Make Music With Me

by Kristine Allen

  “Hey.” Quiet and hesitant, her voice pulled at my soul. Even though she had called me, she sat on the other end of the line without speaking.

  After nearly a minute of silence, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Poppy? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can go up there. Trina helped me pack the things your mom asked about and a few that we thought she might appreciate. The suitcase has been sitting there forever taunting me. My flight is tomorrow and I’m getting sick to my stomach.” Sniffling followed, and then a sob broke out. She hadn’t sounded like that in quite a while and I hated it.

  What I hated even more was the brief burst of relief at the thought of her not coming up here. Though I looked forward to it, the nearer the time came to her arrival, the more I doubted my ability to keep myself in the “friend zone.”

  “Fuck, Poppy. Please don’t cry. You’re killing me. I’m not there to hold or help you and it’s tearing my guts apart.” Hearing her cry was worse than the emotionless words after the accident. The need to hold her was overwhelming. The need to comfort her as I secretly took comfort in her made my skin tighten in guilt.

  “I’m sorry. I know I’m not being fair. I’m not the only one who lost him. Things must be worse for you and your family, but sometimes I feel so damn alone.” Everything was broken and watery as she spoke through her tears.

  “I don’t think it’s fair to say that any one of our levels of pain or loss are worse than another’s. We all have the right to our feelings and to not have them compared to anyone else’s. Yes, we’re all hurting. I’m so fucking sorry you’re alone. What about your mom or Trina? Why don’t you have one of them stay with you tonight?”

  “It’s not about being with people. It’s about my soul being alone. Levi, sometimes I feel so dead inside. Like I just don’t want to be here like this anymore.”

  Those words slayed me.

  “What are you talking about? Poppy, you’re worrying me. Are you saying you don’t feel safe? That you might do something to yourself?” The thought of her taking her own life sent my pulse skittering and caved my chest in.

  “No. Not like that. I’m so tired of feeling like this. I go days where I’m good, then out of the blue it hits me and I see that night over and over in my mind. I want to be able to let go.” The whispered words made my chest ache. Probably because I’d felt the same way on several occasions since I’d been told my brother was gone. Every time, the thought of Poppy was what pulled me through. She’d become my lifeline and I couldn’t tell anyone. That sucked so damn bad.

  “Fuck, I wish I had a magic wand to wave and make all of us better, or better yet, bring him back. Unfortunately, that’s not realistic. We have to find our own individual ways to cope with his loss. I know you’re suffering, but please remember people need you. I need you. More than you know.” There was so much more I wanted to say, but I knew it would be wrong to dump it on her when she was already a mess.

  “I’m sorry. Shit, you don’t need this. Why do you let me dump on you? I’m so fucking selfish. God, I’m so, so sorry. That’s part of the reason I don’t think I need to go up there. Your family doesn’t need my bouts of self-pity pulling them farther down. I’ve been doing so well, then today I just…. I wish you were here.” I nearly missed her last whispered sentence.

  Clearing my throat, I spoke softly. “Poppy, please come. I really think it would do Mom good to be able to spend time with you. All of us have been looking forward to your visit. Logan is taking this really hard. We all are, but him more than the rest, and I think he could use the distraction. I think we all could. Please. Please don’t bail on us.”

  Hearing her ragged breaths, I held my own as I waited for her answer.

  “Okay. I’ll go.”

  Elation flooded me as relief settled in my heart. With a small smile, I closed my eyes and nodded. Not that she could see me. “Good. That’s good. I think getting away from there will help you. Sitting in the house you two shared can’t be easy or mentally healthy for you right now. When you’re here, I’ll be here for you. We can be there for each other. I promise.”

  “Thank you. I will do my best to be there for you. I’m sorry I was being a flake. I guess I just needed you to talk some sense into me. How is it you always do that?” I could hear the smile in her words even as she snuffled, and like a contagious disease it caused the corners of my lips to raise.

  “I have no idea, babe. But anytime you need me, I’m here.” No matter what life handed us, I’d always be there for her. Insane, considering I’d never even held her. I’d only seen her in person once. It made me empathize with all the crazy people who fell in love with people online. I was just as fucking crazy.

  After we ended our call, I fell back on my childhood bed. Staring at the ceiling, I realized it was good to be home, even though it was for Lucas’s memorial. Fuck, I wished my parents had just done it all at once, but I understood their desire to include Poppy in part of letting go. The problem was, it had been two months. I knew it was going to be rough on all of us because it was going to be like the funeral all over again, minus my brother in a coffin.

  Feeling the need to lose myself in music, I made my way downstairs to the living room. Sitting on the stool in front of the piano, I purposefully placed my fingers on the keys. As notes began to flow, my eyes burned.

  Tears eluded me, though, and I could only express my pain through the music that came from my heart. Knowing I needed to get Logan playing again, I pulled out my phone to contact everyone to set up some practice sessions for as soon as Aiden got back from Texas.

  We had only played a handful of times since we lost Lucas. Then Aiden had left to go get his family. Yes, our brother had died and we were falling apart, but we needed to submerge ourselves in our music. Desperately, we needed the escape. We needed to get back to making music, being a band, and being there for each other.

  Because God knew, we all had our own demons deep within our souls.

  “Say You’ll Haunt Me”—Stone Sour

  Jesus, maybe it was a mistake not to let John cancel Lucas’s ticket.

  The first-class tickets had been the other part of John’s engagement gift to us. Sitting on the plane as I awaited takeoff with his seat glaringly empty next to me was painful. Excruciating. The alternative was possibly seeing someone else replacing him there.

  Deep in my heart, I kept waiting for him to rush down the aisle and plop down in the seat, out of breath because he was running late. He would look over at me with that sparkling glimmer of suppressed laughter that was so Lucas….

  Closing my eyes, I rested my head back on my seat. An increased surge of anxiety had my breaths coming hard and gasping. Completely out of control, I was on the verge of a panic attack or bursting into tears. As I often did, I wished Levi was there to calm me.

  My stomach dropped to my feet as the wheels left the ground and the plane roared into the sky. Shaking, my hands covered my face of their own accord. When the flight attendant’s voice filtered through my foggy mind, I opened my eyes and looked at her vacantly.

  “Ma’am, I was asking if you needed anything. Would you like a mixed drink or a soda?” She was pretty, I thought inanely. I wondered if it was it a prerequisite for a flight attendant to be pretty, or did that not matter in today’s equal opportunity world? Shit! Focus, Poppy.

  “Yes, a drink would be nice. Rum and Diet Coke. A double, please.” I knew I would need something to get me through the flight without losing my shit. Thinking of the drink had my mind wandering to memories of Lucas working his magic behind the bar. Knowing I was going to his childhood home had brought everything back with a vengeance.

  Pain ripped through my chest.

  Savage.

  Brutal.

  Ripping the very breath from my lungs, leaving me gasping.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Oh God,” I whispered, and then whimpered to myself, “help me.”

  Deep breath
s, Poppy. Close your eyes. Deep breaths.

  Now I’m talking to myself. That’s freaking great.

  When she handed me the glass with the tiny yellow straw, and an opened can of Diet Coke, I set them on my tray and looked at them numbly. Then she handed me the tiny bottles of alcohol. Wishing with everything I had that at least one of them was a full-size bottle, I sat and stared at them.

  God knew how long I stared and considered drinking them straight from the bottle. Shaking myself out of the abyss, I poured the small bottles into the cup before topping it off with soda and sipped from it slowly.

  Even those two tiny little bottles had me feeling the burn. The soda had bubbles on the inside of the glass but tasted flat. Wondering if it was something about the elevation of the plane that sucked the carbonation away, I took another drink. Whatever the reason, it tasted like shit.

  I allowed my mind to aimlessly wander. At some point, I finished the crappy drink. It must have been enough on my empty stomach to relax me, because my eyelids became heavy and I dozed fitfully.

  When the attendant came by again, I awoke with a start. She apologized for startling me, gathered up my glass, and instructed me to raise my seat and tray for landing. Already? With sleepy eyes I looked at my watch. There was a moment of confusion before it clicked in my brain that Seattle was two hours behind us at home.

  My stomach started to clench and rebel. Butterflies on crack must have been fluttering around in my abdomen because nausea welled, not just nervousness.

  Lucas’s family would be picking me up at the airport. His mom had called me last night to make sure I was still feeling up to coming. What I didn’t tell her was that I almost cancelled. The entire month before, I’d gone back and forth about the trip.

  Hell, I’d gone so far as dialing the airline, then hung up. Instead, I called Levi. Crying, I finally told him I didn’t think I could go. At first it seemed like he was relieved and I felt what was left of my heart crumble. Then he’d cleared his throat and spoken softly to me. “Poppy, please come. I really think it would do Mom good to be able to spend time with you. All of us are looking forward to seeing you. Logan is taking this really hard. We all are, but him more than the rest, and I think he could use the distraction. I think we all could. Please. Please don’t bail on us.”

  Many times before that call, I’d rationalized I could just mail his things to them. But I had missed the small family funeral and needed to be there for the memorial, no matter how painful it was going to be. In my heart, I knew that. After Levi’s heartfelt plea, I fortified my spirit and mentally committed to going.

  Before I knew it, I was off the plane and collecting my suitcases. Juggling my carry-on, my tote, the battered guitar case, and my large rolling suitcase was more difficult by myself than I thought it would be. John and my mom had helped me at the Pensacola Airport when I left, so I hadn’t even thought about how I would manage when I got there. To top it all off, tears threatened every time I thought too much about the damn guitar case.

  Crap.

  As I struggled, I began to regret telling Linda they could pick me up at the passenger drop-off and pick-up. Not to mention I was suddenly fighting the desire to turn around and go home.

  Pulling a deep, shaky breath into my lungs, I braced myself for the next three weeks.

  Not seeing the vehicle she described the other day, I stood there feeling foolish. Even though she knew what I looked like and I knew what she looked like, I was worried we would miss each other.

  The weather was chilly and the sky overcast. Funny how, no matter how many books you read or movies you see about Washington State, it always seemed like the gray, overcast skies had to be a cliché.

  Huh, guess they were right.

  Pulling out my phone, I prepared to call Linda to let her know exactly where I was standing.

  “Poppy?” A familiar, rich and deep voice spoke my name. Then a very masculine hand covered mine as I jumped and pulled my luggage closer to me.

  I nearly shrieked. The jolt of that hand touching me was nothing compared to the astonishment that flooded me when I raised my eyes to the man the hand belonged to.

  “Holy shit.” Stomach bottoming out, black spots dotting the edge of my vision, I was pretty sure I was about to pass out.

  He smiled briefly at my crass words and I saw the flash of a dimple that was the exact image of the one burned into my memory. Tears welled in my eyes. Stabbing agony shot through my heart like a lightning bolt.

  It wasn’t possible. My eyes must have been as wide as saucers as my mouth flopped open and shut like a fish’s. Standing in front of me was a minutely altered Lucas. In fact, other than the haircut, they were carbon copies of each other. Shocked, I had a hard time catching my breath. Yeah, I’d known they were twins, but I hadn’t stopped to think about them being identical. How ignorant was that? How had I never seen a clear picture of him?

  Lucas.

  Lucas.

  Lucas.

  My mind screamed.

  Even though I knew it wasn’t him. Couldn’t be him.

  But my eyes. God-fucking-dammit, my eyes saw Lucas. Told my heart it was Lucas.

  Jesus. It was like seeing a ghost.

  The very few pics he’d sent me were always slightly grainy, or from a distance. Like me, he didn’t have any social media accounts. Lucas didn’t have a single family picture that he’d shared with me. He’d said it was because he’d left everything in Seattle when he’d gone to Florida for college. I’d never questioned him. Never had a reason to—they were twins. No biggie. Right?

  Wrong. Serious biggie.

  I’d only seen this man with a group of military guys, in uniform, always from a distance and never overly clear. He’d always said they weren’t supposed to send or post pics, so the few he sent me were to be kept private.

  Like with Lucas and the pictures, I didn’t question him.

  He was some Special Forces something or other. All I knew was in the pics he sent me, he sometimes had a beard—which I didn’t think military people could have, but he explained SF kind of had their own rules. And his letters came postmarked from random places, never Afghanistan.

  Why? Why hadn’t I thought about this? Prepared myself better. Hell, I knew they were twins, for fuck sake.

  Sweet Mary, mother of God.

  My heart was pounding. Banging in my chest. Rattling my ribcage. Threatening to rupture. Both from being startled by his touch, and in traumatic response to thinking I was looking at a fucking dead man.

  The blood rushing through my veins and the chills running up and down my skin were hard to fight. No matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew deep in my heart, part of my reaction was because of the emotions I’d been fighting for the man standing in front of me.

  Fuck me.

  Shit.

  Mind reeling, I didn’t know if I was going to survive being around Levi for three fucking weeks. What the hell was wrong with me? This was Lucas’s brother. But all the feelings I’d had through our phone calls, letters, and emails washed over me, seeping into every pore. I couldn’t help it.

  With a sad smile, he finally spoke. “I’d have known you anywhere. You look just like I remember. No, better. If you’re ready, this is me.” He sobered, inhaled sharply, and nodded toward a black four-wheel drive Ford parked at the curb with its flashers on. No wonder I hadn’t noticed him; I’d been looking for Linda’s SUV she’d described to me.

  “Like you remember?” Confusion colored my question.

  Lowering his lids, he looked away, then nervously licked his lips. “Yeah, sorry, I mean like your pictures. You look just like your pictures.”

  Damn, let me tell you, my head was spinning. I’d not been prepared for the shock of coming face-to-face with what my brain saw as my dead fiancé. I simply couldn’t get over how I’d never thought about him being an exact replica of Lucas.

  Except Levi had short-cropped hair that was spiky and a little messy on top. But th
ere were the same piercing blue eyes and square jaw covered in a rough five o’clock shadow. Maybe ten o’clock (was there such a thing? Hell if I knew, I could barely keep a straight thought in my head). Whatever, it looked like he hadn’t shaved in several days. Of course, he was just as tall and broad as Lucas, too.

  Those eyes. Upon closer inspection, yeah, at first they looked like Lucas’s, but they were actually incredibly different. Lucas’s had always been bright and sunny—full of life. Levi’s were… shadowed, holding pain and secrets that obviously weighed heavy on him.

  “So, um, Mom had to help Dad with some things so they could take a few days off this week and next week. I offered to swing by to get you, to help them out. I hope you don’t mind.” His rich voice, both like Lucas’s and of the man I’d been falling for despite the internal fight I’d fought, poured over my battered soul like warm honey. It was both punishing and soothing, leaving my poor brain shuffling as it tried to process how I should feel. How I should think.

  Though it was difficult, I really did try not to stare as he walked with my bags to the back of the truck. It was just he looked so much like, yet still so different from Lucas. The other thing I was having a hard time reconciling was the fact that this was my friend. This awkwardness shouldn’t exist. Except the shock of being forced to accept that Lucas and Levi were identical twins changed everything. But it shouldn’t.

  His tattered jeans hung low on his hips and snug on his ass. My face flamed at the thought that I had been looking at Lucas’s brother’s ass. I didn’t mean to; it was habit. But not with him. The muscles in his back flexed as he lifted my suitcases into the bed of the truck, and I would have sworn I was in some parallel dimension where Lucas was still alive.

  When he reached for the guitar case handle clutched tightly in my trembling hand, his breath hitched. Staring at his hand, frozen midreach, I noticed he had a black-and-white bandana tied around his wrist, with a multilooped braided leather bracelet on his left wrist.