Shake, Rattle and Roll: The Baxter Boys #4 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

by Charles, Jane

  Screw them. I need sleep.

  Bethany: Hey, sorry I didn’t respond. Phone died and had to charge it. How is it going?

  I blow out a sigh of relief because I was kind of worried when she didn’t text me back. I wasn’t sure if she was busy or maybe mad that I hadn’t called. This is still so fucking new that I’m not sure what to think, but jumping to negative conclusions isn’t like me either.

  I’ve got to get my shit together.

  Me: Just got done unloading. Couldn’t respond earlier.

  Bethany: Boise, right?

  Me: Yep. Right now sitting in a bar waiting for food

  Bethany: Nice city? Never been there.

  Me: Haven’t seen much of it. Plan on walking around tomorrow before we do sound check and stuff.

  Bethany: So, just hanging at the bar tonight?

  Me: Only long enough to eat and have a few beers, then I plan on crashing.

  Bethany: Dylan, by way of Mary, said you didn’t get much sleep one night because of partying.

  Me: Them, not me. And it was 2 nights

  Bethany: Any sleep since?

  Me: Not really. But I have hopes for tonight since I don’t have to share with any of them.

  This is such a stilted conversation. Not like when we were together. Of course, I could just call her instead of texting, but something is holding me back. Of course, it’s loud in here and I wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway and I sure as hell don’t want to be shouting into a phone.

  Bethany: That’s better than wondering if one of your roommates is going to be going at it in the next bed over. ;)

  Note to self, be careful what I tell Dylan because he will tell Mary who will pass it on to Bethany. Not that it’s a bad thing. I haven’t done or said anything that I wouldn’t want her to know about and don’t plan on doing so either.

  This is the most uncomfortable texting I’ve ever done. It’s so blah and boring, not the same comfort level as before he left. There has got to be something we can talk about that isn’t basic shit of how was your day.

  Me: Hey, question. Why didn’t you give blood when the other guys did?

  Christian: Not my time.

  Me: Huh?

  Christian: I already give, regularly. I couldn’t.

  This surprises me, though it really shouldn’t, but you rarely meet guys his age who are regular donors. When we do blood drives on campus, most of them are first timers or only make the effort when the Red Cross comes to them.

  Christian: A neg. They love me.

  I laugh because he is probably at the top of their list given how rare his type is.

  Me: I bet they do. How long have you been giving?

  Christian: Since I was about 18. Started freshman year at college, at a blood drive. Once the vampires typed me, they haven’t let up.

  I roll my eyes at his wording.

  Me: They aren’t vampires.

  Christian: Sure seems that way to me. But, it’s all good. I don’t mind.

  Me: Did they get you on a donor list, like for marrow and stuff?

  With his type, a lot of people would want a piece of him.

  Christian: Yep. Though, nobody has needed anything yet.

  I like that he is a donor. Not that I want anything to happen to him where they might be able to take his organs, but marrow can be used for all kinds of things and it would only be a bit of discomfort for him.

  Christian: I’m headed to my room in about ten minutes. Can I call?

  My heart beat picks up.

  Me: Of course.

  Christian: Good. Talk to you soon.

  I let the phone drop and run to the bathroom because I really need to pee and I don’t want him to hear me peeing. Then I grab the bottle of wine from the fridge to add a little more to my glass and then put the bottle away because I don’t want it to be too easy to refill. The last thing I need to be is tipsy while talking to Christian. Being half asleep was bad enough. Who knows what else I’d let slip if I started to get inebriated.

  The phone rings and I turn off the television.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”

  I’m grinning like an idiot but I don’t care. It’s not like he can see me.

  24

  “It’s good to hear yours too,” she answers.

  Thing are just easy with Bethany. Easier than anyone.

  “Hey, I’ve got a confession to make.”

  There’s silence for a minute before she says, “Okay,” real slow like. What is she afraid I will say?

  “The first time I gave blood it was like ‘what the heck, I’ve got time,’ sort of thing.”

  “That’s how a lot of people start off giving blood. That, or a friend is ill or was in an accident, and they give blood even though it might not be a match.”

  “The Red Cross called me about six weeks later wanting to set up an appointment to give blood again.”

  “With your type, I’m not surprised.”

  “We’ll, I don’t think I knew my type then. Anyway, I agree and go in. That’s when I find out how rare it is and they asked me to fill out a donor card, and all of that. After researching it, I figured that if I had any family out there and if they needed a part of me, I’d finally find a relative.” Why is it that I’m compelled to tell Bethany things I’ve never even told my best friend? But as soon as she brought up donating blood, I knew I had to come clean. It’s not totally for selfish purposes, but a lot of it is too.

  “That’s a long shot,” she tells me.

  “Yeah, I know, but you don’t know what it’s like to not belong to anybody, or even a place. My genealogy is a dumpster in Queens.”

  “So, if you got a call and they have a match for say a kidney, you’d give it.”

  I have to pause and think about it. I am rather fond of my body parts. “Yeah, I guess, or part of my liver, and all the marrow they need.” Of course, that’s easy to say now since nobody has asked for anything. I might not be so quick to offer this stuff up if a call did come in.

  “You know, it’s possible to get a genealogy of sorts, through DNA.”

  “I’ve seen advertisements, but what is it going to tell me?” They can’t give me a mom or dad or siblings.

  “History? Roots?”

  She’s saying magic words, but I don’t see how that will help me. I don’t even know what my fucking real name would be.

  “Get into a database first, maybe there is a familial match. But even if that doesn’t work, you can get a report on where your ancestors came from. It’s something,” she offers weakly.

  I’m not even certain those commercials are for real. “Does it really work?” I finally ask.

  “Yeah!” she insists. “I know people who have gotten reports and they match up to what they already knew, with some surprises.”

  I sit back then think about what she’s said. “It would be nice to know the basics I guess. Like where my ancestors came from. Heck, I could be Jewish and not know it, not that it’s a bad thing, and I’d have a heritage.”

  Bethany laughs. “Maybe that explains why Christians suck.”

  “So, maybe it was a prejudice thing after all.” I chuckle. I’ll never know why Christians Suck, or at least why my mom thought they did, but I’ve never considered it could be totally a prejudice thing.

  “I’ve been tempted to do the DNA thing, but I think I’ve been afraid to find out. Afraid I come from nowhere and babies really do pop up in cabbage patches,” I finally confess to her.

  “What have you got to lose and it could be fun.”

  “You’re right.” I need to do this because babies do come from people and those people came from others, back to the beginning of time. Maybe if I have a map that points to my history, I’ll have learned something about myself. “I’m going to order a kit.”

  But, I don’t want the guys to know. I’m not sure how much I want to share with them until I do know. It’s not like me to keep things from the
guys. I always tell them everything, but it’s usually at a slower pace, until I become use to the idea. Hell, it took me weeks to tell them I was going on tour and the reason why, and this is bigger than that. It isn’t that I don’t trust them, because I do, and I know I’ll have their support. It’s just I always need time with the personal first, before sharing. “Can I send it to your place?”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t tell Mary,” I blurt.

  “Okay, why?” she asks slowly.

  “Until I know something I don’t want them to know what I’m doing.”

  “Don’t they know?”

  “Oh, they know I was left in the garbage, but I just don’t talk about it and if they know I’m doing this, they might get concerned, or worry if I don’t get answers. I used to really be hung up about not having a past.” I’m still hung up about it, I just don’t talk about it and haven’t for a few years, not until I told Dylan that I wanted roots—family, a house and a picket fence—when we were looking for Nina right after she turned eighteen. “If this doesn’t work out, they’ll worry about me.”

  “I promise not to say a word to anyone.”

  Even though I don’t know Bethany all that well yet, I trust her. “It’s not the family I’ve always wanted but it’s something.”

  “I can’t even imagine. At least adopted kids come with names,” she says after a moment. “You don’t even have that.”

  “But I’ll have a map, or something,” I lighten the mood. I don’t need Bethany feeling sorry for me. “Maybe I’ll frame it and hang it on a wall, so I can look at where I came from even if I don’t know who.” The more I talk about this, the more I’m warming to the idea. “Give me your address.” I jot it down on the notepad by the bed.

  I try to cover my yawn as I write but she hears it anyway.

  “You need to get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I haven’t had much since I left. I’ll try and call again. It’s a crazy schedule.”

  “That’s okay. Text or call when you can. I’m on break, as of three this afternoon, so I’ll be around.”

  “You’re going to do something fun aren’t you?” Spring break is the time to do things you never get a chance to do.

  “I’ll probably go out some with my friends, but I really want to just relax, and truth be told, make a quilt.”

  I smile. “You don’t have all of your colors,” I remind her.

  “Maybe I’ll start a new one, you never know.”

  “You should make a black one.” What I really want to do is ask her to make me one. It would be cool to sleep under something she made, but we aren’t there yet. Plus, quilts are a lot of hard work and you just don’t make something like that for a guy you just met.

  “Black isn’t a color, Christian.”

  “It is to me.”

  “Get some sleep.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I respond in a military tone. “Goodnight, Bethany.”

  “Goodnight Christian.”

  After tearing off my clothes, I crawl into bed and wish I wasn’t sleeping alone. It was really nice when Bethany was using me as her pillow.

  A smile pulls and I grab my phone.

  I’m grinning as I make sure that I actually disconnect the call. Not that I’m going to utter anything embarrassing, but after that last time, I’m not taking any chances.

  A new quilt project is exactly what I need, but I have no clue what I want to make.

  Is it too soon to make one for Christian? Though, the idea of a black quilt goes against everything I believe since I think they should be colorful, but black, browns, golds are his favorite colors so I’ll make it work, and maybe add my own splash of color in for good measure.

  Now, I just need a design.

  My phone dings and I glance down.

  Christian: I’m tucked in bed thinking about you.

  I can’t help but grin.

  Me: What are you thinking about?

  Christian: You never felt my balls

  This makes me laugh, but he’s right. I barely touched his dick with my hands, let alone his balls when we were together.

  Me: I taught you how to feel your balls

  Christian: Not the same. I want you to do it.

  Me too.

  Me: I’ll feel your balls when you get back.

  Christian: Promise

  Me: Yes

  Christian: I’d do the same for you but you don’t have any.

  Me: If I did, I don’t think we’d be having this conversation

  Unlike Kelly, Christian is clearly hetero without confusion, doubts or whatever it was my high school boyfriend was dealing with.

  Christian: True. I like boobs too much. They are better than balls.

  Me: Not sure I agree.

  Christian: I like yours a lot.

  Me: Thanks, I guess

  Christian: You should send me a picture

  Me: Of my boobs?

  He can’t be serious

  Christian: Yep. Then I can look at them when I want.

  Me: Not happening.

  Christian: Why?

  Me: You’ll be famous someday and then someone will find them and a tabloid will post them. Happens too much and I’m not going to be the person your fans are wondering about.

  Christian: You think I’m going to be famous

  Me: Of course.

  Christian: So you won’t show me your boobs.

  Me: I’ll let you see them when I feel your balls.

  Christian: But that’s a week and a half away.

  Me: Are you whining?

  Christian: Yep and not ashamed.

  I just roll my eyes.

  Me: I promise to make the wait worth it.

  Christian: Promise?

  Me: Yes!

  Christian: Okay, but I’m holding you to that. As soon as I get back, I want to see boobs.

  Me: I promise to show you boobs and anything else you want.

  Christian: It’s going to be a long week and a half.

  For me too. Now that I know I didn’t scare him off, I can’t wait to see him again.

  Me: You’ll survive

  Christian: I’m holding you to that.

  25

  After texting Bethany and ordering the DNA test, I slept for like ten hours and woke up feeling human again. After breakfast, we set up our equipment and did a sound check. Since, I’ve been wandering around Boise, looking at the area. On a whim I rented a car and have just been driving. I kind of like it. It’s good to see different places. I didn’t do much of that in Las Vegas because I wasn’t that interested, but Boise is different and I like the place.

  Then I see a quilt. More than one quilt. A couple of them on display in a window. I’ve never been in a quilt shop before, but I end up entering this one. I’m not exactly sure why and not sure what I thought I’d find, but I’m struck by the number of bolts of fabric on the wall that goes on forever, arranged in colors and shades. Another wall has nothing but books, then there are magazine racks that hold what looks like patterns. Another counter is stacked with scissors and items I don’t recognize or know what to do with. Behind are tables and in another room, women are sitting at sewing machines putting pieces together. This would be Bethany’s heaven, not mine.

  “Can I help you?” An older woman asks as she comes from the back.

  “Not really.”

  She eyes me suspiciously, like I’m about to rob her or something. Who would rob a quilt store and what would they want?

  “My girlfriend back home quilts. I’ve never been in an actual quilt store so I came in.”

  She smiles softly at me. “Are you visiting Boise?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And maybe thinking of taking a gift back to her?” the woman hints.

  I wasn’t, but it’s not a bad idea. “I just don’t know what it would be.”

  “Is she new to quilting?”

  “No. She’s been quilting since she was little.”

  The woman
nods in approval.

  “She also has tubs of fabric.” I glance at the wall. “Not this much, but a lot.”

  “Since she’s not a beginner, books aren’t necessary and most quilters like to pick their own patterns.” She gestures to the case of gadgets and stuff. “Unless there are tools she might need?”

  I just shrug. I have no clue and am beginning to think this is a bad idea. What was I thinking coming in here anyway?

  “Unless you know what fabric she might need, then I’m not sure I can be of any help.”

  “Fabric!” That’s it. Quickly I explain the prism quilt and missing shades.

  “Then, maybe I can help,” she says as she leads me to a bin filled with bags of fabric. “These are ends of bolts. Not big enough to make a quilt, but perfect for small projects and if her squares are only about an inch or two, it might be what she needs.”

  The bags are filled with fabric in shades of blue, purple, yellow, orange, red, green, and every color available, including blacks and browns. I try to remember what colors she has, the shades she is going with and pick out about ten different bags.

  “I hope these work.” I place the bags on the counter.

  The woman puts a hand on mine. “Trust me, it won’t matter if they are perfect or completely wrong. She will be thrilled that you made the effort.”

  I hope she’s right and I really hope I’m not fucking up.

  Bethany did say she was going to work on quilts this week and it would be better to get this to her sooner than when I get back. “Is there a place I can ship from around here?”