't be embarrassed in front of me,” Mike whispered and kissed her softly on the forehead. “Let's get you changed and then we'll talk.”

  He helped her up and steadied her against the sink. “Here are some clothes.” Then he opened the cabinet and took out the mouthwash. “And this might make you more comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, but kept her eyes focused on the clothes.

  Mike left the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He leaned against the wall and rubbed his hand down the front of his face. He tried to focus on his breathing and nothing else as he listened to Clarke getting cleaned up.

  Suddenly feeling hot and stifled, he yanked his shirt over his head and threw it on the floor of his room.

  When she opened the door, he reached for her immediately and pulled her into his room and closed the door. The curtains were pulled back, letting in the light from the moon outside and casting the room in pale blue shadows. He pulled the covers back on the bed and helped her inside of them. Pulling the comforter up to her chin, he crawled on top of the blankets and braced himself on an elbow, looking down at her.

  Clarke watched him silently with wide eyes. He had originally thought they were turquoise but as he looked at them closer...

  “You have a little bit of brown in your eyes. Did you know that?” he asked, brushing her bangs out of her face.

  “Only sometimes,” she whispered, licking her bottom lip slowly.

  “Tell me why you guys decided to go crazy tonight.” He ran his fingers through her hair at the back of her head slowly. Back and forth. Front to back. Sinking his fingertips into golden streams of caramel over and over. He loved the feel of her hair, like silk ribbons, twisting and falling over his fingers.

  “I was tired of feeling trapped,” she confessed and her eyes glossed over again.

  “I know what that feels like.” He nodded in understanding.

  “And then Greta said I was afraid of boys and I wanted to prove her wrong.” A single, sad tear rolled out of the corner of her eye and down the side of her face.

  “Why would she say that?” Mike whisp
ered, watching the track of the tear as it seeped into his pillow.

  “Because I am.” She took a shuddering breath.

  “That can't be true.” Mike smiled gently. “I'm a boy and you're here with me now.”

  “I'm scared of you most of all.”

  “Why's that?” he asked the question carefully.

  Her eyes avoided connecting with his and slid down the length of his chest, settling on the center. She reached up and touched the tattoo that covered his heart. It was a blue cornflower and the leaves stretched out to cover the length of his chest, the stem wrapping under one arm and turning into a dagger that was buried in his back.

  “Tell me about this.” She traced the lines with her fingers and her touch sent shivers through him.

  “It's the flower of Germany, where Ilsa was born.” Her eyes flicked up to his and her hand stilled, but she didn't remove it.

  “You loved her?”

  Mike stopped playing with her hair and covered her hand with his own. He looked at her seriously. “I'm not going to tell you about all of that tonight. It's a very long story and I want you to know it. But not tonight, when there's a chance you'll forget everything by tomorrow.”

  He really did want to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her all the things that burned inside of him that he never talked about, the things he pretended didn't still haunt him. But he didn't know if Clarke wanted to be on the receiving end of that kind of emotional download.

  “Do all of your tattoos have a story?” she asked, her tinted eyes getting a shade darker.

  “Yep. Don't yours?” His mouth ticked up on the side.

  “I don't have any tattoos.” She slowly rolled onto her back, taking her hand off of his chest and resting it on her middle. “I wish I were that brave.”

  “I forget that sometimes people see tattoos and scars as different things.” He traced the thin white line on her forehead that she normally kept covered with her bangs. “You're a lot braver than you think you are.”

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “How do you know so much about me?”

  “You have the next week off for vacation—”

  “What?” Her eyes clouded in confusion and her brow furrowed deeply.