Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  “He needs you,” she whispers in my ear.

  “Yes ma’am,” I say.

  “He’s in his room.”

  I nod and take two stairs to his childhood room. I stand in front of the door for several minutes trying to sort out what to say to him. Apologizing for his loss, in whatever words I could use to do so, is clinical and doesn’t mean a damn thing. They don’t make it better or go away.

  I knock lightly on the door, but no answer comes. I turn the knob and push the door open slightly.

  “Kip?” I call out.

  I don’t get a response, so I open the door further to see it’s dim in the room. I step in and let my eyes adjust. I finally see the top of Kip’s head across the bed where he’s sitting beside it on the floor. I turn on a lamp close and see his room has been destroyed. Posters were ripped off the wall, trophies broken and scattered across the floor, and every surface relieved of its contents.

  “Kip,” I whisper. “It’s Henley.”

  “I know. I’d know your voice anywhere,” he whispers.

  “Can I come in? Stay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I walk around the bed and stand in front of him. He looks down at the ground, and I wish he would look up at me so I can see his green eyes. He doesn’t, so I sit down in front him and throw my legs over his outstretched ones.

  “Come ‘ere,” he whispers.

  I scoot my body closer to his, bending my knees and moving my feet a little behind him. A whiskey bottle sits between us and now that I’m close enough to him I can smell it on his breath. I still can’t see his eyes, they’re still averted downward.

  “I hated him,” he finally says.

  “I know.”

  “I broke my arm when I was seven. Mom was falling down drunk and I tried to keep her from falling down. I wasn’t strong enough to catch her, and my arm snapped like a twig. My great aunt called Dad in whatever war zone he was in and told him how bad mom was and that my arm was broken. If it hadn’t of been for my great aunt, I wouldn’t have been able to go to the hospital to have my arm reset or cast until he came home. And when he came home he threw my mom in a detox center and beat my ass for pulling him from duty. He was pissed he had to deal with mom and even more pissed I cost him money in medical bills with my broken arm.”

  “When I was nine, mom was in a bad car accident and as soon as she was better she was thrown in jail for driving under the influence. Luckily, she didn’t kill anyone but the people in the car she hit were still injured. My great aunt called him again because someone had to take care of me. He was drunk before he got off the plane, and pissed. Man he was so fucking pissed. He picked me up from my great aunt’s house and before we’d gotten out of the driveway good he reached across the cab of his truck and slapped me so hard my lip was bleeding. I held back tears the entire way home. I was just a nine year old kid, but I knew better than to cry in front of him. He thought real men didn’t cry, it showed weakness. I don’t know how he got us home, he was so damn wasted. He had a hard time getting up the front steps, so as I’d done almost every day since I can remember I helped my drunk parent up the stairs. That pissed him off too, so he threw his fist in my face and knocked me down several steps, breaking the same damn arm. I didn’t cry though, it would only make it worse.”

  “I got up, dusted myself off, and ran into the house. I called my great aunt who took me to the hospital. The doctor asked her to leave the room, and she asked me all these questions about what happened. She must’ve seen the records from all the time I’d been in the emergency room with broken bones, cuts, and bruises. I told her the truth, Hen. I told her how my mom drank a lot and my dad was always gone because he was a soldier. I told her my dad didn’t like me and it made him mad when he had to come home and take care of us because my mom was too drunk or I was hurt. Next thing I know social services is there. My great aunt tried to take me but she was so old and had mobility problems, so they wouldn’t let me stay with her. They contacted my dad’s brothers and my mom’s sister, but no one wanted me. I was placed in foster care until my either my great aunt could prove she could take care of me or my mom got her shit together.”

  “Dad was arrested and charged for what he’d done but the military got him out of it and he was on the next plan out to wherever Uncle Sam was sending him. He left me in foster care with people who were worse than my mom and dad. I was a paycheck to them. I had to clean up their entire house every day after I came home from school. I was the oldest, so I also had to care for the other foster children. I didn’t mind that part so much, making sure they were okay. The foster dad worked on a construction crew or something like that and came home late sometimes drunk as a skunk. He never bothered us, just went straight to bed. One night I was boiling water to make some mac and cheese for us to eat because the fat bitch who was supposed to be our foster mother wouldn’t get off her lazy ass to cook for us, and fuck we were kids. We had to eat. I’d cooked plenty at mom’s house, so I knew how to make mac and cheese like a pro. Anyhow one of the smaller kids walked by the stove and tipped the handle sticking out from the stove. I mean I didn’t think to make sure the handle was turned to the back of the stove, I was just worried about getting us all fed. Anyhow, the water was hot but not quite boiling and the whole pot dumped onto me. It hurt like a mother fucker.”

  “When that fat bitch heard me screaming in pain, she sauntered her ass into the kitchen like a child screaming was nothing to be in a rush about. I was holding my arm in so much pain, so she grabs me right where I was burned as hard as she could, drug me to the sink, and turned the hot water on it.”

  “What did you fucking do you little shit?” she asked.

  “Cooking dinner,” I answered her.

  “She was pissed that I’d pulled her from a TV show so once she released my arm from the scalding hot tap water, she smacked me around a little bit. I stopped crying though, crying only seemed to get me hurt worse. I went up to a room I shared with seven other kids, bunk beds every damn where. We were literally stacked right on top of each other. Anyhow, I went up there and packed what little I had to my name and quietly made my way to the back door where I escaped yet another hell.”

  “I walked for two hours until I found a fire station. I knocked on the door until they opened up. The man who opened the door saw my arm was bright red, and he scooped me up and started tending to my wound, questioning me the entire time. I didn’t lie to him. I told him about my mom and dad and the foster parents. He called the cops who called social services. The case worker tried to act like I was lying about the foster parents, but the firefighter got in her face and screamed at her. Then he did something that shocked the hell out of me, he told her he would take me. She went through some bullshit about a process and him needing to be approved as a foster parent, and that she would take me back to my current foster parents until he could do so. He wasn’t having that shit though. He called a judge he knew and got it where I could stay in the firehouse with the firefighters until he was approved to take me home with him and his wife. He argued there was no place safer for a child than a fire station, so they made an exception.”

  “The firefighters bought me new clothes and fed me every day for weeks. I thought living there was cool as shit. I never wanted to leave. The men let me dress up in their uniforms and play on the truck. I helped them wash the truck every day after school, and then one of them would help me with my homework. I was taken care of by an adult for the first time in my life and I kept waiting for them to want something in return, but it never happened. It was the first time in my life I realized maybe not everybody was out to get something from me.”

  “I stayed with the man and his wife for six months. They couldn’t have kids so they were excited to have me. He played ball with me in the afternoons, or I would help him work on his motorcycle. I bounced back and forth with him sometimes to the firehouse because I loved it so much there.”

  “My mom got her shit togeth
er and met some shit on a checklist she was required to in order to get me back. She got me back, too. I loved my mom, but I didn’t want to leave Mr. Seth and Mrs. Cindy. He promised me he would come by to see me often and he did. Mom stayed sober for about three more months and slowly slipped back into one long binder. Seth or Cindy came by and saw me every day. Mom would let them take me with them to places. I even stayed overnight with them and never wanted to leave. When Seth realized mom was drinking again, he lit into her ass. I pretty much stayed with them, and I’m not sure mom even noticed I was gone.” “I stayed with them for six months longer, my tenth birthday came and they threw me the biggest party. I hadn’t had a birthday party in a long time. All the firefighters showed up, and I got all these amazing presents. It was one of the happiest days of my childhood up to that point. Two months after my tenth birthday, Captain Robbie from the fire station picked me up from school, and instead of taking me to Seth’s, he took me to my mom’s house. We sat in his truck for a long time in my mom’s driveway in silence. I was only ten, but I knew something bad had happened. Seth and Cindy had always picked me up from school.”

  “Captain Robbie cried and told me they had been in a car accident that morning and both of them had gone to Heaven to be with the angels. They weren’t ever coming back, Hen. He held a little boy he had no blood relation to and let me cry. It may have been the first time I remember somebody telling me it was okay to cry and hugging me while I did so.”

  “My life went back to the same bullshit with mom and dad after that until you. You saved me forever when Seth and Cindy couldn’t. I know they would’ve, but that wasn’t in the stars. When you finally told my mom and dad to get their shit together at what, twelve, thirteen?... I thought I would die. The look on that asshole’s face was priceless. He wanted to hurt you but couldn’t because Red was standing right behind you. Even he knew not to fuck with Red.”

  Silence stretches between us. I had known Kip didn’t have it easy as a kid. Even after he moved in with us, he took so long to relax. He was constantly asking my mom if she wanted him to cook, clean, or do the laundry. He tried to get my dad to let him do yard work. They just wanted him to be a fucking kid and knew he’d never really had the option to be one before. They always let him down gently, telling him it was the adult’s job to do those kind of things, but they really appreciated how kind he was. Then they’d send him out to play with the rest of the kids.

  The first time I ever saw him smile, I mean really smile like he didn’t have a care in the world was when he went to Red’s studio for the first time. He was watching an old timer beat on the drums and Kip watched him with awe. That’s the day I think Kip became a drummer. For so long he couldn’t keep rhythm in his life, couldn’t keep a steady beat to it, but he could do that with the drums.

  He turns the whiskey bottle up and then hands it to me, so I follow suit. I find a pottery bowl broken nearby and fish it closer. I light up a cigarette and hand it to him, then place the pottery between us as an ashtray. We remain that way for a long time, drinking and smoking. His eyes never meet mine though, and I’m okay with that for now. I understand what it feels like to want someone there, but to keep them at arm’s length so you can breathe a little. Sometimes you need to know someone is there to catch you when you fall, but you need to stagger and stumble around on your own looking for your own footing. You want to see if you can stand on solid ground with your own two feet without needing someone to wrap their arms around you to hold you up. You want to be strong even when you feel anything but. Sometimes people need time to realize its okay not to be okay, so you can reach out for strength in the people you love.

  His tears finally fall, “He never told me he loved me.”

  I wipe his tears and cup his face in my small hand. I don’t know what words are supposed to heal that pain. I doubt any exist in the English language.

  “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he finally breaks down into a sob.

  I pull him into me so tightly, wanting him to know I’m here and to never doubt it.

  “Not a goddamn thing. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” I whisper.

  His body shakes with his silent sobs, never vocalizing the cries, the pain, the hurt.

  A knock comes at the door and Koi peeks his head through.

  “Koi’s here,” I whisper and Kip only nods.

  I look up at Koi and nod, so he comes to sit beside Kip.

  “You hogging that bottle?” he asks Kip.

  “Nah, bruh,” he says as he wipes his tears and then hands Koi the bottle.

  Another knock comes at the door, and Cam sticks his head through.

  “Cam,” I whisper to Kip and he nods again.

  Koi nods to let Cam know he can enter, and we see Kathrine follow behind him. Cam sits on the other side of Kip, and Kathrine lays across his childhood bed. She grabs his head from behind, and places a kiss on the top of his head, and then releases him. Kathrine leans her head against his. We pass the whiskey bottle and cigarettes around in silence.

  Jessica and Jagger enter the room quietly. Jessica joins Kathrine on the bed and leans down to kiss his cheek before she settles her chin on his shoulder. Jagger sits beside me in front of Koi, and grabs Kip’s hand in his. Meghan and Samantha enter next both joining us on the bed and putting their hands somewhere on Kip. Rhys sits beside me in front of Cam, Memphis beside Jag, Griffin beside Rhys. Hands touch Kip just to let him to they’re there.

  Stephanie enters in true Stephanie style, “Bitches, I brought more whiskey.”

  “Thank fuck,” Kip says with a hint of smile. “These fuckers were drinking all my shit.”

  We all laugh and hoots go out for Stephanie’s gifts.”

  Kip finally raises his eyes and locks on. His vibrant green eyes are full of confusion, hurt, and unresolved conflict. His dad died, and he doesn’t know whether to rejoice or cry. He’s not sure if he actually lost anything, or if he did and just never had the opportunity to know what he lost.

  “Let’s take this downstairs,” Koi says.

  “We need to plan a menu for the next several days,” Jessica adds.

  “Definitely add whiskey to that,” Rhys comments.

  “And those pigs in a blanket,” Cam furthers.

  “I need pie,” Jagger includes his choice to the menu.

  “Fried chicken, the good shit though, not that store bought shit,” Meghan adds.

  “Cheetos,” Griffin says.

  “You don’t eat Cheetos at a funeral you fucking idiot,” Memphis insults.

  They all plan their menu as they walk out and close the door behind them.

  Kip’s eyes never leave mine, I’m not sure he even hears their banter.

  “I gotta piss,” I say and smile.

  I know those aren’t the words that help in any way, but the whiskey is wreaking havoc on my bladder.

  He chuckles slightly, “You know you’re way around.”

  I enter Kip’s bathroom, located on the opposite wall from where we sit. I relieve myself, wash my hands and open the door to see Kip standing there, waiting for me. He must have to go too I think to myself.

  “Hen,” he whispers.

  “Kip.”

  “I need you,” he says so softly.

  “I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

  “I need you.”

  “I’m here.”

  He closes the distance between us, and rubs his thumb across my cheek. He leans in and brushes his nose against mine, closing his eyes before his lips touch mine. He keeps it gentle and only uses his lips to touch mine. His hands cup my face in his large hand, and then finally slips his tongue into my mouth. His legs move us to the wall behind me and pulls his lips from mine.

  “I. Need. You.” He repeats and looks into me as if willing me to understand.

  He steps back, pulls his shirt over his head, and steps back up.

  “Henley. I fucking need you. I need you
,” his voice cracks with emotion.

  I nod and lick my lips. It’s not how I pictured us having sex for the first time, but how am I supposed to look at him like this and deny him a little time to lose himself in me?

  “Baby, I need you so fucking bad it hurts. I need you,” his eyes are full of tears.

  I nod again and he leans in to kiss me, plunging his tongue into my mouth. He slips his hands under the hem of my shirt, pulls his lips from mine, and pulls it over my head. His mouth is back on me in a fury, like he can’t make it happen fast enough, and maybe he can’t. He reaches behind me and unclasps my bra letting it fall down my arms. He wastes no time moving to my breasts where he grabs two handfuls and guides a nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking.

  Oh dear baby Jesus, it feels so good.

  I reach down to his jeans and work like hell to get the belt unclasped, then work on his button and zipper before I push them down his legs pooling at his feet. His lips find mine again while his hands work teasingly slow to unbutton my own jeans. When the zipper moves down the track, he pushes them to just below my ass, and then rubs outside my panties before he decides that’s not enough… not fast enough… so he pushes my panties to the side and puts a finger inside of me.

  “So soft,” he says and leans in for another kiss.

  He doesn’t play with me long before he pulls his fingers out of me and pushes my panties down with my jeans. I follow his lead and push his boxers down. We both step out of denim and cotton, kicking it to the side. He looks down my body and takes in every inch from my toes all the way up.

  He reaches out with his fingertips and lightly runs them from the center of my chest, all the way down my torso. My own eyes take in his green eyes, his chest, arm, tattoos, and washboard abs. Thank you universe for Kip Paxton and all that art wrapped up in one body. I’m looking at a real life Apollo with tattoos and a large pierced cock.