I need those dreams. It’s the only thing I have left.
“You okay?” Coco asks, quietly, from across the room.
I nod. It’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m still exhausted.
“Did something happen with you and Ross? You just—you left. You didn’t even tell me.” I can tell by the way she’s staring at me, that she’s not going to let it go anytime soon. Not until she hears the whole story.
I sigh and lean up against the headboard, thinking of the best way to jump into it.
“We had a fight about the money I borrowed from Dave. Roscoe went all alpha, like I didn’t just do him a favor. He doesn’t…” I lower my voice. “Don’t tell anyone okay? But he’s kinda broke. I mean obviously he owns things, like his car, that house in Washington, and a bunch of other stuff, but he has no cash flow. I saw his bank statements and it’s not good. I think he spent every cent on Luke’s hospital and legal bills.”
“So that’s why you left? Because he’s broke?”
“No. Of course not.” I shake my head. “That’s just it. I mean I understand what he’s going through. He went from having all this money to having nothing. Roscoe’s terrible with money. Their parents set up Trust Funds for them and his is pretty much gone. He never says no to anything or anyone. He spent it all. On Luke, on me, on the band. Of course it paid off, but now the bands broken up so all the money they made from the tour and the first album is gone too. I mean he’ll get a check here and there, but nothing like what he had. And I don’t think he’s ready to sell his stuff and…” I let out a sigh. “It doesn’t even matter to me. It’s not why I left. I don’t care how much money he has. I left because…” I clamp my mouth shut. I could tell her about the dream, but she’d probably think it was nothing. And if I tell her everything else, she’d probably insist I go back. I’m too tired for another argument. “I just—I don’t know where we stand. We’re not together. But we live together. We sleep together. Still, at the end of the day, we haven’t put a label on it.”
It’s not an entire fabrication. That much of my complicated life is absolutely true.
“But you said you were happy.”
“I am. I mean I was. But we got into it over me taking money from another guy, then he leaves and doesn’t come back for an entire day. Then when I show up at Chagrin’s to watch him play he barely even acknowledges me, while Maya’s all over him.”
“Maya Lewis? She’s back?”
I nod. “And bitchier than ever.” I let my hair loose and shake it out. “I don’t know, Coco. I thought there was something there, but maybe I’m wrong. I’ve technically just been mooching off him all this time. I thought maybe it was time to stop.”
“So you went home because you didn’t feel wanted?” She pats my knee and I smile in response.
I should tell her. She’s my best friend. She’d understand. But I can’t. I don’t even want to think about it.
“So what are you going to do?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I kind of want to see him, but…”
“You don’t know if he wants to see you.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Would you if you got dumped by a note on your pillow?”
She pats my knee again. “You hungry?”
I shrug. “Do you think he’d be mad because I called Cole to pick me up and not him?”
Coco sighs. “I think if you want to know, there’s only one way to find out.” She glances over at her bedroom window and I follow her gaze. “It’s not the craziest idea you know. Just talk to him. Define the relationship. You’ve been sleeping with the guy for two months, practically living with him for almost two years. You know each other really well. You’re like a couple. Only you’re not a couple so it’s all weird. You need to decide what you are so you can move on. If you’re together, great. Make it official. If you’re just friends, fine. But you better stop having sex with him.” She wags a finger in my face.
I laugh. Easier said than done.
“Why are you all of a sudden pro-Ross?” I ask.
Coco shrugs. “I’m not. I mean…‘the heart wants what it wants’ right?” She jumps up off the bed and I grab her wrist before she can take another step.
“You’re quoting Shakespeare now? Spill.”
She laughs. “Dickinson. And it’s nothing.”
“Oh, it’s something. I know that look.”
Coco bites her lip. “Don’t make a big deal out of this okay? And for the love of god, do not tell a soul. You got that?”
“Have you been keeping secrets? From your best friend?”
“It’s not really a secret.” She lowers her voice and glances toward the door. “Remember last year when you invited me to Woodinville for Ross’s birthday party?”
I scoff. “The Jerry Springer moment when I found out my sister’s baby was my ex-boyfriend’s son? Not exactly forgettable, Coco.”
“Well, thanks to all your drama, there were some things that night that did go unnoticed.”
“Like what?”
“Like me…and Dash.”
“What about you and Dash?”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “We—I was—drunk and he was being nice. And Dash is hardly ever nice.”
“You slept with him?” She glares at me, placing a finger over her lips. “I thought you guys were just talking. You never said—”
“It’s not what you think. I mean, it only happened that one time. I don’t regret it at all. He was…” she smiles. “It was nice.” She walks over to the window, hugging herself a goofy grin plastered across her face. “I didn’t talk to him for months after. And I was so embarrassed. I figured I was just another girl. But he was in town with the new band and he called. And we talked. And I think maybe I like him. Like, really like him.”
“Oh, my god.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe it. You never said a thing. All this time? You and Dash?” I giggle. Then shake my head again. Dash is cute. No, he’s probably one of the hottest guys I’ve ever met but… “How is it with him?” I ask. “I mean, is he nice to you?”
“Of course he is.” She frowns. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I was on the road with him for almost two years, remember? I’ve seen the way he treats girls. He can be kind of an asshole. I just want to make sure—”
“It’s fine,” Coco smiles. “It’s more than fine. He’s very sweet, a little moody, but Dash is kind of known for that. I like him. Which is why I can’t exactly come down on the whole you and Ross thing.”
“So you’re on board?”
“As long as you are.”
I shrug a little and swallow back a lecture I’m dying to give her. I like Dash. He’s a fairly decent guy from what I know. But I love my best friend more. “Just be careful, okay?”
She nods. “As long as you promise to do the same.” Coco reaches over and gives me a quick hug. “I’m sorry,” she says. “In case you don’t know that by now. I really am. I shouldn’t have said those things the other day. I hope that’s not why you left.”
“It’s not,” I say quickly.
This whole moment should be so normal. My best friend telling me about the guy she likes, us swapping stories. But it’s not. It’s completely messed up. So is my life. And it’s all because of me. If there’s anyone I should hate it’s the person in the mirror. In this moment, I hate her with a passion. I close my eyes and clamp down on my bottom lip until the pain is so intense I suck in a sharp breath.
“You okay?”
I shake my head. “I had a plan,” I whisper. “We had a plan. Then I ran off with a rock band. I was such a bitch to her. Even up until she…I was just so mad and confused all the time. And now she’s gone. And I can’t even say I’m sorry. I can’t do anything. And I’m still fucking up.”
“Oh, honey.” Coco pulls me to her again and rubs my back. “You’re not fucking up. You’re grieving. It’s okay. You’ll figure it all out. I know you will. I think she’d understand.”
We sit there like that for a long time. Tears are streaming but I’m careful not to let it go too far. Like I do with Roscoe. I have to stop breaking down. I have to…start growing up.
“Thanks,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. It was mean and I’m an idiot.”
“All right.” She holds me at arm’s length. “I’m taking you downstairs and getting a good meal in you. Because your stomach’s been growling for hours. How it didn’t wake you up? I don’t even know.”
I laugh, taking her hand as we crawl off the bed and step out into the hallway.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ross
Holding my hands out in front of me, I stare down at the tattoos lacing my fingers and knuckles. Pete says I’ll have to keep my hands hidden as much as possible. I don’t exactly know how I’m going to do that, or why I should even have to, but I’ll try. I’m not sure when I got so obsessed with tattoos and piercings. I got my first one when I went away for college. A crow on my forearm. Then a few months later, a sugar skull on my chest. By the time I got back to Lewiston after my parents trial, I was hooked. I got a sleeve of black feathers on my left arm to match the crow and Luke and I got matching collars in script: Love and Hate. Passion and Pain. Life and Death.
After I grew accustomed to the ink, and most of my body was covered, I started with the piercings. One stretched earlobe, a nose, lip and brow rings later, I was completely different man. On the inside, I felt like I always did, but on the outside people saw what they wanted to see. A kid ready to make the same mistakes as his father. But I was sill just me. I’m still just me, I’ve just found another way to express it. I wish people could see that, instead of what they want. I hope the judge does. A few ink stains and holes on my body don’t change the way I feel about my family. None of it changes the man I am.
“There you are,” Maya calls from behind me.
I don’t bother to turn and acknowledge her.
She sits on the ledge next to me. “What are you doing?”
“Having a cigarette.” I flick the butt into the air and lean back on my hands.
“Your daddy gone?”
She nods. “He likes the space.”
I laugh. “Better than me, huh?”
“He likes you just fine, Ross. Do you really think he would have let me date you for so long if he didn’t?”
I shrug.
“So, do we have a deal or what?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head keeping my eyes on the street below.
I’m starting to wonder if putting all my energy into this place is a good idea right now. There are easier ways to get money. Like selling that house in Woodinville. If I did that, I’d have plenty. Luke would be mad at first, but once I win this case—if I win this case, none of that will matter.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask. “Like your dad said, I’m Ross Black. I don’t exactly come with glowing recommendations. I can’t blame him for being skeptical. I don’t exactly do Adult well. I’m a big kid. That’s how people know me anyway.”
“That’s ridiculous. “My dad’s being protective, okay? He thinks you’re planning on using me. Little does he know I’m using you.” She laughs. “He’ll get over it.”
“I don’t know.” I look back over the rooftop. “He might be on to something.”
“Please. I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t be taking a chance on you if I didn’t think you were capable.”
I rub my forehead, taking in her words. Maybe she’s right. But it doesn’t feel like it. I feel like I’ve never succeeded at a damn thing. When I look in the mirror all I see is the things that are missing. The things I just can’t seem to hold on to.
“Before I sign anything, I should talk to him,” I say.
“Talk to who?” Maya pulls out a long slim cigarette of her own, glancing once over her shoulder before she places it in the corner of her mouth.
“My brother.”
“Why?” She wrinkles her nose.
“To see what he thinks of all this. I just don’t know how he’d feel about seeing this place opened up again. Might not sit right, you know?”
She sighs. “What the hell is your obsession with pleasing your damn brother? I get that you’re the older one, that he depends on you, but damn it, Ross. Luke isn’t a kid anymore.”
“I know that.”
“Then cut the fucking apron strings already. You don’t owe him anything.”
“I owe him everything. He’s my brother.”
“Do you hear yourself? You’ve already given up Berklee. Now the band. What next? Why are you punishing yourself for his sake?”
“I’m not punishing myself. I’m thinking about my family.”
“Well it sure seems like you are,” she says, puffing a cloud of smoke in my direction. “Always have been.”
“You don’t understand, Maya.”
“You’re damn right. He’s in fucking jail and you’re still acting like you can make a difference.”
“Luke’s no different than any of us. He made a mistake.”
“He’s different because he’s behind bars. And you’re out here. We’re out here. So live, Ross. Stop throwing it all away.”
I turn away from her and look back out over the rooftop again. “Everyone of us has done something stupid. We’re just not all lucky enough to get away with it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I’ll discuss it with my brother. If he’s game, I’m in. If not, you’re out of luck.”
I didn’t expect him to say yes. I expected him to be appalled at the idea. But after a phone conversation with Luke, I find myself letting Maya inside hours later.
“Yeah, Ross whatever you want.” He’d sounded so dejected, I almost told him about my meeting with Pete. But I knew he’d only try to talk me out of it. Then he’d spend the rest of the day worried about what happened to make me go that route in the first place. But I refuse to tell him about Grandma Carlson and my unproductive conversation with Dave. He’s had enough bad news for one lifetime.
As much as I appreciated it yesterday, company is the last thing I want. I still haven’t heard from Sheila and it’s taking everything inside me not to drive all the way to Palouse and demand an explanation. Or even better, barge in there and carry her out over my shoulder and back to home like a goddamn caveman. I’m still grappling with the fact that she left. I expected it would happen sooner or later, but I can’t fucking believe she just walked out on me. Just like Maya predicted.
Even though I’ve mostly let it go I’m still pissed. Even if she’d talked to me face-to-face it would have been easier to take. But that damn note. After everything we’ve been through together? It hurts like hell. And that’s the truth. But I guess I need to work on forgiving and forgetting, because after what Pete said, she might be my only hope.
Maya pushes her way past me, an arm full of grocery bags.
“What are you doing?”
“Cooking,” she replies. “Last time I was here, all you had was liquor and what ever shit was in that pot. I’m starving and we’ve got a long night ahead of us,” she adds as she makes her way toward the kitchen.
I don’t bother to stop her. Besides, now that we’re business partners, I might as well get used to her being around again. Pushy and demanding doesn’t even begin to describe this girl.
“Whatever you mess up, you clean up,” I call as I head up to my room.
An hour later, after I’m freshly showered and ready for a drink, I come down the stairs to the smell of something that makes my mouth water, instantly.
“What is that?” I wander toward the kitchen and lean up against the side of the doorway, watching her move quickly from one pot to the other.
She beckons for me to come closer, then dips the spoon in the pot and holds it in front of my face, a hand cradled beneath it. “You have to taste this.”
I open my mouth, allowing her to feed me. Whatever the hell is in that pot makes my to
es curl. I’ve never tasted anything like it. Or maybe I have. It could be that I’ve been eating take-out for so long, I don’t remember what good food tastes like.
Maya holds out another spoonful, and I accept it gratefully. “What is this?”
“Rum sauce. It’s for dessert.”
I raise both eyebrow.
She grabs a towel from the counter and opens the oven. “I made chicken Parmesan for dinner. I figured you wouldn’t miss any of this rum,” she adds with a smirk, “so I made some sauce to go with the ice cream you’ve got in the freezer.”
“You never cooked like this before. What the hell did they do you in Cali?”
She shrugs, poking at the chicken in the pan. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“Why the gourmet meal?”
Maya bites her lip and turns to face me. “Because we’re celebrating. Once you sign all the papers, we’ll hire a contractor. And by this time next month we’ll be sending out invites. Tonight, we should pick the menu.” She points toward the rum sauce. “And I think that should be on it. Because I make kick-ass rum sauce. Don’t I?”
I scratch my head. “Shouldn’t we hire professional cooks?”
“Well sure, if we want a sit down restaurant with waiters and whatnot.”
“Don’t we?”
She points toward the plates on the counter and I hand one to her. “I was thinking we don’t go traditional,” she says as she piles the dish with pasta and chicken. “I mean, you’re not traditional and I don’t care either way.”
“I don’t follow.”
“What if we opened a club?”
I laugh at that. “What? A night club?”
“Well, nothing like in Seattle or Los Angeles. Something a little more intimate. Like a lounge or something. Classier than Chagrin’s but not too classy for a guy like you.”
I don’t know whether or not to take that as a compliment so I just nod, as I hand her the other plate.
“It’d cut costs too. We’d only be open for a certain amount of time during the day. We wouldn’t need wait staff, or have to worry much about food preparation and dining. We could just serve drinks, appetizers and desserts.”
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