Friction

by Jamie Magee

“Of course it is, all those songs talk about is sex.”

  He regretted his off-the-wall comment when he felt her tense.

  “Love, all music is about love,” she said.

  He looked down at her. He listened to all music, lately the heavier the music the better. It just seemed to fit his mood.

  “I’ve heard some dark songs.”

  “I’m sure you have, those are the ones with the most emotion. The love doesn’t even have to be about people…no matter what, it’s about love.”

  Just to give her something else to talk about, something else to think about, he debated her point. Song by song, band by band, they contested her view, for hours.

  He’d settled into the cradle of the boat, moved the jackets once more, made it to where he could see the stars as easily as the fireflies. When she became quiet he looked down to his chest, saw her eyes closed and noticed how quiet and even her breath was, how her body was lax across his.

  He couldn’t help himself; his fingertips traced her eyes, her jaw. She had to be the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, a penetrating beauty. Her mind was deep, and she wasn’t afraid to say what she thought, or to be real.

  He pulled her closer, breathed in the smell of her perfume, and closed his eyes, promising himself in few minutes he’d pick her up and carry her home. From what he could hear in the breaks between the songs on the radio, he knew what was going on downtown was dying down anyhow.

  Chapter Three

  The blazing sun woke him. At first he had no idea where he was and shot up like a bullet. He found himself all alone in a fishing boat. She was gone. Nowhere in sight. One glance to his watch told him the service was in ten minutes.

  He cursed as he struggled to get his long legs untangled from the life jackets and made his way up the dock. He looked like hell. His jeans had dirt on them from where he’d pushed the boat out, and his T-shirt had a rip on the side from where he caught it in the brush. He could taste the stale beer on his breath and smell the river on his flesh.

  For a second he didn’t know what to do. If he ran he’d make it to the church. He knew if he showed up like this, his mother, if not Camille Doran, Wyatt’s mother, would shred him to pieces. Then later Beckett and Duke would cuss him like no tomorrow. He was going to have to be late, out of respect for Lucas, his family…Georgia. He was not showing up looking like a drunk.

  He still ran, like hell, all the way to Memphis’s grandmother’s house. He rushed through the fastest shower of his life, then raided Memphis’s closest.

  By the time he reached the church the service was well on its way. Every pew was full, people were lining the walls five or six people deep, but he inched his way forward.

  The first rows of the church, at least four of them, were Memphis’s family. Georgia was there, in the front row. Her long hair was braided and pulled over her shoulder, and her head was down, not looking at anyone or anything.

  Behind the Armstrongs were the Dorans, a family near big enough fill this church on its own. Easton’s mother and sister where sitting with them. There was an empty spot between them, one they’d obviously saved for him. He couldn’t get to it though, not without disrupting the service.

  He listened to every word said but his stare was trained on Georgia’s back. When Memphis spoke, told stories of his life growing up on the track, he watched Georgia lower her head, could have sworn he saw her tremble. It took all he had not to charge forward, pull her up and hold her.

  Right when he decided he had to, Memphis left the stage and went to her. Seconds later Lucas’s brothers came forward and lifted him to carry him to his resting place. The sight, seeing the uniform Memphis was wearing, the firemen, along with all those in any service, was giving Easton wicked flashbacks. Apparently he wasn’t the only one as he saw his mother tremble.

  As the crowd moved forward he pushed his way through and found his mom and pulled her to his chest, then reached for his sister and did the same. They never questioned where he’d been, why he was late, they just held on as he escorted them along with the crowd.

  Easton never lost sight of Georgia. She’d burrowed herself under Memphis’s arm and wasn’t letting anyone see her face.

  When the final words were said, Easton’s mother reached up, pulled him down and kissed his cheek then walked away. He started to say something to her, ask if she was all right, but her friends had come to her side, and he saw her smile.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Easton heard Wyatt say. He glanced to his side finding Wyatt and his brother Truman next him.

  “I stayed in the back.”

  Wyatt and Truman glanced to each other, then to Easton who was searching the crowd like a mad man. He’d lost sight of Georgia. She wasn’t with Memphis anymore. She wasn’t anywhere.

  Truman had been called away by his dad. When it was just Wyatt and Easton, Wyatt spoke. “You didn’t come home.”

  Home for months had been a camper, before then it was an apartment above one of Wyatt’s family’s barn, which was now occupied until they came off the road for good. So home had been Easton’s mother’s place.

  “I just needed air,” Easton said as he kept up his search for Georgia. He didn’t lie to Wyatt, he just didn’t finish the story. Which was far from out of character for him.

  Wyatt knew Easton well enough to know to change the subject, so he did. Told him how he packed their stuff, what town they had to be at before the AM, and their camper was already there. He even reminded Easton of a paper he had due in a week.

  “I thought we were taking another day,” Easton said, halfway regretting he hadn’t spent more time around his mom. At least he regretted it until he remembered how perfectly Georgia fit in his arms the night before. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so deeply, so soundly.

  “And you told me you wanted to get the hell out of dodge. Memphis is heading out tonight, too.”

  Easton shot a look to him.

  “His mom’s being a bitch. He’s heading up there to hang with his sister for a while. He said he was going to try and get her to come back here.”

  “What’s she being a bitch about?”

  “Money. Memphis thinks she’s going to try and jack with Georgia’s inheritance. He said if he left his mom alone long enough with Georgia she’d make Georgia think it was best she kept the money for now.”

  “If Memphis is leaving then there is no reason to stay,” Easton said.

  Wyatt gave him a once over, still not sure what was up with him, then said, “Go take your momma to lunch then. I’ll bring the truck to Memphis’s grandmother’s house. The family is having the last gathering there.”

  Easton did take his mother to lunch, and his sister, but not until after he searched every inch of the graveyard, behind every tree, and the path to the river—there was no Georgia anywhere.

  The street Mrs. Armstrong lived on was full of people passing down the sidewalk, moving in out of her house. Easton moved among them still searching.

  He found himself around the back of the house, near the garage. A place rich with memories for Easton. Even though Lucas had his own professional garage, he used this one when he worked on what he called personal projects, ones he took his time with on purpose.

  It was open, and inside Easton could see the frame of an old mustang, a pile of scrap right beside it.

  “I was worried about you,” he heard Memphis say just as he stepped out of the shadow of the garage.

  Easton stared as Memphis gave him a once over; clearly noticing Easton was in his clothes.

  “Last night Beckett said he saw you take off with a six pack. For all I knew you were in a ditch somewhere.”

  “I was on foot, and I know better.”

  Memphis laughed. “On foot or not you could have still landed in a ditch.”

  “Not off six beers.”

  Memphis raised his chin. “Is it getting wild out there on the road?”

  Easton lifted a shoulder. “Some days more th
an others.”

  “Out there on the road, Wyatt’s outrunning his roots, what he needs to deal with, and now you will, too.”

  Easton clenched his jaw and looked away. “Memphis, Lucas was your father, this isn’t ‘bout me.”

  “Yeah it is, and he was yours, too, in some way. You can’t outrun it, Easton. We gotta move on.”

  “Is that your plan?” Easton asked as his sharp green eyes met Memphis’s dark stare, the same dark stare Lucas had. “Smile, let go.”

  “It is.”

  Easton cursed and glanced away.

  “It is because I spent my life side by side with my father. He was my best friend, he taught me everything, and I know if I go off any deep end he’ll haunt my ass.”

  Easton smirked, not doubting it.

  “It hurts, Easton, it does. I’m not going to lie, but I’m not going to disappear with a six-pack, lose my temper, and find some wild party. Because when it’s all said and done, I’ll still have to deal with it.”

  “I’m only guilty of the beer.” Well, I’m guilty of more but I sure as fuck am not admitting it…not today. “And I only had three.’’

  “So far. I can see you breaking, Easton. I’m telling you everyone knows you’re the voice of reason, the calm Wyatt needed out there. If you think you can’t balance out there, tell Beckett, tell Duke, tell someone…I can’t handle something happening to you or Wyatt…not now.”

  Easton glanced away, guilt demanding he did so. His boy had just laid his father to rest, and he was worried about Easton…Easton who spent the night with Georgia, Memphis’s baby sister, in his arms…and was barely able to hold himself back from her touch—from the unexplainable power she had to make him give a damn. I’m going straight to hell for this…

  “We’ll keep it straight,” Easton said gruffly. “Just need time…we’ll be home before you know it.”

  “Are you going to put on this uniform?” Memphis asked, looking down to what was left of his formal dress. He’d lost the coat and tie.

  Easton gave him a stiff nod.

  “I’m holding you to it. I want you at my side.”

  Not if you ever figure out I got a thing for your sister. “I…gotta find a new pocket right now.”

  He patted Easton on the shoulder. “Beckett was looking for you not too long ago. I’ll tell him I found you.” Memphis walked past him, then looked back. “I’m calling your ass every day. You better pick up the phone.”

  Easton smirked and gave a wayward nod, deep down knowing he couldn’t lose Memphis, too. Knowing it was best for him to put any ideas about Georgia Armstrong out of his head.

  In the quiet of the backyard, beyond the distance conversations, he thought he could hear a soft cry.

  Every defensive, protective, passionate emotion he had surfaced at once.

  Fuck morals…

  ***

  When Georgia woke, before she opened her eyes, she breathed in the scent of spice and earth which lingered on Easton’s chest. Almost too naturally she’d tightened her arm around him, felt him do the same. She felt like she was wrapped in a cocoon of bliss. It took the thoughts of grief and pain a second to emerge, but when they did they slammed into her with catastrophic force—she had no idea how she’d survive the day.

  She shot up, feeling the boat rock, with wide eyes, the sun shining down disorienting her. She had no idea what time it was but knew she was in trouble. By now surely someone was looking for her. She crawled off of Easton and charged up the dock, somehow remembering his offhand directions from the night before. She ran like the devil was on her heels and found her way to her grandmother’s backyard and pushed through the door.

  Her grandmother, Marie Armstrong, was in the kitchen, leaning on her cane. Her soft eyes looked over Georgia, holding a glint of a smile. “Your clothes are hanging in the bathroom. Go on now.”

  Just as Georgia shut the door she heard Memphis yelling her name, her grandmother telling him she was almost ready, covering for her.

  It was the fastest shower she’d ever taken. She only had the chance to dry her roots and braid her long locks to hide the dampness. Just as she was preparing to hide her eyes behind the thick black liner and shadow—her shield—Memphis opened the bathroom door. Not caring if she was decent or not, and pulled her into a hug. Then guided her out, telling her they were late.

  The entire service she kept her eyes down, for a multitude of reasons and emotions. Each time she looked up though someone, somewhere was looking deep into her eyes—her unmasked eyes.

  At one point she was glad she didn’t have a stitch of makeup on, especially when a tear would dare to escape.

  She couldn’t leave the graveyard fast enough. She ran all the way to her grandmother’s. There she did cry, gasping cries—rip your soul out cries. When it was over she washed her face, and adorned her face in the mask of shadow and liner, thinking if she did so she could hold in the tears, look stronger. Fade back into the crowd once more.

  Her mother was showing her ass in the worst way today. Her smiles were like daggers in Georgia’s heart. The arguments between her and Memphis, about what was best for Georgia, were even worse.

  Georgia had to find air, and she did, in the treehouse her father had started to build her when she was a girl. He never finished it because it was hers, and he only wanted to build it when she was there. The fact it was just boards across the branches with one wall hurt Georgia. It made her regret choosing to try and spend time with her mom, or rather spending time trying to save her mother from herself, only for her to find a new man in a new town…she should have been with her father.

  The world was closing in on her, and even though she put on her makeup to hide behind, to force herself not to cry, the tears came anyway. At first they were slow, small rivulets. But as her fingers rushed across the wood planks, as the memoires of her father and her laying them across the branches slammed into her, they fell harder.

  All at once, a calm gravity came over her. At first she thought it was the subtle breeze daring to dry her tears. But as she breathed in, the aroma of spice and earth made her heart quicken.

  She glanced to her feet and saw Easton on the ladder leading up to her. Slowly she rose, holding his stare, the pale green of his eyes which looked beyond any wall she dared to put up. He held his hand out for her, and she took it, then edged to the side of the wooden planks and let her legs dangle.

  Easton moved down the steps he’d climbed then reached up for her.

  He could feel her pain, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was because he’d walked her path, or because he was feeling the same loss she was on a different level. He was almost sure he could just feel her.

  Her face was ashen from the rivulets of black, and thin strands of her purple hair were clinging to her cheeks.

  He had to hold her right then; it was a flaming sensation in his chest he had to answer.

  As if she read his desire, she reached for him. His strong grasp clasped just beneath her arms. When he gently pulled her forward, she braced her delicate hands on his shoulders. Slowly he pulled her down. Their eyes never broke contact as she slid down his body; his chest was heaving, so was hers.

  When he sat her down, his hand reached for the center of her chest and he felt her heart thundering.

  “He’s right here, he’s not gone. His legacy lives within you,” he said in a husky whisper, repeating the same words told to him, words Lucas had said.

  A stream of tears spilled from her eyes. Easton’s hands reached to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing her tears away. As he did though, the depth of her eyes, how blue they were, how they shined…pulled at him.

  Before he knew it their lips were a breath apart. A million things were stopping him, but the pull to her was irresistible.

  She leaned up, it was only barely, but it was enough for their bodies to take over. The instant her lips touched his, an explosion erupted in his chest. He felt his head spin, his body breath in.

  Georgia was n
umb, but it was the best kind of numb, it was a high—it took her from the hell of her life, took her somewhere far away. Her heart stopped, then began to be beat slow and utterly steady. When she felt the wisp of his tongue slide by hers, her knees felt weak, her head spun. He did it again, like magic—the boy slaughtered every inch of pain within her. Knight in shining armor…

  She pressed herself against him, deepened the kiss, then moved her hands over his shoulders, and up through his dark hair. She wanted to be closer. She was ravenous for the bliss of him, the rush of him.

  The feel of his hands moving down her back, how passionate his kiss was rapture, it was saving her.

  Just as she felt Easton reach to lift her around him, she heard her mother yell her name. She quickly pulled away, so did Easton.

  Her mother was nowhere in sight but they were not alone, Wyatt had stopped short by the garage.

  Right then Georgia’s mother opened the back door. “Now! Georgia, it’s over, we’re leaving, move it.”

  Easton was ready to kill the woman for daring to raise her voice at Georgia, and stepped forward to tell her there was special place in hell for people who disrespected funerals. But before he could say a word Georgia had run from his arms and was inside the backdoor.

  Easton went to follow but Wyatt blocked him.

  “Have you lost your fucking mind? Her?” he said, bowing his chest in Easton’s direction.

  “Back off,” Easton fumed.

  “Hell no I’m not backing off. Of all the girls in this town—in this fucking world—that one, now, of all times, now.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Easton said, stepping up to Wyatt. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

  “You’re calling me a liar!”

  “You didn’t come home last night. And I distinctly remember Memphis looking for her—then I walk in on that?”

  “You didn’t walk in on shit.”

  Wyatt stepped forward. “You’re a cold son of a bitch. If she were my sister you’d already be six foot under.”

  In a purely reflexive reaction full of male testosterone, Easton punched him square in jaw. Wyatt was fast, though, and landed the same hit on Easton’s jaw. It was on then, nothing but fists and ripping of shirts. They were on the ground, both wailing on the other before they heard Beckett and Duke yelling.