by Shari Copell
“We’ll make it fit,” he assured her.
Lindsay was sitting at the island eating a sandwich with a textbook open in front of her. She glanced up when they entered the kitchen. Her gaze fluttered from her sister, to Stone, and back again. “Hey,” was her only response.
“Hey,” Nicks returned. “Did Dad leave already?”
“Yeah. About an hour ago. Marybeth called and said one of the freezers wasn’t working. They had to move everything from that one into another before the food spoiled.” Lindsay closed the book. “Reese is up in his room. Something wrong?”
“Not really. Dad usually takes my band gear in the truck.”
Her sister shrugged. “I know. He said to call if you needed him to come home.”
“Nah, I’m good. I think we can fit my stuff in Stone’s Camaro.”
Lindsay stared at Stone. “No way! You have a Camaro? One of the new ones?”
“I do. Sitting in your driveway as we speak.”
The girl froze for a moment then eased back in the chair. “Can I...sit in it?”
“Sure. Knock yourself out.” Stone turned and unlocked it with the key fob. “Just don’t mess with the gearshift or turn too many of the knobs.”
Lindsay hit the door out into the garage at a full sprint, not even stopping to put on shoes. Nicks laughed. “You just made her day.”
“I’m glad. She seems a little frosty.”
Nicks gripped his hand and led him to the stairs. “Well, some of that is my fault.”
“How so?” He climbed the steps behind her, still clutching her hand.
“All four of them are so perfect or something. They’ve never had to struggle with anything. I get sarcastic and pissy with them sometimes.” She pushed the door to her bedroom open. “I shouldn’t do it. It drives my mother nuts. I just...”
“Readin’, writin’ and ‘rithmatic aren’t your thing, are they?” He stood in front of her with arms crossed. “I understand.”
“It’s not that. It isn’t my thing, but I do okay.” She sat down on the bed and fidgeted with a fingernail, wondering how much she should share about herself. She still didn’t know him very well. It would have to be talked about eventually, she supposed.
“I stuttered when I was a child. It was pretty bad for a while. Of course, anyone who’s different gets bullied.”
“Who would bully a sweet thing like you?”
“Oh, Jesus. A whole army of mean girls. I really thought my name was Porky Pig for a while. I was bullied to the point where I didn’t want to go to school. I hid under the bed one day, and it took both of my parents to drag me out, one pulling on each leg. None of those little blond lapdogs knows what that feels like. The meanest thing anyone’s ever said to Lindsay is that her ponytail didn’t hang straight. Reese is a computer genius. Aimee is just a genius.” She sighed. “I love T.J. though. T.J’s cool.”
Stone knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his. “I’m sorry to hear that. I never would’ve guessed you stuttered.”
She threw him a lopsided smile. “That’s why I’m a senior at nearly nineteen. I nosedived when I got to school. I just didn’t get it. I felt like a loser, which made me stutter more. The girls were vicious. I quickly learned to disappear into the woodwork. I did what I had to do to feel safe, but you can’t concentrate on learning when you’re afraid all the time. I got held back a year in second grade.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Nicks.”
There was compassion in his eyes. She felt relieved. Her secrets were safe with him. “Don’t be sorry. It was actually a good thing. The bullying affected my mother almost as much as it did me. She tried everything, but I was too afraid to engage with anyone. That’s when she showed me the guitars. The Strat, to be precise. I remember being mesmerized by it. It was too big—way too big for me, but I could almost feel it calling to me. Does that sound crazy?”
He patted her knee. “Hey, you’re talking to another guitarist here. I’ve had them call to me from across a music store.”
She put a hand on his cheek. There wasn’t another person she knew who would understand how that felt, how the mere sight of a guitar could fill your stomach with thousands of butterflies, make your hands itch to hold it. “Then I found out there were four of them. The guitars were exciting, so magical. They changed my life. Mom signed me up for lessons. When I did well, she signed me up for voice lessons. My vocal teacher, Miss Deutsch, was amazing. She was tough as nails. More often than not, I left her studio crying, but it didn’t feel the same as the bullying. She wanted me to succeed. She would always tell me it takes pressure to make a diamond. I worked as hard as I could to absorb everything she taught me. My stutter gradually disappeared as I learned to sing. Mom thought it was a miracle.”
“I’ll bet. You have a beautiful rock-and-roll voice. Somewhere between Janis Joplin and Pat Benatar.”
“Thank you, Stone. I can’t think of a better compliment.”
“Did you still get picked on after you lost the stutter?”
She shrugged. “Some. I’d become the favored target for a few of the nastier girls by then, and it was like they couldn’t quit picking. It really only stopped after Charm, Pip, and I formed Wild Angel and played at an assembly. I don’t think anyone quite knew what to think of me after that. A few of the kids thought I was cool, I guess. They tried to get to know me, but the attention scared me half to death. I was pretty much a loner by that time. I still don’t make friends easily. Other than Pip and Charm, I don’t have anyone.”
“You have me.” He gently pulled at her fingers, his voice low when he spoke.
She put her hand to his cheek again. “I do have you.”
He quickly rose to his feet. “Get your guitars and let’s get loaded. I can’t guarantee what will happen if we start kissing again in a room with a bed.”
“Agreed.” Nicks sprang to her feet, dropped to the floor, and reached under the bed, feeling for the handle of her Strat. The two of them were a sexual nuclear explosion waiting to happen. When it finally did, she didn’t want to have to stop him.
Setting up for the gig was interesting, if nothing else. Marybeth didn’t have the muscle that jumped in her jaw when she was angry like Tage did, but she was shooting fuck-you missiles across the bar with her eyes every time she looked at Stone.
The slam-banging the elder bartender was doing as she readied for the crowd that night was a great big exclamation point to the way she felt about him. Nicks thought she probably should have warned him ahead of time.
She finally pulled him aside. Something had to give, and Nicks knew it wouldn’t be Tapestries’ head bartender. “You apologized to me for what you said, but you might want to go and apologize to Marybeth.”
Stone furrowed his brow and glanced over his shoulder toward the bar. “Really?”
“She’s like my grandma. She used to babysit me when I was small. She was nearly as mad as I was about what you said.”
“God, I want a do-over.” He smacked himself in the forehead with an open hand. “Ah well, being stupid should be painful. She won’t hurt me, will she?”
“Nah. Sometimes she likes to exercise her bitch muscle, but she’s a sweetie at heart. She’ll probably bust your balls at first, but she’ll forgive you if you mean it. You were sincere when you said you were sorry, right?”
“Of course I was.” Stone rubbed a hand over his head. “Okay. I’ll do it.” He wandered off toward the bar.
Nicks joined Charm and Pip on the stage. “So? What do you think?” she asked them.
“I haven’t decided yet,” said Pip from the floor behind the kick drum. “I love you, Nicks, but I’ve thought he was a creepy fuck for so long I’m having trouble turning it off.”
“I hear that. It’s going to take time.” Charm looked up from tuning her bass. “I guess the question is—what do you think?”
Nicks observed the scene at the bar. Poor Stone was getting the business from Marybeth, but he was holding hi
s own. Both of them were waving their hands in the air. Then she saw Stone go around the end of the bar and drop out of sight. He’d gone to his knees in front of the older woman. Marybeth put her hands on her hips and peered down at him with a look that would’ve frozen lava.
Nicks grinned. She loved Marybeth for making him grovel before she forgave him. And she loved Stone for being willing to do it.
She turned back to her bandmates. “I like him. A lot.”
“Tapestries makes the best wings on the planet, no doubt about it.” Stone wiped butter from his chin with a wad of paper towels. “I’m having mouthgasms.”
“Holy shit! What did you order again?” Nicks asked, though she knew it was true. Tapestries’ wings had won blue ribbons all over western Pennsylvania.
“Garlic butter. I could eat a ton of these.”
Marybeth came into the dining room. “You all right back here?”
“Stone is having mouthgasms. I’ll have what he’s having.”
“The hell you will.” Marybeth smacked her on the arm with a menu then turned away with a wink.
Stone watched her walk away. “That woman loves you like a lioness loves her cubs.”
Nicks giggled. “I know she does. I really didn’t think she’d be that rough on you though.”
“I deserved it. I told her so.” He wiped his hands clean of butter. “So what do you have to tell me?”
She sat up straight. “Oh my gosh! I almost forgot. Mom told me the name of the man who left me the guitars!”
“She did?”
“Yeah. His name was Asher Pratt. She said he had diab—”
Stone’s mouth dropped open. “Asher Pratt? Asher Pratt owned those guitars? You’ve got to be shitting me!”
“You know him?”
“I don’t know him, but I sure as hell know of him. He was one of the best guitarists in Pittsburgh during the early nineties. Jesus Christ, I touched a guitar that was owned by Asher Pratt!”
“He was really that good?”
Stone stared at her as if she’d sprouted horns. “Ah…yeah. He was that good. I saw him play once with the Dirty Turtles at an outdoor festival once when I was young, about five or six years old. I was blown away, even at that age. He’s the reason I started playing in the first place. I wanted to be him. I was a perfect pain-in-the-ass until my parents finally bought me a guitar.” Stone bobbed his head and laughed under his breath. “He was playing the tobacco Les Paul the day I saw him. The same guitar I’m going to watch you play tonight. Unreal. Abso-fucking-lutely unreal.”
Nicks bit her lip and sat forward. “Tell me about him.”
Stone opened his mouth then closed it. He gestured into the air. “God, I don’t have the words. He was just so awesome. He had a stage presence I can only dream of having. He held people…you know? Right in the palm of his hand. They couldn’t take their eyes off him. And he made playing seem effortless. He moved his hands over the guitar and it did whatever he asked it to do, like it was an extension of his body or something. I think he was around twenty-six when he died. Not much older than I am now. Such a waste of talent.”
Nicks nodded. “He was a diabetic and didn’t take care of himself. Mom told me he died four days before I was born.”
“Really? When were you born?”
“October 31, 1994.”
Stone nodded. “Sounds about right. I can’t believe you have Asher’s guitars and no one bothered to tell you. Did your mom say anything else about him?”
“Nothing major. She still seems upset that he died. I guess he worked here for a while. Marybeth must have known him too. I think she worked here when dinosaurs roamed the earth.”
“Do you feel comfortable asking her about him?”
“What more could you possibly want to know?”
“Jeez. Everything. He was my idol.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. The whole subject seems to be a sore spot with my parents. I don’t want Marybeth to tell my mother we were fishing around for more info when I’ve already had my question answered.”
Stone’s eyes shone like diamonds. “Do you know where he’s buried?”
“No.” Nicks sighed. “And I’m not asking. Please. Just let it go. You wanted to know his name and now you do. End of discussion.”
Stone watched Wild Angel play from a seat at the bar while Tage and Chelsea worked to fix the broken freezer. Tage was clearly on his last nerve. He’d asked Stone to keep a watchful eye on the girls for him while they played.
He could understand why. The way the guys crowded the stage made him extremely nervous. He scowled and took the last swallow of beer in the bottle. If one of them made a grab for Nicks, they’d be calling an ambulance to Tapestries.
No, scratch that. We’ll have to call the undertaker.
Funny that he hadn’t noticed it before. Of course, he’d usually been one of the men up front crowding the stage so...
Marybeth set another Corona with lime in front of him then snatched the empty away. He got a dirty look then an amused shake of the head from her. Stone raised the bottle in salute. He decided he liked these people. They loved Nicks fiercely, and he thought that was just fine.
He watched his little whirlwind on stage. God, she was beautiful. And talented. And sweet.
I love that girl.
He shook his head. Wait. What?
You’re done, Stoney. It’s over. She’s the only one who has ever tied your ass up in knots like this.
Okay, well...that was true. Women were like ice cream—he liked to try all the flavors. But he’d gotten a taste of cinnamon spice and sweet vanilla cream. No need to sample any more.
Jesus.
He cut his eyes right and perused the crowd, but no one looked his way. Pity. An earth-shaking paradigm shift had just occurred. There was no one else here who could fully appreciate the one-eighty his life had taken with his private admission.
I love her. Stone inhaled and took a long gulp of beer. When he set it down on the bar, he happened to catch Marybeth staring at him.
Her expression was unreadable as she dried a plastic pitcher with a dishtowel. She glanced up at Nicks and then returned her focus to him with an odd half-smile, as though she’d gotten a glimpse into his thoughts.
He hoped that mysterious look meant she approved or he was screwed. He got the feeling no one made it past Marybeth Catalino if she didn’t want them to.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Watch her what?” Chelsea surged up off the bed, fists clenched. Disoriented, chest heaving, she knew a moment of panic as the reality of the dream she’d been having became the reality of her darkened bedroom. It felt as though she’d been flung to earth from another dimension.
Her right hand flailed, searching for the man she hoped was lying beside her. The dream had felt so real, she wasn’t sure of anything now.
Tage grunted as her hand connected with his hip. He quickly moved to turn on the light.
“Chelsea? Are you okay?” He turned toward her, blinking.
She dropped her face into both hands with a whimper as she listened to the doors open down the hall. Several sets of feet were soon headed toward their bedroom. See what you’ve done? The whole house is awake now. Damn you, Asher!
Tage pulled her into his arms. “God, you’re shaking. Were you having a nightmare?”
“Dad? Is everything all right in there?” Nicks rapped on the door. “We heard Mom yelling.”
Chelsea lifted her face from her hands and glanced at the bedside clock. It was two in the morning. If she’d shouted loud enough to wake everyone up, they deserved to know she was all right. “You can come in. The door is unlocked.”
The kids entered and lined up at the foot of the bed, pale and wide-eyed, as though they’d seen ghosts. Chelsea was reasonably certain she’d been the only one spending time in the presence of a ghost.
And that ghost was starting to talk.
“Mom?” Nicks had her arms wrapped securely around T.J.’
s shoulders. He was gripping her right back, his blue eyes round with fear.
“I’m fine. I...had a bad dream. That’s all.” Though her breathing was starting to slow, her heart still raced like a rabbit being chased by wolves.
“Back to bed. All of you. Mom had a nightmare. I can take it from here,” Tage said as he rubbed her back.
Chelsea dreaded being alone with her husband. He was going to ask about the dream, and there was nothing she could tell him. Thank God she hadn’t screamed Asher’s name.
“If you need anything, come and get me,” Nicks said. “C’mon. Let’s go back to bed.” The girl herded her siblings out the door and closed it behind her.
“This has been happening a lot lately. These dreams. You roll around and mutter under your breath. It sounds like you’re arguing with someone. What’s going on, Chels?” Tage asked.
“I don’t know.” She leaned against him, comforted by his size and warmth. It wasn’t a lie. She truly didn’t know what was going on. She usually didn’t remember much after she calmed down from one of these dreams. Just that they always seemed to involve a certain dead musician.
She remembered this one.
Asher had been frantic, pleading, his hands out, palms up. Watch her! Help her!
Chelsea was reasonably sure the “her” he was referring to was Nicks, but she couldn’t imagine why.
“I don’t understand. Help her do what? What should I watch her do?” Chelsea had asked in the dream, but Asher kept repeating the same four words over and over again, terror in his eyes. Watch her! Help her!
When he started to fade away into the mist that surrounded him, she’d chased after him in frustration. She’d screamed as the darkness swallowed him: “Watch her what?”
Only she’d shouted it as she woke up.
It was beyond disturbing that there didn’t seem to be any clear lines separating the things that happened in her sleep from the things that happened when she was awake. Several times within the last few days, she thought she heard Asher call her name from somewhere in the house.