by Vivian Lux
"I'm not pushing you..." I started to say, holding out my hands. Worry was coursing through my system, which sucked.
"You're pushing! You're fucking rushing me, and I hate to be rushed!"
"Finn—" I said calmly just as Claire shouted, "Will you cut the shit?!"
We both turned and stared at her. "Get in the fucking Jeep," she cried, her voice strained. "Obviously this is the wrong house. You!" she said, stabbing a finger at me. "Stop pushing him." I didn't even get a chance to protest before she stabbed her finger at Finn. "And you! Stop shitting on everything before you even get it a chance, got it?" She got in and started the engine then threw up her hands in a "well?" gesture.
Finn didn't look at me as we walked back into the Jeep. And he didn't say anything, didn't try to apologize. I didn't expect it. I knew better. And maybe I was pushing him a little. It was just that, without a little pushing, he stayed stuck right where he was.
Round and round these thoughts went, an endless loop of worry. I couldn’t help it. I worried about those I loved.
The next house was way out by the college. "Well, if you moved out here, you'd be closer to Ray-chel!" Claire sing-songed, breaking the silence.
"Shut it," I mumbled, but I found myself looking a little too keenly out the window as we slid by. I was almost convinced I could see her there by the dumpsters, her long hair braided in a rope down the center of her back. If that was her, then she was up and working on a Sunday with a killer hangover. Hard work, too. Being a janitor wasn't easy.
She was right. I shouldn't have laughed at her. She was tough, tough in ways I was still finding out about. Leaving her insular world and living out here with us took guts. It wasn't her fault she didn't know that Long Island Iced tea wasn't non-alcoholic. She was smart enough to learn, she just needed someone to teach her.
I could teach her.
I sat up straighter in the back seat. My brother's moody depression was still an enigma I was no closer to figuring out. He didn't want my help, but Rachel? I could help her.
Chapter Five
Rachel
I have had worse days.
That's what I had to keep repeating the whole wretched time. I have had worse days. Days of hard work and misery far worse than being a janitor at a college on a quiet Sunday afternoon. And thanks to Beau's magic potion, my headache was close to gone by the time I had boarded the sporadically-running rural bus that took me to my job.
I closed my eyes against the fading dizziness and reminded myself that cleaning up after college kids was no worse than cleaning out stables. And I was helping out Juanita, whose kid was on the third day of some truly nasty stomach bug. I tried to help out the mothers as much as I could. It made me feel a little better about myself.
So I powered through my work and by the end of the day I was bone-sore and exhausted, but at least the hangover had faded.
The bumpy, swaying bus ride home would probably reawaken it though. Remembering this, I grabbed my bag and paused as my hand slid into the pocket for my beat up old brick of a cell phone. Everly wasn't around to pick me up in her old death-trap of a car. I'd forgotten and almost called her.
Sighing, I slung my bag over my shoulder and then hoofed it to the far end of campus where the bus stop was. The driver took pity on me and waited as I sprinted the last fifty yards. I sank into the seat, pouring sweat through my clothes, and lifted the heavy weight of my braid off my neck to let the relatively cooler air hit my skin. It was the warmest night yet, hot and sticky, the air heavy with night-blooming flowers. I caught whiffs of their scent through the open window of the bus, in between wafts of diesel fumes and the smell of my own perspiration.
I fell asleep, exhausted and sticky, against the window pane, and woke two minutes before my stop on reflex.
Home.
Thank you, God.
After the most blessed shower in existence, I was two seconds away from falling face first into bed when I heard a knock at the door.
I froze. Then scowled. My bed was calling. "Who is it?" I shouted.
"Beau," came the muffled reply.
I froze in place. A loud voice in my head that sounded just like my grandfather's booming condemnation of sinners told me to stay put. I was in my pajamas, and I was alone. To open the door would be like inviting Satan right into my home.
But Satan had already been in my home, and while he'd been here, he'd tried to take care of me.
I padded over to the front door and stood on my tiptoes to look out the narrow window.
When I caught sight of him on my porch, my heart did a little racing hop before galloping like a frightened horse. He was standing there, looking clean and put together in a plaid button-down shirt and a pair of dark washed jeans. But it was what he had in his hand that had my heart speeding like a freight train.
Flowers.
I opened the door and hesitantly peeked around it. This morning when I'd sent him away, I was certain that his pride would mean I'd never see him again. "What are you doing here?" I asked, clutching the door so tightly my knuckles were white. All traces of exhaustion had fled my system and my heart thumped with excitement. Seeing him had me feeling like I could run for miles now.
"Saying I'm sorry," he said as he extended the bouquet to me.
"Yellow roses?" I asked, reaching out as if I expected the thorns to leap out and attack me.
"They mean friendship," he said, looking sheepish. "At least, that's what my sister told me. I hope she was telling the truth, but you never know with her." He straightened his shoulders a little. "You're right. I shouldn't have laughed at you. I'm sorry."
I exhaled and then suddenly felt like I could take a much deeper breath. My fingers closed around the long, paper-wrapped stems, and I searched my brain, trying to figure out what the Elders would have said about this. But my memories came up empty. There was simply nothing in the laws of the Chosen that dealt with what to do when a man handed you flowers and apologized. There would be no need for a law because it would never happen.
"Thank you," I said. They felt heavier in my arms than I was expecting. "You didn't have to do this."
"Yes, I did," he said with conviction. "You're not silly, you just didn't know." His smile softened his face in a way that made me think of the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. "I'd be honored to teach you."
Warmth spread through my body, making me all tingly inside. It wasn't just that he'd apologized, it was also the effort he'd put into it. I hadn't... I never even thought to expect that kind of effort, from any man. "Okay," I said softly, then cleared my throat and spoke louder. "You can, ah..." I couldn't believe what I was about to say, but I could no more stop myself from saying it than I could stop my heart from beating. "You can get started with teaching me right now."
He grinned and then dragged his teeth over his bottom lip like he was trying to catch it before it got too wide. I know I was smiling so wide my face hurt. It was dangerous and wrong to want to be with him alone like that, but once I'd started sinning, I couldn't seem to stop.
"Right now?" he asked.
"Yes, ah..." I drew back as my bare toes hit the cold cement of my front step. I'd been out with Beau before. But never right after he'd brought me flowers. That was why I felt all giddy and strange, I told myself. That was the reason I was forgetting how to speak. "Wait, yeah, uh..." I held up my finger. "I'm going to go change out of my pajamas first, okay? Don't go anywhere."
"I'll be right here," I heard him chuckle as I raced inside to change.
Chapter Six
Beau
"So what's this?"
Rachel was leaning over the table I'd snagged for us way in the back of the Crown Tavern. It was the best I could do with the only real bar in town. It was a little too warm in here and a lot too loud. For the first time, I found myself wishing that we had some kind of upscale place. An intimate, first date kind of place with plinking piano music as the backdrop. A place where I wouldn't run the risk of hearing my own band's
songs played over the PA system.
She was eyeing the next drink I'd ordered for her. We were running down the list of drinks on the back of the battered looking card that had stuck to the table when I'd tried to lift it. I figured one sip from each was a good enough baseline for her to know her way around a menu. Though it was sorely lacking in decent wines.
She certainly looked pretty enough for a high-end wine bar, though she'd probably disagree with me. In the few minutes it took her to change, she'd transformed herself. I loved the way that red sheer top fit around her shoulders, and the black tank underneath was cut just low enough to give me a nice view of the tops of her breasts...
"This?" I echoed, suddenly remembering that she had asked me a question. "Well, this is a Dark & Stormy. Ginger beer and rum. I think we established you like rum?"
"I like rum." Her eyes looked really dark as she blinked up at me with a wicked little smile.
"Me too." I cleared my throat and looked away. Those yellow roses of friendship I'd given her were also a big yellow caution sign for me. Slow down they reminded me. "So, with this one, it's not a cocktail, which are just spirits right?"
"Like a Long Island Iced Tea," she winced.
"Right. A Dark & Stormy isn't as strong. It's a mixed drink."
"Ginger beer isn't the same as beer?"
I held in the laugh. "No."
"This is very confusing," she whined, making me laugh.
"Well, try it and see if you like it," I told her. The more she knew about drinks, the less I had to worry about her.
But why was I even worrying about her in the first place? I shoved that thought aside to think about another time. "It's a good idea when you're unsure," I went on, hoping she didn't notice my pause. "To have one basic mixed drink you know you enjoy. That way you know how many you can drink safely."
She bit her lip and glanced at it like it was going to bite her. Then squared her shoulders dramatically. "Okay," she said.
I tried not to watch as she closed her lips around the rim of the glass. Slow down. "You like it?" I asked.
She narrowed her eyes and swished it around her mouth. "Spicy. Ooh, I like how it feels all warm in my stomach."
"Good, right? Now take a sip of water."
She rolled her eyes. "Again?"
"Staying hydrated is really important. That's how you avoid the kind of hangover you were dealing with this morning. And always make sure you have something in your stomach too."
"Like nachos?" She looked really eager all of a sudden.
I laughed. "Sure. Nachos." I signaled to Taylor behind the bar. "And can you bring out a gin and tonic for her to taste?"
"Isn't it a lot of money for you to be getting all these drinks and then not letting me finish them?" she asked.
I licked my lips. "You let me worry about that. This is important shit."
She colored a little and looked away. I wondered if it was because I swore. It was a bad habit, and one made worse by spending the day with Finn and Claire. As far as I knew, Rachel didn't swear, but that didn't seem to stop her from getting those wicked looks in her eye. To be honest, I loved seeing the moments when her strict upbringing clashed up against her mischievous, pleasure-seeking nature. So much so that I decided I needed to swear around her more often.
I was just about to ask her, her favorite cuss word when Taylor came back with the G&T. "Thanks, man," I said as I lifted the glass over the bar.
"Is this the next step in my education? Have I moved up a grade level?" she asked with a glint in her eye.
"Yep. This isn't nearly as sweet as the stuff you've been trying."
"Hmm." She gave me that same glance over the top of her glass. One I was certain was innocent. She couldn't possibly know what she was doing to me, peering out from under that thick fringe of lashes. Even her long hair, usually a pretty good reminder of how off-limits she was to me, was tumbling down her back in a thick rope just made for winding around my fist. She couldn't possibly know how sensual she looked right now, lifting that glass to perfectly pouty lips and...
"Pew!" she spat, she gagged and sprayed tonic water all down her front. I leaped to my feet at the same time she did, but I was faster with the napkins, mopping and dabbing the spill from her front, not even realizing where my hands were landing until she looked at me again and I became aware of the rapid beating of her heart under my fingers.
My hand was right over her left breast. I snatched it away. "Okay then!” I said. "So, you don't like gin."
The corner of her mouth quirked up. I pressed my lips together, but I couldn't hold it anymore. I burst out laughing and this time Rachel joined in, a long, joyful sound that made me want to hear it again and again. "That was terrible," she groaned, gulping down the rest of her water.
"Well, now you know."
"This one time, when I was a little girl?" she said, and I stilled because I wanted to hear all about how it was for her growing up on the God's Chosen compound. "I climbed up a pine tree." She looked at me and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know, and in a skirt too. You just have to reach through your legs like this and then tuck it up in your waistband and you can climb just fine."
"You found a workaround," I nodded approvingly.
"Of course. So, I was climbing this big pine tree, and I couldn't have been more than five but I knew about maple sugaring, you know for syrup? I knew that the syrup was made from the sap. So..." She smiled softly as the memory stole her backward in time. "When I was climbing the pine tree and got a glob of sap on my hand I thought, 'ooh, candy!' and licked it right up."
"Oh no."
"Yup, it was terrible. I couldn't get the taste out of my mouth for days." She wrinkled her nose. "And that gin and tonic just now tasted just like it."
"That's awesome," I laughed as she grinned at me. "How were you supposed to know, right?" Curiosity tugged at my thoughts. "So you made your own syrup in the... the..."
"Community," she supplied. "Yeah, there's a stand of trees on the northwest corner of our land." I was close enough to her to notice the way her lip twitched when she said the word 'our.' She shook her head. "It was always such a treat to have syrup because it is a lot of work, but it wasn't hard work because everyone was working together, you know?"
I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully. "Sounds like you have some nice memories."
Her smile was wistful. "Yeah, I guess I do." She picked up the Dark & Stormy glass and drained it down while her eyes stayed far away. And sad.
We have nothing in common, my brain insisted. Her life inside the cult was so different from my childhood spent touring all the continents and playing in huge arenas. And yet there was... something. Something about her...
"Do you miss it?" I asked.
"Sometimes," she said.
I hesitated. "Why did you leave?"
She dropped the glass back onto the bar with a loud clack. "Let's go dance," she said, her voice suddenly bright again. She reached down and grabbed my hand.
"Oh no, are you feeling it? Drink some water."
"I'm fine," she huffed, exasperated. But her voice sure was louder than it had been a minute ago.
I was too wrapped up in how her fingers felt sliding across my wrist to really dwell on the fact that she hadn't answered my question about why she had left the 'community' as she called it. Around here, the word most often used for God's Chosen was 'cult.' But I wasn't about to argue semantics with her. I was too busy trying not to put my hands on her as she started to move with total abandon.
Shit. Here we were again, with her way too close to drunk for this to be okay. I felt like a middle schooler, reaching for her and then dropping my hands to my sides.
"Do you know this song?" I asked her, totally nonsensically. But I needed her to stop wiggling like... like that.
"Oh yeah!" she laughed. And then, just to prove it, she started to sing.
She may as well have punched me in the gut. Rachel... Rachel could sing. She raised her voice above the n
oise of the bar and started belting out the lyrics to an Ed Sheeran song in a clear, strong voice. I stood, frozen in place as I listened, feeling like she'd just revealed some deep secret that she'd trusted me to understand. I was blown away.
I was so blown away that I stepped back on my heels. Stepped back right into the path of another bar patron loaded down with beer.
A bump, a whoop and then I was suddenly showered with Bud Light as four pint glasses drenched me right down to my skin.
Rachel clapped her hands over her mouth as I turned to the stunned looking guy who'd just lost all of his drinks. "Hey, you okay? Sorry about that, let me buy you another round."
His face went from 'I will fight you' to sheepish in one breath. "Nah, it's coo. You okay? Here's a napkin."
I shook out the front of my shirt. “A napkin isn't going to cut it," I laughed. "I need a hose."
"You're not mad?" Rachel hissed as I waved to Taylor, signaling for four more beers to go on my tab.
"Why? It was my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going." I was listening to you sing.
Chapter Seven
Rachel
I fully expected to feel terrible. But I didn't.
I stood at my tiny kitchen sink and tried to keep the smile off my face. Then gave up and grinned ear to ear as I sipped my coffee and stared out at the creek. It was my first day off in eight days, and it was a bright, sunny morning filled with the rasping cries of the red-winged blackbirds over in the marshy parts. After a night of drinking, I would normally be cursing the sun and the birds and the noise of the creek. But thanks to Beau - sweet, careful Beau - I felt just fine. Good even.
Like I'd gotten away with something.
I frowned down into my coffee mug. Coffee was still a new drug for me. As was alcohol of any kind. Having fun without consequences, without guilt hanging over my head, that was new for me too. I was seized with the need for - not penitence, no, something else.