I was well aware that our household was pretty unique. No girl ever had more protection from anyone who might do me harm. Every one of my brothers would stand between me and a bullet, a sword, an arrow, an angry word, you name it. But they were also my biggest tormentors, albeit they claimed it was all in good fun and tempered by love. I supposed, though, that if someone didn’t know us, they wouldn’t know my brothers would never intentionally hurt me, nor I them.
Seeing things through Sebastian’s point of view was turning out to be rather eye-opening. Maybe I was the completely blind one, not him. I pulled out my phone. I should probably text him, see if he was okay.
Jordan stood, and taking both his and Sebastian’s water glasses, headed for the kitchen. “Give him some space, Squeak. Don’t start calling him or texting him right away.” My brother knew me too well. “If he’d wanted to talk, he would have stuck around.”
“I think he left all his gear here.” Unless he’d taken it out the back door of the studio, which I doubted, not with Tom still in there.
“Then you know he’ll be back. Let it be on his terms, though.”
“But I don’t want him to think I’m freaked out by this whole thing.” Even though I was a little. “Should I have Tom call him in a bit? Make sure he’s okay?”
“Leave the guy alone, Squeak.” Jordan reiterated, his tone firm, speaking over his shoulder from where he stood in front of the open refrigerator door. “He’ll be back when he’s ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I returned to the studio, worried about Sebastian, and wondering what had kept Tom out here during the drama. He was sprawled on the old sofa, his thumbs working the keypad on his phone.
“Hey.” I leaned against the closed door and studied him. I probably should make sure things were okay, now that it was just the two of us.
“Hey, yourself.” He didn’t look at me, but I could tell he was just concentrating on what he was texting, not ignoring me.
“Who you talking to?”
Tom sat up, setting his phone on the armrest where his head had been. “That was Jordan. Asking if I’d learned anything new about Jeffries.” He raised curious eyes to me.
I wanted to ignore the unspoken question, so I tried to make light of it. “Since this morning?” I joked. “What have you been up to in here?”
“I just listened to some of the last hour or so we did. Sounded amazing. Seriously amazing.” Tom almost always recorded our jam sessions. It freed us up to be creative without having to worry about stopping mid-inspiration to write things down. Tom held up his phone, a question in his eyes. “So is everything okay? Jordan worried for a reason?”
I grimaced, wondering how much I should divulge, not wanting to put a new rift in the tentative peace we’d reestablished between the three of us this afternoon. “Sebastian walked in on Jordan torturing me and flipped out a little. It was pretty intense in my opinion, but Jordan says he was just trying to protect me.”
Tom frowned. “Torturing you? Was there a cricket involved?”
“Shut up.” I punched him in the shoulder, but to my surprise, he grabbed my wrist and held on.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that, Tish.”
“Do what?” I laughed, trying in vain to pull away. In baby talk, I teased him, patting his cheek roughly with my free hand. “Did I hurt your poor little shoulder?”
“No, you didn’t hurt my big manly shoulder.” He pulled me closer, slowly, until I was standing right in front of him, our knees bumping together. He reached for my other hand, but I tucked it out of the way behind my back, so he curled his hand around my leg instead, his fingers fluttering against the back of my knee, tickling me. My leg buckled in reaction and I grabbed his shoulder to catch my balance. His arm tightened at my waist, pulling me so close I was now standing between his legs. “I just wish you wouldn’t hit me. You’re a girl who hits, Tish. It’s not very ladylike.”
I froze, just for a moment, his gentle words a reprimand. One that was hard to swallow coming from Tom. “You sound like my mother,” I snipped, renewing my attempt to pull away. But now he had a firm grip on my other wrist, too. “Let me go,” I ground out.
“Tish.” He slid his feet behind mine locking me in. Even though I wasn’t very tall, the sofa was low, and he had to tip his head back to look up at me with me standing so close. “Your mom might be right about this. I know you and your brothers play these games, but you’re not ten years old anymore.”
“Let me go, Tom. Now.” I wasn’t laughing anymore.
“Come on. You’re not a guy. You can’t keep acting like one of the boys. There’s a reason your mom won’t let your brothers hit you back, Tish, and it’s not just because it isn’t polite. Do you know what it is?”
“What are you now? Jiminy Cricket? Let go of me.” I jerked my hands out of his grasp, knowing full well that he let me. There was no way I could break free from him if he didn’t want me to. He placed both his hands on my waist instead, and then slid them down over my hips, my thighs, his big hands wrapping firmly around the contours of my legs. Even with my hands free, I couldn’t budge. Sure, I could poke him in the eye or something, hit him hard, but I’d only get one good punch in before he had my arms pinned again.
“It’s because we could hurt you. You’re called the weaker sex because in most cases, you are. It’s not a cut down. It’s just a fact. Not mentally, not spiritually, not emotionally. But physically. I could throw you down right now, hurt you, force you, have my way with you, and there’d be nothing you could do about it.”
He moved his feet away slowly, like he didn’t want to spook me, and dropped his hands from my thighs to rest on his knees. As I stepped back, I fought the urge to kick him in the shins. He must have seen a gleam in my eye or something, because he raised his hands in surrender. “You know I wouldn’t do it, Tish. Not ever. But I’m telling you, when you punch me like that, my first instinct is to hit you back, even though I know it isn’t right.”
“Go ahead, then,” I retorted. “If you want to hit me, just do it.” I sounded like a bratty little girl.
Tom sighed and slumped back into the sofa, his eyes not leaving my face. “You’re missing the point. I don’t want to hit you. Ever. I would never hit you. But every time you slug me, I have to remind myself of that fact. It’s instinct, Tish. The whole violence begets violence thing.” The fingers of his right hand curled into a fist, and then relaxed at his side. “My instinct is to hit back and I have to choose every single time not to let my instinct take precedence over my will.”
My skin prickled from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes in resistance to what he was saying. It made perfect sense, but my pride was sorely affronted, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. I still stood directly in front of him, frozen in a quandary. If I backed up too far, it would make me look weak, or even ashamed. But staying so close made me feel like I had to challenge him, even though I understood—and agreed with—what he was saying.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you just didn’t hit me at all?” It was really a statement, more than a question. “I don’t punch you, so why do you feel like it’s okay to punch me?”
When I didn’t say anything, he tried a different approach. “Look. I don’t like it, Tish. I wish you would stop, okay?”
And then I opened my mouth, the cruel words snaking out like a whip. “Good thing you’re going to be gone soon, then. You won’t have to put up with my abuse, and I won’t have to put up with you making juvenile passes at me, your sad, sad smiles, or watching you do the bump and grind with all the girls who want you. Who am I kidding? Your actions aren’t my responsibility. Go screw yourself. And your reputation. I. Don’t. Care.”
The backlash of the words as I said them, as I heard them fill the air around us, as I watched his expression go from shock, to hurt, to anger, was just as brutal as if I’d hit him again. With a heavy, blunt object. My pride evaporated and I stepped forward, just as he pushed himself off the couch. We
collided and wobbled a little, but he threw his arms around me and held us upright.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my throat tight as I buried my head in his chest.
He pushed me away and turned to go, his full lips pressed together in a thin line.
I clutched at his arm in an attempt to draw him back to me. “Tom, please,” I cajoled, my voice stronger, but raspy with remorse. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Actually, you should just stop talking, Tish. For both our sakes.” He pulled his arm free and took a few steps toward the door. I lurched around in front of him and planted both hands on his chest, the same way I’d done to Sebastian a little earlier. A wild sense of deja vu washed over me, and I fought the urge to laugh hysterically.
Yes. The answer was yes. The day could always get worse.
“Don’t go like this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?” I was begging now. “Please, Tom. Listen to me. I didn’t mean—I was just—” The right words failed me.
Tom stared down at me, his eyes still dark with anger, but there was something else in them, and it made my breath catch.
Grief. Like something was dying between us.
“Please,” I begged, tears beginning to blur my vision.
Tom took me by my shoulders and firmly moved me aside. I stepped back in front of him, doggedly fighting for the last breath of whatever might remain. I reached with both hands for his face, pressed my body against his, and pulled his mouth down to mine, hard.
And I kissed him, refusing to let go as he warred with himself. I could feel the battle waging inside him as he tried to step back, hands out to his sides in resistance. But when I didn’t let go, when I nipped at his bottom lip with my teeth, he suddenly stepped into me, his arms going around me again, crushing me to him, his mouth opening against mine. The fervor intensified as I tasted blood—was it his, or mine?—and I couldn’t tell if I was turned on, terrified of losing him forever, or just seriously ticked off.
A groan welled up out of him and he wrenched his mouth from mine. “Stop!” he growled, his voice harsh. Then he forcibly set me away from him and pivoted so his back was to me. “That’s no different than punching me, Tish,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “You’re still forcing me to act against my instinct.” He raked both hands through his hair but still didn’t turn around. He didn’t have to; the mixing room was tiny and I could hear every breath he took, could see the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders. “Kiss me, and my instinct is to kiss you back, even though I know it isn’t right. And so do you.”
I lifted a shaking hand to my mouth. My fingers came away tinged with red. I felt hollow inside, like all the emotions in my body were gushing out of me and spilling on the floor between us, exposing me for the petty person I was, all the while pushing him away from me in wave after wave.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to his back, shame making me weak at the knees. I dropped to the edge of the sofa, bowing my head, my face in my hands. When he brushed past me, I didn’t try to stop him.
What was wrong with me? And when would this day end?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tom called less than an hour later. “I’m sorry, Tish. I lost my head.”
“Me, too. I shouldn’t have done that to you. To us.” I was holed up in my bedroom, avoiding the raucous family gathering below. Ben and his family had agreed to stay for dinner after the afternoon spent out and about, and Mom and Marilyn had meal preparation under control, which suited me perfectly. I wasn’t up for pretending I was fine, and although I was really good at helping Gina get over her slumps, when it came time for her to help me get over mine, she usually just irritated me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever have kids. I didn’t think I was cut out for it.
So I explained to Gina that I had to take a nap before dinner, and if she wanted to take one, too, she could come upstairs with me. I knew how that would go over, and sure enough, she politely declined. “‘Sides,” she grimaced. “I already had one in the car. I’m not sweepy at all.”
Her mom rolled her eyes behind her. I knew the routine. Ben and Marilyn were going to feed the kids Mom’s tuna casserole, give them a quick bath, load them into their car seats for the twenty-five minute drive, and arrive home with two passed-out kids and a night to themselves.
“Listen.” Tom’s voice still sounded tight, and I braced myself for whatever else was coming. “If Sebastian can get this stuff down, I’d like to maybe have him play along for the whole show and make this my last Friday night at Taylors. I know I’m not leaving until next month, but I think he’ll be more than ready to carry it the first Friday in July, especially if he plays along this week.” He paused, and when I didn’t immediately respond, he continued, “We could make this my Taylors send-off, you know? You good with that?”
“As in, you not play with us at all after this Friday?” I sat up in bed and drew my knees up to my chest. I’d heard his words, but I couldn’t believe he actually meant them.
“Yeah. It’s not because of tonight, or at least not because of what just happened with us, okay?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Tish, please. I want to go out with a bang, okay? A little pomp and circumstance. We don’t have anything major planned for this month, but if we post it on our website and media pages, put a few fliers up, you know we could get a good crowd together. I don’t want to just—” He faltered a little, looking for the right word. “I don’t want to just fade away. Transition out while this new guy transitions in. If I have to go, I want to go out in style.”
I started singing Bon Jovi’s “Blaze of Glory,” trying to keep both our spirits up, but my heart raged on the inside. Tom chuckled softly.
“Exactly.”
“I don’t want you to leave before you leave, Tom.” The silence that followed my statement was like a lead cloak settling around us. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, pained, but firm.
“I don’t think you really know what you want, Tish.”
My mouth opened and closed like a baby bird’s, and I finally just snapped it shut. He was right, but I certainly wasn’t going to admit it out loud. To him.
“But I do know what I want.” I heard him take a deep steadying breath. “And I want to enjoy my last few weeks here. I’ll keep working with the band until I go, but no more shows for me after this one.”
“Tom. Please don’t do this.” But I knew no amount of pleading on my part would change his mind.
He ignored me. “I’ll come to all of them, though, and watch you perform like a proud daddy.”
“That’s creepy,” I muttered, trying desperately to find some levity in a situation that felt like it might drown me.
Tom chuckled. “A proud big brother, then.”
“But Tom, wait.” I hadn’t finished telling him what had happened with Jordan. “I don’t know if Sebastian…” I switched gears. “Well, he kind of left in a huff today,” I blurted out, shoving my pride out of the way altogether. “I told you he freaked out. But he also walked out before we resolved anything.”
“Same way I did?” he asked, his voice tinged with a weariness I was beginning to recognize.
“I guess. Yeah.”
“But all his gear is still there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then he’ll be back.”
I sighed. “That’s what Jordan said. It’s almost as though the two of you are BFFs or something.”
“He’ll be back.”
I let it go and changed the subject. “Tom? Can I ask you something?” I’d done a lot of thinking since he’d left my house, about what Tom had said, about the way things had gone down earlier with him and Sebastian, then with my brother and Sebastian.
“Anything, Tish.” I knew he meant it.
“Am I abusive?” That sounded terrible and I cringed. “I mean, am I too physical? Am I—am I too violent?”
I heard Tom draw in a deep breath and then let it out slowly, finally answering, “
I wouldn’t say you’re violent. Or abusive. Those are more about the condition of someone’s heart and mind. But I suppose you’re too physical. If nothing else, you’re too quick to be physical. I know it’s kind of your go-to reaction, especially with your brothers. You guys have always played rough.”
I nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t see me.
“Tish, you’re not a kid anymore. You’re a woman. As in, with breasts,” he added with a short laugh, probably so he wouldn’t sound so much like a parent.
“That’s me,” I quipped, playing along. “A delicate budding flower.”
“No, no! That’s just it. You’re not budding. You’ve blossomed already. You’re a woman, all the way.” He was suddenly adamant, his voice strident. “You shouldn’t let any guy manhandle you the way your brothers do. I know they would never intentionally hurt you, but it could happen by accident. They’re bigger, stronger.” His voice softened. “It’s just the facts, Squeak.”
I bit back the retort on my lips, knowing he was just teasing me, trying to take the edge off his words. There were moments, if I was honest with myself, when being on the bottom of a dog-pile scared me, especially when there were more than two brothers in on it. Their combined weight was crushing, and I could easily imagine cracked ribs or a snapped arm, all completely by accident. And today, when Jordan had held me down, my wrists clamped tightly together in one of his hands, I’d been struck by the knowledge of my complete helplessness beneath him. Although I trusted him totally, the knowledge that he was in a position to do whatever he wanted to me, and that I would have no recourse, made me shudder even now. No wonder Sebastian had reacted the way he did. And when Tom had me locked close to his body earlier today, I’d felt it again, the instinctive panic that accompanied being helpless. Ironically, I also felt a wave of it when he bodily set me aside against my will, and I’d realized there was nothing I could do to make him stay if he wanted to leave.
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