Make Music With Me

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Make Music With Me Page 6

by Kristine Allen


  God, I had wanted Lucas to be part of it with us. No matter how much I begged, pleaded, or razzed him, he wouldn’t relent. When Dominic introduced me to Aiden, I thought it was another one of those meant-to-be’s that my mom believed in.

  Mom had been telling me there was a reason Lucas wasn’t supposed to play with us. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Humoring her, I had agreed and let it lie.

  Then after Lucas met Poppy, Mom said he’d stayed in Florida because he needed to meet her. It was meant to be. Foolishly, over the past year, I’d prayed for him to have finally gotten Florida out of his system. I’d never given up hope that he’d come back before I got out. I’d hoped to hear he was moving home to Seattle, even if he wouldn’t be a member of the band. Then at least we’d be together again. But time kept going on and he hadn’t returned. Now he never would.

  Motherfucker, I was pissed at him for dying on me. Like he had any control over what had happened. Rational thoughts didn’t always come into play when you lost someone you loved.

  When my mom said she felt his job on this earth was to bring Poppy to us? How she was gifted to us? I was fucking pissed. Pissed that our mother was trying to rationalize his death. That she was trying to be accepting of his loss.

  Fuck that. I would never accept his death. Never understand. Never forgive God for taking him. Never stop wanting to kill the drunk driver with my bare hands.

  But hell if I could silence the insidious whisper that came from the darkest reaches of my head. It slithered through my fucking brain that maybe he’d found her for me. Then I immediately felt disgusted, as if I was actually betraying my brother. No matter how mad I’d been at him for leaving, I loved Lucas and I would never, ever be disloyal to him.

  So how was I going to keep my distance and sanity with him gone and her right in front of me? How was I going to manage to stay away from her? Especially when I had been tasked with “showing her around.” Fuck my life.

  Stomping rapidly down the stairs, I pushed thoughts of her to the back of my mind.

  When I entered the kitchen, Mom was putting the lasagna in the oven. Out of habit, I started to pull out plates and silverware in anticipation of dinner. We all helped out in the kitchen. My whole life it had been that way. Sometimes there were the five of us running around the kitchen laughing and helping. More, if we had any other family visiting.

  To an outsider it was probably chaos, but we all worked together like a finely oiled machine and we loved it. Only now we were missing a vital gear.

  “Is Logan coming?” I needed to know how many plates to pull out.

  “Yes, baby, he said he will be here in about thirty minutes. I just got off the phone with him. He wants to meet Poppy, too. You know… it’s like she’s our last link to him, Levi. Is that wrong? I like her. She’s a good girl. I mean I really, really like her. It’s early, but what do you think of her so far?” Mom glanced at me. I forgot she had no idea how much I’d interacted with Poppy while I was gone.

  Holy shit, I couldn’t tell my mom how I really felt about Poppy! Fuck me. How wrong would that be?

  “Uhh yeah, I like her. She seems… nice, Ma.” She studied me through narrowed eyes, and like when I was a kid, my face started getting hot. The woman was way too shrewd, and none of us boys had ever been able to lie to her or hide things from her. So I turned my back under the guise of reaching for another plate for Logan.

  “Hmm. Yeah. She’s nice.” As I set the table in the dining area off the kitchen, I felt her eyes burning holes in my fucking head. Oh God, please let her drop this shit. Because I wasn’t going to admit to my mother, “Oh, yeah, Ma, I totally think the girl is smoking. As a matter of fact, I’ve been in love with her since I first saw her. Crazy, huh?” Yeah, no.

  Car doors closing, followed by footsteps and nails clicking up the stairs, signified Dad was home. Max reached the top of the stairs first and barreled toward me, a blur of golden hair and giant pink tongue. My dad chuckled as Max nearly hit me in the groin with his front paws.

  “Down, Max!” Dad’s commanding voice brought the big Golden Retriever to his side in a flash. Max sat there, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and eyes half closed as Dad rubbed his head. Man that dog may have loved all of us, but he was totally my dad’s dog. I grinned at the ridiculous creature.

  “Hey, son.” He hugged me with one arm. “You get Poppy picked up okay? Where is she? Is she doing all right?” Why am I suddenly the know-all-be-all of all things Poppy? Sheesh!

  “Yeah, she’s resting upstairs. She’s… you know…. She’s okay. I think this is hard on her—being here with us. I get the feeling it’s a bit much for her, so soon after….” Fuck. My heart fell to my feet. It had been almost two months since we’d lost him, and it still felt like yesterday.

  Other times it felt like it didn’t happen at all. Like it was a terrible, horrible dream. None of us could actually say the words. It was like if we didn’t say it, then it didn’t happen and he would walk in the door asking what was for supper. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom brace her hands on the edge of the counter and watched her shoulders shake as she tried to hide her grief. Damn it.

  Dad saw the direction of my eyes and turned around to face Mom. When he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, I took that as my cue to give them some space.

  Slowly, I stepped into the living room and stood looking at the upright piano where it sat silent and waiting in the corner. Running my fingers along the slick wood of the fall, I felt notes ripple through my mind. Carefully lifting the fall, I exposed the gleaming ivory and ebony keys. Like coming home, my hands found their way to the keys while I still stood. As notes floated into the air, I settled onto the bench and began to bring life to the song weaving in and out of my mind.

  Picking up the pen from the music rack, I scratched the notes onto the blank staves of the sheet music notebook. Both had been there since the last time I’d been home. I’d played frequently over the past couple of months, but I hadn’t written a single note down. It had been over a year, and Mom hadn’t moved them, leaving them exactly as I had left them before I deployed.

  Each note and each heart-wrenching word flowed from my fingertips and my tortured head. As I finished, I scratched the title at the top of the page. “Echoes of Memories.”

  Hanging my head, I tried to breathe. I hadn’t been able to catch my fucking breath since the day I found out he was gone. Frustrated, I rose from the bench and dropped the pen back to the rack.

  As I turned, I was startled to see my parents standing in the archway of the living room, watching me. Tears stained my mom’s face as my dad held her. I’d been so absorbed in the music, I hadn’t sensed them there. Another sign that my time as an operative was done. Shit like that would get someone killed.

  As I approached them, Dad’s hand shot out, stopping me as I tried to pass. “I’m proud of you, son. I’m not sure if I tell you that often enough.”

  Pain lanced through my chest. With a curt nod, I met his tortured gaze. He let go, and I moved toward the stairs.

  Taking them in the various spots that I knew didn’t creak, I climbed up to the second floor. My heart knew I was going to check on Poppy, but I tried to tell myself I was just going up to give Mom and Dad some quiet time together.

  When I found myself staring at the door with my hand raised to knock, I rested my forehead against the wood. In an effort to calm my nerves, I took a deep breath that didn’t feel came close to filling my lungs. “I’m just going to check on her to see if she needs anything. That’s all.” Yeah, right. Shit, I knew I was losing it if I was talking to myself.

  I lightly rapped on the door. She didn’t answer, so I knocked once more, a little louder. When there was still no answer, I cautiously entered the room, calling out her name.

  She lay curled on her side, facing the door. Even breaths were interrupted every so often by a catch of her breath that evidenced she had cried herself to sleep. Fuck, the thought of her crying alo
ne tore at my insides. Long, thick lashes fanned her cheeks and her lips were parted slightly, begging to be touched. My fingers twitched at the thought. Slender hands were curled loosely and resting in front of her.

  A tendril of her hair had fallen across her face and I couldn’t control myself. Like it was fragile, I gently brushed it back and smoothed her hair over her head. And that hair. God, her hair was like strands of silk in my fingers. Just that whisper-soft touch had my pulse speeding up. As my hand stroked her head, she seemed to arch up toward it.

  Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I touching her like some sick voyeuristic freak? She was too much for my heart to handle, and it was killing me.

  Since she remained sleeping, I turned on my heel and left the room, closing the door as silently as I’d opened it. Heavy with guilt, I sat on the top step and buried my face in my hands.

  “Goddammit, Lucas. Why? Why you and not me? And why am I having these feelings for her? It’s not right and I know it. But fuck if I can help it. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Bits and pieces of me were ricocheting around as I fractured. Fingertips pressing into my hairline, I tried to center myself.

  The memorial would be on Monday. Honestly, I didn’t want to go. I’d managed to hold my shit together through the family funeral. I didn’t know how long I could continue to keep it together.

  There’s no way I’m going to cry.

  There’s no way I’m going to cry.

  No matter how many times I told myself that, it was getting harder.

  Trying to be strong for everyone, I hadn’t shed a single tear since hearing the devastating news. In a godforsaken shithole of a country, I’d received the news that my minutes-older twin brother was gone. Though inside I’d felt my soul shrivel and shatter, I’d held my shit together until I reached my CHU. Even then, though I’d gone crazy, I hadn’t cried.

  Now, sitting alone on the steps, the traitorous salt water leaked from between my fingers as my shoulders shook in silent anguish.

  I don’t know if I’m going to make it through this.

  “Where Did the Angels Go”—Papa Roach

  “I love you, baby, never forget that. But you need to stop. It’s time to let go. He needs you. Go to him.” Lucas kissed my cheek before smoothing his hand along my hair.

  “Lucas!” I woke with a start as I spoke his name aloud, disoriented.

  When my eyes opened on a room that was unfamiliar to me, I experienced a moment of panic. Then my foggy brain cleared, and I remembered where I was. Lucas’s old room. Lucas’s family home. But without Lucas.

  It had been a dream.

  It shouldn’t have been this way. It wasn’t right. He should have been curled up on this bed with me after our day of traveling. His kisses should have been what woke me. My eyes wouldn’t be swollen and itchy. My heart wouldn’t be frozen in time.

  With a heartfelt sigh, I sat up on the edge of the bed and held my head in my hands. Once it finally quit spinning, I pushed my tousled hair out of my face.

  After locating a hairband in one of my pockets, I pulled it up in to a messy bun just to get it out of my face. Maybe I would cut it all off again.

  Lucas loved my hair. Maybe not. Shit.

  My bags still sat where Levi had set them.

  Levi. Now there was another issue. I kept telling myself that my body’s reaction to him was strictly because he looked so much like Lucas, but I was afraid maybe I was lying to myself. It was easier than feeling guilty for being turned on by my dead fiancé’s brother when I was here for his memorial.

  Christ. What the hell was wrong with me? I must be some kind of sick, messed-up individual.

  Dammit, Lucas! Why did you leave me? My head fell back and I looked heavenward, as if the answer to my silent query was on the ceiling.

  “Lucas, I don’t want to do this thing called living without you. Especially when I keep having these crazy feelings about your brother. Speaking of, I’m pissed at you both. I cannot believe neither of you ever thought to mention you were identical.” When nothing but silence was my response, I knew I needed to get up. It was time to move around before I let all my memories and hurt flood me once more.

  Blowing out a massive breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding, I stood on shaking legs. Glancing at my luggage for a second time, my gaze lingered on the suitcase holding the things I thought his family would want. Looking away, I told myself I would settle in tonight, but right now I needed people around me. I needed Levi.

  Silently, I opened the door and stepped out, only to see one of the objects of my frustration. He was sitting at the top of the stairs with his head buried in his hands.

  Are his shoulders shaking? Oh God, he’s crying.

  My belly lurched in empathy for his loss—our loss. There was no way I could let him sit there alone. I hated that the first time I was able to meet him, it was heavily cloaked in our grief.

  Before I even realized my feet had moved, I walked over and found myself sitting next to him. Hesitantly, I placed an arm around him, absently rubbing my hand along his back, over his tightly stretched T-shirt. The contact with his taut muscles through the thin fabric sent a violent shudder through me, as my mind and body tried to separate what it believed from the truth of who I was touching.

  Roughly he scrubbed his face with his hands and looked away, discreetly sniffing once. In apparent defeat, his head then dropped to his palms as his elbows rested on his knees. Those long fingers, so much like his brother’s, wound through the top of his short, spiky, messy hair, pulling what he could up in his fists.

  “Hey.” Just that one word out of his mouth and my heart and stomach fluttered. I had to fight the trick of my mind that wanted me to believe I was talking to Lucas again.

  Hesitantly, I reached over and rested my hand on his tattooed forearm. At the skin-to-skin contact my entire body jolted, bringing my eyes to his in shock. It was obvious he felt it too because his beautiful blue eyes flashed in surprise as he met my startled gaze.

  Slowly, our eyes traveled to the spot where my hand had made the connection with his arm. Self-consciously, I brought my hand back to my lap and clasped it with the other.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you.” His raspy voice caused shivers to run down my spine.

  “No, don’t be. Honestly, I didn’t even know you were here until I came out of the room.”

  In a move reminiscent of Lucas, he reached over and ran a stray chunk of hair that had fallen out of my bun through his fingers. My breath caught.

  Slowly, he reached over to twine our arms enough to clasp my hand firmly in his. After getting past the breathlessness his touch caused, I noticed the similarities and differences between his hands and Lucas’s. Where Lucas had soft, smooth skin, Levi had calloused hands and fingertips. Damn, I need to quit comparing them. But it was so damn hard, and so freaking bizarre.

  We sat in silence, his thumb absently rubbing over mine for a few minutes, before he quietly spoke. “Poppy, I know it’s been hard on you. Please don’t think I’m saying my pain is worse than yours. I know you must be feeling just as shattered, but in a different way. It’s just that he and I were like two halves of a whole, and I can’t seem to settle it in my mind that he’s gone. It doesn’t seem possible, Poppy. Does that make sense?” His voice cracked as he said my name.

  “Of course it does. Twins have a special bond that most people cannot even fathom. By the way, I just chewed him out for neither of you clarifying that you were identical. You have to admit, the pictures I saw of you didn’t exactly look like Lucas… Mr. Beard.”

  Chuffing a small laugh, he ran his hand along his jaw and glanced at me. “Shit, I miss that beard, too. And no wonder you looked at me like that when I picked you up. It honestly never crossed my mind. It was a given for us. I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

  At his sheepish look, I gave him a shoulder bump as the corner of my mouth tipped up. Shoulders still touching, we leaned toward each other until our heads r
ested together. Silence fell between us as we shared our mutual sorrow over the loss of a man we both loved. Time seemed to pause as we sat there.

  Linda appeared at the end of the stairs and started to yell, “Dinner’s ready!” but it ended in almost a whisper. Momentarily freezing when she saw us sitting together in our shared grief, she then shook her head. Holding in her own tears, she gave a small, watery smile. “You two come down when you’re ready.”

  The moment lost, we disentangled our fingers and Levi motioned for me to lead the way down the stairs. When I entered the kitchen, I saw an older man I assumed was Mac, their dad, and another who I recognized as Logan right away. Lucas and Levi had their mom’s pale blue eyes, but Logan’s were a vivid green like their dad’s. Logan’s hair was more of a deep brown, where the other two brothers were inky darkness.

  Logan stood and immediately embraced me in a huge bear hug. Christ, were all the males in this family giants? Like I said before, I’m no tiny girl, but they all made me feel small and damn near dainty. A ragged breath escaped me at the overwhelming sense of family here. It was so unusual for me. I mean, I grew up as a much-loved only child, but an only child all the same.

  “It’s so good to see you, Poppy.” Squeezing tighter before he released me, Logan leaned back and searched my eyes. By his expression, I knew he was thinking the same as me—wishing we had met under better circumstances.

  It was difficult to adjust to all the people bustling around in the kitchen. Growing up, my home had been pretty sedate. We were a busy family, with my parents being avid sailors plus all my track practices and meets. It was easy to figure out where we were on the weekends: it was either at the beach, on the boat, or at a track meet. It was always just us and John—when he wasn’t off with his “flavor of the month,” as my dad used to tease him.

  Dinner should have been a somber, quiet affair—at least that’s what I expected. Instead, there was steady conversation. Every so often a lull would fall and the only sound was of silverware clinking on plates, but for the most part it was a sharing time. Mac and Linda obviously loved their children, and their interest in their lives was sincere.

 

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