Sing Your Heart Out

by Crystal Kaswell

  "You're alone."

  His expression hardens. "I've been alone a long time. It's easier that way."

  "Oh." It's not like I expected him to break down and cry and beg me to ease his loneliness, but he isn't even batting an eye.

  Miles is silent. Of course he's silent. He's been alone a long time. It's easier that way.

  Alone.

  Without anyone.

  Without me.

  It's easier that way.

  It's better that way.

  He's happier that way.

  He's happier without me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The drive feels like an eternity. There's no traffic, no excess of red lights, no excuse except awkward silence. My head is swimming, still trying to comprehend what Miles went through.

  Lights out

  Can't sleep

  Two weeks now

  Gaping hole in my chest shows no signs of recovery

  That word, a joke, you laugh

  "Running away again, kid?"

  A minute here

  And then you're gone

  ***

  We park in the driveway of my parents’ Newport Beach house. Miles grabs our suitcases from the trunk. I go to grab one, and he shifts his arms so it's out of my reach. Fine. There's no sign of strain on his face. I guess he can handle it.

  The oak door is locked. I knock instead of fishing for my keys. Mom will appreciate the chance to make an entrance.

  I brace myself. The last time I was here, I felt like I was suffocating. Everything was off and wrong, and Rosie's absence was haunting me.

  Mom answers the door. "Honey, I missed you." She takes a long look at Miles and nods her approval. "I'm Susan Smart."

  "Miles." He shakes her hand. "I can see where Meg gets her looks."

  Mom blushes. "Thank you. Come in." She pushes the door open. "How was the drive?"

  "Fine." I step inside and scan the room. It's as gorgeous and pristine as I remember. But something is missing. There used to be trophies on the mantle—Rosie's volleyball trophies. They're gone. One more piece of her is gone.

  "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? A snack, maybe?"

  I bite my tongue. "How about we put away our bags first?"

  She nods of course and leads us up the stairs. There used to be half a dozen framed pictures on this wall—family photos, the cheesy ones sent as Christmas cards—but they're all gone.

  Mom points to Rosie's room. "You can stay in the spare room, Miles."

  My jaw falls to the floor. We don't have a spare room. We've never had a spare room. Ever.

  Mom catches my dumbfounded expression and nods. "We put your sister's stuff in storage. It didn't do anyone any good leaving it in her room."

  She says it like it's totally reasonable to erase any sign of my big sister's existence. Does she even tell people she had two kids, or does she pretend I was the only one?

  “It’s not doing any good in storage,” I say. “Maybe you should just throw it in the garbage.”

  A frown spreads across Mom’s face. She shakes it off, turning her attention to Miles.

  He steps in quickly.

  "Thank you so much, Mrs. Smart." Miles steps into Rosie's room and places his suitcase on the floor. He crosses to my room and places my suitcase on my bed.

  "Thanks," I say.

  He brushes against me on his way out the door. "I'd rather it be the two of us on the bed," he whispers.

  I nod me too and follow him to the hallway.

  My mom takes a long look at us. She smiles. "You never mentioned Miles before. How did you two meet?"

  "I'm a friend of Kara's," he says. "Well, a friend of a friend."

  Mom nods and moves down the stairs. "Do you also go to UCLA?"

  "I went to Stanford."

  She beams, deeming him boyfriend material. "And now?"

  "I work in the entertainment industry." He winks at me. "Not that interesting."

  "Do you need any help with dinner?" I ask.

  "No, it's all prepared except the turkey, and that's in the oven." She motions to the table, directing us to sit. "Coffee or tea, you two?"

  "Green tea." Miles smiles. "If it's not too much trouble."

  He's mocking me. It must be some elementary school thing—teasing because he likes me so damn much.

  His eyes find mine. "You want me to tell her about Sinful Serenade?"

  "Up to you."

  "Most parents don't react well to the knowledge their favorite daughter is having a torrid love affair with a rock star."

  "You've met a girl's parents before?"

  "No, but I've seen it happen."

  Mom steps into the room. She sets out a teapot and three mugs. "I haven't used this thing in forever." She looks at Miles. "Meg is very busy. Can't get home much."

  "I'm sure that's partly my fault." He says, smiling ear to ear, charm turned to a thousand.

  "You look so familiar, Miles. Are you from around here?"

  "I lived in Irvine for a while. But that's probably not it. I'm in this band. Sinful Serenade. We have this song that plays a hundred times a day on KROQ."

  Mom smiles. "I haven't listened to KROQ since high school."

  "It's about the same. Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Nirvana around the clock."

  Mom blushes, totally charmed. "You're so sweet, but that came way after I finished high school."

  "I can't believe that."

  She turns to us, friendly but maternal, too. "Do you do well?"

  He nods. "Well enough." Under the table, he slides his hand over my thigh. "I write songs on the side. It's go big or go home, but I've had a few hits."

  Mom's eyes light up. "Really?"

  Miles names a few songs that put the popular in pop. Mom's demeanor changes. It's not that she's horribly superficial. Just, around here, money talks. It takes a lot to impress a family of doctors. Apparently, millionaire, songwriting rock star is enough to do it.

  I zone out as Mom grills Miles. He's perfect and charming—the picture of a sweet, supportive boyfriend. He leans his head against my shoulder and praises my wit, my beauty, my excellent work ethic. He speculates wildly about some future we'll never see—where he tours based on my school schedule and settles down in the city where I do my residence.

  For a guy who doesn't do boyfriend, he sure is good at playing one.

  ***

  We have a late dinner. The table in the dining room is covered with the good linens, the good china, the good silverware. It's the kind of meal royalty eats.

  Dad sits next to Mom, scooping potatoes absent-mindedly. He's not really all here, doesn't seem to have much to say. He hasn't had much to say since Rosie died, and he's on the same, let's just never discuss it again, wavelength as my mom.

  He pays careful attention to Miles, but there’s no sign that Dad objects to my so-called boyfriend. Dad isn’t even bothered by the tattoos that peek out from Miles’s t-shirt.

  This is what I wanted, the attention on Miles instead of me. But it feels wrong for them to so easily accept him. Shouldn’t they be prying about his intentions? Shouldn’t they be worried about their little girl?

  Miles is too charming, too good at convincing them he adores me.

  She clears her throat. "You know, I’m so thankful to have my daughter and her friend here. And she's healthy, and she's going to medical school next year." She holds up her glass of wine like she's toasting me. "You're going to do great anywhere."

  "Thank you." I hold my water to my chest, avoiding anything close to a toast. "It’ll be nice to finally get out of Southern California. Spread my wings and see the world." And get away from this house and the way it tears open a hole in my gut.

  "If that's what you want." Mom sips her wine slowly. She sets the glass down, folds her hands, and looks directly at me. "Megara, honey, what are you thankful for?"

  I bite my lip, fighting my temptation to call out the bullshit. This is supposed to be a nice family dinner. I
'm not going to ruin it by pointing out how much we're pretending that Rosie isn't here. "For honesty," I say.

  Mom frowns, not sure what to make of that. "It is important." She pats Dad's hand. "Especially in a relationship."

  The mood shifts, her desperate hold on pretending like my sister never existed gone. Her expression is misery. The memory must be hitting her like a ton of bricks.

  She shakes her head and that hurt is gone. Back to an everything is okay smile. "I miss Rosie, too. I wish she was here. But she's not. She's gone, and keeping her stuff around isn't going to bring her back."

  I offer my best fake smile. This isn't an argument anyone is going to win.

  Miles cuts in. "I'm thankful for your hospitality." He smiles, all charm.

  "My pleasure," Mom says. She turns to me. "You've really found a nice young man."

  I make eye contact with Miles. "He’s the perfect boyfriend."

  He raises an eyebrow.

  "He bought me an N64," I say. "You remember how Rosie and I used to play with ours? The one cousin Jimmy gave us. For a while, she loved racing games."

  Mom frowns but makes nothing of it. "Yes, I remember. I remember a lot about your sister," she says. "More than I want to remember." A tear forms in her eyes.

  I pull together some kind of an apology, some way to connect over how much this hurts. Nothing comes together.

  Mom pushes out from the table. "Excuse me, Megara, Miles. I'm developing a headache. I'm going to lie down."

  Dad looks at her with concern. She waves like it's fine and makes her way up the stairs. Her steps are calm and even, but I'm pretty sure her hands are shaking.

  ***

  Miles makes effortless conversation with my father, never missing a beat. It's sports, movies, requests for embarrassing stories about me. After dinner, they take to the TV. Dad flips around channels, eventually settling on a rerun of some kind.

  I creep upstairs. If my mom really wants to talk about Rosie, I want to be there with her. The door to her room is open a sliver. She's sitting on the bed, in the dark, her hands wrapped around a silver frame.

  That frame used to be on the wall. One of the family pictures. An old one, when we were kids, before anything ever went wrong.

  There are tears running down her cheeks. They're silent, like she doesn't want anyone to know it hurts.

  I grab onto the doorknob, but I can't bring myself to push the door open. What would I say besides stop erasing my sister? She doesn't want to talk. She can't even admit it hurts.

  My grip on the knob releases. Better to go to my room, alone. Better to cry, alone, where I won't hurt anyone else.

  A few hours pass. I pull my comforter over my head and read one of my Star Wars books. The words don't make an impact. Everything about this house is so suffocating.

  My dad goes to sleep. The lights go out. Miles joins me on the bed and wraps his hands around me. He goes right for the gold. His hands slide under my cardigan, tracing the outline of my bra.

  "We can get this off now," he says.

  The heat rushing through my body is the first pleasant thing I've felt all day, but my parents are three doors down. "Not here."

  His lips skim my neck. "You're right." He sinks his teeth into my skin. "No way you can stay quiet."

  "Asshole."

  He runs his fingers over my inner thighs. I grit my teeth to keep from moaning, but something ekes out.

  "See." He pushes himself up. "But it's okay. There's someplace I want to take you."

  "Yeah?"

  "You'll like it." He pulls me off the bed. "Of course, you'll be coming so hard you'll barely be aware of your surroundings."

  I like it already.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Miles drives around side streets like he has them memorized. He knows Orange County much better than he let on. We take Pacific Coast Highway south to this long, empty street that cuts through the hills. Everything is dark except for the stars and the moon.

  I rest my eyes. It's late, and this day stretched on forever. Miles has me so confused. I don't know which way is up or down. That's enough to drive me mad, but the house, my parents...it's like my sister never existed.

  The car slows to a stop. We're at a red light. Miles has that same determined expression. He knows where we're going. He knows what he's doing. He knows exactly what he's getting out of this relationship.

  He turns onto a steep, winding road. There's some kind of lab or plant at the top of the hill. We stop just short of it to pull onto a large patch of dirt. It's a makeshift vista point.

  Miles turns off the car. "We're here. Take a look."

  We make our way to the edge of the hill. The quiet suburbs go on forever, this mass of twinkling lights. The black sky is dotted with stars I've never seen before.

  "This was the closest thing we had to a make out spot in high school," he says.

  I clear my throat. "Did you...come here a lot?"

  "Yeah. But I was always alone."

  My tense muscles relax. "Always?"

  "Unless someone changed the definition of always so that it means sometimes."

  I don't bother with a comeback. There's too much to take in. This place is beautiful, and I'm the first girl Miles has ever brought here. I try not to let it mean anything. My heart thuds against my chest. I pull my arms over it to keep all the warmth in my body.

  Miles slides his arm around my shoulders. "Cold?"

  "Yeah."

  "Come here." He slides into the backseat, pulling me with him.

  His body is so close to mine. Inches away. There's just enough light to make out the expression on his face, but I don't know what it means.

  He leans closer. He's so warm, and he smells so good. His arms slide around me. I melt into him, resting my head on his chest.

  His fingers skim my chin. He tilts me towards him, bringing our lips together. His kiss is soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that should mean I love you. But this one...it can't. That's not possible.

  I tug at his leather jacket. It's cool, and the fabric is so slick I can barely grip it.

  Miles breaks the kiss. "Are you okay?"

  I shake my head. He shouldn't ask things like that. He shouldn't act so damn sweet.

  "What is it?"

  My lungs fail me. My vocal chords fail me. My mouth is sticky and confused. There's no easy way to explain this, so I reach for something I can explain. Something else that hurts. "My parents...they erased my sister's existence from the house. It's not right."

  "They're trying to cope."

  "They're just sweeping it under the rug because it doesn't fit their image of a perfect family."

  He runs his hand through my hair. "They care about you. Let them."

  I close my eyes. His touch is delicate. His voice is soft. But that's all bullshit, too.

  I pull back. "Who the hell do you think you are to tell me to let someone care about me?"

  He doesn't falter. "Fair enough."

  It doesn't bother him. I hate that it doesn't bother him, that nothing I say could ever bother him.

  His lips skim my neck, and heat surges through me. All I need to do is close my eyes and surrender to his body against mine. It doesn't matter if he'll break my heart later. It doesn't matter that my parents are erasing my sister's existence.

  This, right now, should be all that matters.

  I lean into his lips. He moves faster, scraping his teeth against my skin, tugging at my cardigan.

  "This is all I can offer you," he says.

  Every place he touches is on fire, desperate for more of him, whatever he can offer. "I know."

  He pulls my sweater over my head. "You've hurt so much. I can't bring myself to add to that."

  His eyes find mine. They're dead serious, and there's such a sweetness to his gaze. He does care about me, even if it's only enough not to completely discard me.

  I turn away, staring at the perfect view outside. "Then stop saying things like that. If you care about
me, don't act like you're going to fall in love with me."

  His voice is even. "Fair enough."

  "And that. Stop with that. You have all the cards in this relationship. Stop bragging about how fucking collected you are."

  He runs his hands over my shoulders, pulling my bra straps down. "I'm not collected." He unclasps my bra and rubs my nipples. "It's just that all my attention is already focused somewhere else." He takes my hand and slides it over the bulge in his jeans.

  My breath catches in my throat. "That's not the same thing."

  He pinches my nipples, sending pangs of desire all the way to my toes. My body screams with want. It won't forgive me if I do anything besides touch him.

  "I do care about you." He pulls my jeans and panties to my feet in one fell swoop. "But this is the only way I can show you."

  "I know."

  His fingertips skim my thighs. "Are sure you're okay with that?"

  I let my eyes flutter closed. "I have to take it or leave it."

  Miles runs his hand over my calf, the inside of my knee, my thighs. "You can leave it."

  "I'd believe you if you weren't about to fuck me."

  He grabs my knees and arranges me so I'm on top of him. "I can stop. I'd rather not, but I can."

  "Don't. I want you to show me how you care about me." I squeeze my eyelids together. I can't let this affect me, not yet.

  If this really is all Miles can offer, then it has to be enough. I need him to show me how he cares, even if it's with his cock inside me.

  He rubs my shoulders, bringing my body onto his. The backseat is too small for two tall people. One of my legs is squeezed between his knee and the seat. The other is skimming the floor.

  Miles is three inches from me. He brushes a hair behind my ear. His fingers slide over the curve of my chin. It's soft, and sweet, like he loves me. But we both know that's not true.

  "You okay?" he asks.

  "Show me."

  He presses his palm flat against my back. "Look at me."

  I pry my eyes open. He's staring at me, staring through me. It's like he can see inside me, see how close I am to crumbling.

  "You don't look okay." His voice is just as soft and sweet as his touch.

  "Don't pretend it matters to you."

  "It does." He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. "You look like you're about to cry."