For what? That, I don’t ask, but I want to know. Not that we are going to be doing anything, even if I want to, but a guy needs to know if she needs those for something that could mess up his dick.
“Strep,” she says after swallowing more water. “Only two more pills to go and I’m done.” She sets the bottle down. “I’m not contagious anymore. It’s not like you can get it from the air in the place, or drinking after me, or something.”
Like kissing. Something else I don’t say.
She empties the bottle of water and goes back to the fridge for another one. “Are you sure you don’t want a beer, glass of wine, something else besides water?”
So, I’m not being kicked to the curb, yet. “I’m good. Thanks.”
She comes back to the counter and rests her hands on it and then looks me in the eye. “I really do want to know you better, I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“Nobody does.” Would it be rude if I used the cornbread to scrape the bowl? This may be the best thing I’ve eaten, or maybe I’m just tired of Dylan’s cooking. Or, it could just be the company.
“I’ve told you a lot about me, so you just tell me what you want to share.”
That’s leaving it wide open. I finish off the Burgoo and cornbread and take my bowl to the sink.
“I can do that.”
“I am capable of cleaning up.”
Her cheeks start to turn pink. “But, you’re my guest.”
“You cooked,” I remind her.
“I reheated.” She rolls her eyes. “Join me on the couch?”
That is almost the best invitation so far. Not quite the bed, but I doubt if I’ll ever be invited there.
She settles on one end and turns, facing the other end, her knees bent and knees on the couch. Since Bethany is still wearing that long, flowing skirt, her legs are completely covered. I take the opposite end, bend my knee and turn toward her.
This is the moment of truth. Do I skip over the ugly, not so pleasant parts, and hope she gets to know me better before she has to learn the rest and turns me loose? Or, do I just put it out there, get this over with and just have the memory of a great night?
It’s funny, it’s never been important to me. No girl has mattered enough for me to tell them anything. Maybe it’s because I knew within a day or so of knowing them that it wasn’t a forever thing. When I was younger, it was more of a hook up thing. But, from the moment I laid eyes on Bethany, I knew, in my gut, that she was different from all of the others. No, I don’t know her, not really, but I can’t ignore my gut. I never have, and I’m not going to now.
We are worlds apart, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to work, but that doesn’t change whatever it is that I’m feeling. Almost as if I was struck by lightning and everything is charged when I’m around her. The air is different. I feel different, and this current pulling me to her makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.
We aren’t even close to what some would term a relationship, but I want to tell her, get it out there, knowing the end result is going to suck. It’s also the very reason I’m afraid to put anything out there.
Why can’t this just be a girl who is into me because of music and I’m into her because she likes my music? Then we could fuck and all would be good. But it’s more. It’s something else.
Not that I don’t want her. Hell, my cock’s been half stiff since she walked into the Poison Apple.
Her blue eyes are studying me, waiting for me to say something.
I take a drink of my water. If I want something to come of this, or at least have a shot, I need to come clean and be honest from the start. If not, when the truth comes out, she’ll be pissed and I’d have lost anything gained. Better to know now if she doesn’t want to be around people like me.
“I don’t even know my name.”
Bethany frowns and takes a sip. “Did you just pick one? Is it for the stage?”
“I wish.” The name does have a nice ring to it and works well for a musician. “My first case worker gave it to me.”
“I like it.”
“So do I, but there is a story behind it.” I take another drink. “Mind if I get a beer?” This is going to be hard, not that the beer will make it easier but there’s something about serious conversations and an alcoholic beverage that go together.
“Not at all.” She moves to get up.
“I’ve got it.” She’s waited on me since I got here and I can walk to the fridge as easy as she can. I grab a bottle and twist off the top.
“Garbage is under the sink.”
I toss it and come back to the couch and resume my spot and sip my beer.
Bethany waits. “Are you going to tell me?” she asks after a moment.
“My mom threw me away, basically.”
Pain and sympathy spike in her blue eyes. “I’m sorry, but maybe she didn’t have another choice but to give you up.”
If the woman who gave birth to me would have just left me somewhere safe like a fire station, at least I would have known she cared even a little bit, but she didn’t even do that. “She left me on top of the trash, wrapped in a dirty, bloody blanket and walked away.”
Bethany’s jaw has dropped. The few people I’ve told have had the same reaction, which is why I don’t tell a lot of people. “She did leave a note, pinned to the blanket.”
“What did it say? Did she explain?”
I just shake my head. “Christians Suck.”
“What?”
“That’s all the note said.”
“Nothing else?” Bethany is as shocked, angered and flabbergasted as anyone else who learns, and I can’t blame her. It’s a pretty shitty thing to do to a newborn. At least my mom didn’t outright kill me. Just close, because she couldn’t have meant for me to live. Had she, I wouldn’t have been left in the garbage. “I’m so sorry.” There is so much empathy in her blue eyes that I have to look away. The last thing I want is sympathy. That’s not why I’m telling her this.
“They never did find out who I belonged to and the case worker was tired of baby John Does, so she decided to go with what was on the note, with a slight alteration.”
“That’s still an odd note to leave with a baby. No explanation or anything?”
“Nope.” I take another drink of the beer and relax a little. “I have theories that she got knocked up in some religious community. Maybe a minister or youth director that she trusted. Or, maybe a church rejected her and me. Supposedly good nuns judged her?” I shrug. “Who know, but it was clear how she felt about that faith based group and me.”
Holy crap! I don’t even know what to say.
Somebody, his mom, threw him away? I know I’ve seen stuff like this on the news, and read about it online, but you never expect to actually meet someone that happened to.
“I’m surprised you weren’t adopted, being a baby.”
“Paperwork.” He shrugs and takes another swig of his beer. “I think they had to go through legal channels, first to find my mom, and then make me a ward of the state, and by then, I wasn’t exactly a newborn anymore.”
“You couldn’t have been that old either.”
“Old enough, ugly enough, or bratty enough that nobody wanted to take the chance.”
My heart nearly shatters for him. To be a kid, not knowing his parents, or worse, knowing he was thrown away, and then not to be adopted, has got to be horrible. One who doesn’t want to be wanted and his own mom didn’t care enough even to find him a home.
Christian had never belonged anywhere and even though I don’t want to go back to Kentucky, it is a place that I once belonged, with parents, cousins, aunts and uncles, and I’d belong again if things didn’t work out here.
“It’s all good. I survived.”
Survived! I’ve heard horror stories about kids in foster care. But, I’ve also heard some amazing ones. Do I want to know where Christian’s experiences fell? He seems okay now, but some scars can be really deep, hidden and come out at the worst possible times.
However, it changes nothing about the pull I feel toward him.
“Look,” he says and puts his beer aside. “My life wasn’t horses and green pastures. It was the streets of New York and I get it if you don’t want to go any further with whatever is happening between us.”
How many times has he been rejected because of where he came from? Sure, I get the being cautious because I’m not sure if his childhood messed him up, but I’m not going to dismiss him just because of a possibility either. I don’t really know him. “What is happening between us?” That is what I do want to know.
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I wish I could figure it out, but since the moment I saw you, I wanted to know you. Not just in a physical way, but something I can’t even figure out myself.”
His face starts to redden and I get that may have been really hard for him to admit, but my relief is so great. I blow out a sigh and set my water down.
“I get it.” Christian starts to get up from the couch.
Where the hell is he going? I put a hand on his leg. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah….”
“No!” I blurt out. I might never let him leave. Except, I kind of have to eventually since he has a tour and all.
“I just confessed some shit and I don’t think you were ready to hear it.”
He still hasn’t sat back down. “Surprised, shocked, saddened, but I don’t want you to go.”
Slowly he takes his place back on the couch and watches me. He confessed something and now it’s my turn. “I feel it too,” I finally say. “A current that I’ve never experienced with anyone else.” Now my face is heating. “I can’t even explain it since I still don’t really know you, but it’s there and it makes absolutely no sense that I would feel what I do for a guy I barely know.”
The left side of his mouth tips. “Really? You’re not just giving me a line of shit because you feel sorry for me?”
“I don’t do that. I never would.”
He picks up his beer and relaxes again. “So, what do you think it is?”
“I don’t know, but my entire body goes on alert when you’re around.” Even now my nipples are hard, like he’s my mate. “Primal.” It’s what I thought earlier and it’s the only explanation I can come up with.
His brown eyes widen slightly. “Exactly!”
So, maybe it’s just a sex thing. Do it, be done and it’s over.
But, I still think it’s more.
“Wait.” He straightens. “Is it the music, a musician thing?”
“What?” I’m not sure what he’s getting at.
“Sometimes girls have things for musicians.”
“Am I a groupie?” I’m not sure if I’m offended or if I should laugh. “Your playing does make me hot, I’ll be honest.” Again my face heats. “But I watch a lot of bands, some even better looking than you.” I wink. “But they’ve never done anything for me.”
He gives a quick nod and takes a drink. “As long as it isn’t a groupie thing because, well, that would just suck.”
I’m not sure why it would, but I’m glad I’m not a groupie either, just a fan girl, but I’m pretty sure that if I mentioned that, Christian wouldn’t think there was a difference.
10
Primal! That sums up exactly what I’ve been feeling from the first time I saw Bethany. It’s like my body recognized hers and I need to claim her, as if I’m a caveman or something. It’s even made me protective as shit, like when those guys were near the building and followed us into the foyer.
At least she isn’t a groupie. If she were, she would have fucked me already and sent me on my way, without any of the personal questions. Hell, she would have found a place to fuck before we ever got here. It’s happened before. Back in the beginning where alleys, dark hallways, or even bathrooms in bars were good enough. She is so not one of those.
“So, what happened after you were found and put in foster care?” she asks.
Bethany really wants to know this. But, since we’ve both acknowledged something is there I’m not as reluctant to share. At least not as reluctant as with other practical strangers. I just wish I knew what that something was. This connection. Will this something grow and maybe really be something someday. Of course, it could be nothing and all we need to do is fuck and I’d be over these primal urges, but I really hope that isn’t just it for her or me. Still, I’d better get the shit out of the way before I lose my heart. “I was passed from home to home until I was about twelve.”
“What happened then?”
“Ran away.”
Her blue eyes widen.
“The homes that I’d been in had been okay. Most of the foster parents were decent. I ate well, went to school and they made sure I got to bed on time. If I got in trouble, I lost an hour of television, or had to do more chores. Nothing bad, except I didn’t get to stay and most of the time, wasn’t given a reason why I had to move. Except,” I hold up a finger, “I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. I kept my nose clean, was quiet and did as I was told.
“So, why run when you were twelve?”
“Because, the last two homes were completely different.”
I finish off the beer, not wanting to really remember the nightmare of my last home. Instead, I tell her about the one before it. “The place was filthy, for one. The mom, didn’t really give a damn, except that she got checks for housing and feeding us. The dad, well, after he got off work as a mechanic, he came home and drank. I don’t think there was a night he went to bed sober.”
“His wife didn’t care?”
“As long as her television wasn’t interrupted, she didn’t care.”
“That’s why you ran away?”
“I didn’t run from that one. It was the next one.” That’s all I’m willing to share. At least right now. The rest is too ugly. Maybe one day I’ll tell Bethany, or maybe I won’t. The guys I’ve lived with since high school don’t even know, and since I’ve not shared with them after eight years, I doubt that I’ll ever share with anyone. “It was a crap place too. Up until the last two homes I’d been lucky and because I was older, it was unlikely that my luck would hold, so I ran away and that’s when I started living on the streets.”
“You were twelve!” Bethany cries.
“Too stupid to know any better and figured I could take care of myself and did for the most part.” Getting up from the couch I head into the kitchen. “Mind if I get another beer?”
“Of course not.”
I grab one and twist off the top. This will be the last one. If I drink more, who knows what all I’ll tell her. I’ve already told her more than most girls I dated for over a month. It was easy to put them off and change the subject, and I could probably do the same with Bethany, but for the first time, I don’t want to skirt the issue or my past.
“How did you go to school? Last I heard, parents or guardians need to sign kids up for school, they just can’t walk in and attend classes.”
“I didn’t. At least not for a few years.” A smile pulls at my lips as I settle back on the couch. “I was tall for my age so people always thought I was older. I slept in alleys, abandoned buildings, and avoided the sex trade, drugs and gangs. Just basically kept low, until three months after I’d run away.” It’s a really sweet, and life changing memory. “There was an alley I hung out in because of the restaurants. There were like three in that block, or something like that. The cooks, or maybe it was just kitchen staff, got to know me and they’d set aside the stuff they were going to toss, and would bag a meal for me. I ate really great at about eleven every night.”
“You only ate once a day?” Bethany asks in disbelief.
“It was more often than a lot of kids in my shoes. Plus, the stuff that wouldn’t go bad and didn’t have to be refrigerated, I held onto for the next day, in case I
got hungry. It worked out great.”
Bethany just shakes her head as if she can’t imagine any of this, and she probably can’t.
“Anyway, it was really nice out that night and a lot of the doors were open to the alley to let the fresh air in, a breeze maybe because the air wasn’t all that fresh.” I laugh. “But that’s when I hear the music. Right in the middle of those restaurants. It was the first time I heard any kind of jazz or blues. There were stairs at the door, so I snuck down them and hid in the shadows and watched guys up on the stage playing the piano, trumpet, and sax. I didn’t move from my spot as I held onto my bag of food and listened. It was the best thing I’d ever heard in my life.”
Christian stops talking, almost like he’s lost in a good memory. I can’t imagine it was all that good since he was living on the streets and just short of eating out of garbage cans, but maybe it was better than that last home. When he started to talk about it there was like a haunting in his brown eyes, and they darkened with intensity. Whatever happened there, it was bad. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it and I’m not going to press it. Some things are not meant to be shared and we are just getting to know one another. Plus, he is sharing a hell of a lot more than I expected him to. Of course, when I started wanting to know about him I assumed it wasn’t so different than my life. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Christian has had a fascinating and very sad life so far, but I’m dying to know how he got from there to here, though I’m pretty sure the club he wandered into had a lot to do with it.
“When the guys stopped playing, I snuck back out into the alley, but didn’t go far in case they were just taking a break. That’s when Louie came out. He played the sax. We had just a short talk, and then he was gone. After that, I was there every night, and pretty much took up residence in that alley. The food was great, as was the music, and nobody bothered me back there.”
“Is that where you learned to play?”
The side of his mouth quirks. “Yeah. Louie and the guys were at the club all the time, even when it wasn’t open. Like it was almost their home or something. After a time, he taught me the sax and then the trumpet. I was a sponge, learning everything I could, and that it doesn’t matter so much how well you play but what it feels like in here.” He puts a hand over his heart.
Shake, Rattle and Roll: The Baxter Boys #4 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled) Page 6