Desire (South Bay Soundtracks Book 1)

by Amelia Stone

  “Two for brunch?” the bartender asked.

  Beside me, Graham nodded.

  The bartender directed us to pick our seats, and Graham steered me to a sunlit table near the front with his hand on my lower back. Warmth seeped through the thick flannel shirt I was wearing – his shirt – and I smiled to myself as we sat.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Graham observed once we were settled. “You must have slept well.”

  I nodded. “I actually did, yeah.”

  He smiled. “You sound surprised.”

  “I am.” I glanced at the menu, though I already knew what I wanted. I hummed as I scanned the list. It was a surprisingly robust offering for a bar brunch. “I don’t sleep so well.”

  He nodded. “I get that.”

  I frowned, taking in how well-rested and, well, healthy he seemed. He looked like he’d never missed so much as a wink in his entire life. “Yeah?”

  He looked down at his own menu. “Yeah, after my mom died, I had a tough time sleeping for a while.”

  That was right. He’d said the other night that his mother had died recently. I closed my eyes briefly, and when I opened them, he looked sad.

  That was another thing that sucked about this abyss I was in. I tended to forget that other people’s lives were not all rainbows and unicorn farts.

  “I just kept thinking about all the things she’d never get to do, you know?” He sighed. “She’ll never get to see my sister or me get married, never get to meet any grandkids, never get to enter the hybrid rose she’d been working on in that gardening competition.”

  I shivered. The never-woulds might not be exactly the same, but I knew all too well the feeling of being haunted by them. I went through the same thing every night. Daniel would never father a child. He would never turn thirty. He would never own a dog. He would never get a gray hair or go to the Grand Canyon or travel to Mexico to meet his father’s relatives.

  It was exhausting, regretting all the things he’d never get to do. So exhausting that, by some perverted twist of irony, it kept me from sleeping altogether most nights.

  He shrugged. “I had the same thoughts when my dad died, too, so you’d think I would know what to expect this time around. I mean, I figured out pretty early that we wouldn’t get a long life with them. But it still hurt, you know?”

  “Why did you think that?” He gave me a questioning look. “That you wouldn’t have too much time with them, I mean?”

  He hummed in understanding. He stared at me for a long moment, like he was deciding whether to answer me. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath.

  “Ellie and I are adopted. My parents were already in their late fifties when we went to live with them.”

  I frowned in confusion. “But you look so much alike.”

  “We’re biological siblings,” he explained. “We have the same birth parents. But they died when we were young.” He took a sip of his water, clearing his throat. “The Morrises heard about us at church. Their pastor made an announcement one Sunday, telling the congregation that our parents had died, and that we were in foster care. He prayed for someone to take us in, to give us a good home.”

  “And they decided to do it? At their age?” I asked, amazed.

  He nodded. “They’d always wanted to have kids, but they were never able to. They had already been looking into adoption when they heard about us.”

  “A couple of months.” A shadow passed over his face, and I wondered what that was about. “They’d made some inquiries, I guess, and found out that we might get split up if we stayed in the foster system for too long. So they signed on to become foster parents so they could take us both and keep us together. They adopted us about a year later.”

  “How old were you when all this happened?”

  The waitress came by to take our orders then, preventing him from answering. When she’d gone, he sighed.

  “I was seven when my biological parents died. Ellie was almost two.”

  I winced. That was young to go through such a tragedy – too young. And also too old, in a way. At least his sister hadn’t been able to really understand what happened. But Graham would have memories of his life before he was adopted. He would probably have been traumatized by the whole ordeal.

  “How did they die?” I asked.

  A shadow passed over his face. “That’s a sad story for another day.”

  Oddly, irritation flashed through me, and I wanted to push. He knew all about my trauma, after all. I’d laid it all out in the open after barely a day of knowing him.

  But I hesitated. Something in his tone told me he wasn’t holding back out of some ill intent, or because he didn’t trust me. He simply wasn’t ready to tell the story. Not yet.

  So I nodded. “Oh, I get it. You only tell your super best friends your secrets.” I gave him a faux-hurt expression. “Doesn’t being the founder and president of the Sasquatch Club count for anything?”

  He smiled. “I still haven’t agreed to you being the president.”

  “This is a coup, isn’t it?” I laid my hands over my chest. “This feels like a coup.”

  He smiled. “I’m just going by your logic. You said you can’t be the prettiest and the most powerful. That’s why you can’t be the president.”

  I scoffed, though it was really just to hide my smile. Because this ridiculously beautiful human had just called me pretty, in a roundabout way.

  “You’re clearly addle-brained. I’m beginning to rethink your membership altogether.”

  He laughed as the waitress brought our food. Once she’d set it down, I moaned at the sight of my French toast. It was perfectly grilled, and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted toward me on a breeze blessed by fairies, probably.

  My appetite these days was still hit or miss, but I was going all in on this motherfucker.

  Graham cleared his throat. When I looked up, his cheeks were flushed, and he was staring at me and not his very-tasty looking food.

  Weird.

  “Well, what was it Groucho Marx said about clubs?” he asked.

  I took another look at his plate, frowning. “That people who tell lies get kicked out.”

  He barked out a surprised laugh. “Lies? What lies have I told you.”

  I gestured at his eggs Benedict with my fork. “That you eat healthy. What do you call this?”

  He grinned, cutting into his muffin-egg-Canadian bacon pileup and spearing a huge bite. “Heaven.” He made a happy noise as he shoveled the whole thing into his mouth, chewing slowly.

  I could sit there and watch him eat all day. There was something weirdly sensual about the way he chewed, like he was really savoring his food.

  But his answer reminded me that I owed him ALL the teasing about his karaoke session in the shower earlier.

  “Well, you’d know all about heaven, wouldn’t you?” I gave him a sly smile. “After all, it is a place on earth.”

  He groaned. “God, you heard that?”

  I laughed evilly. “And I’m never going to let you live it down. In fact, I’m going to need all your friends’ phone numbers, so that I can tell them all about what a huge Belinda Carlisle fan you are.”

  His fork clattered to his plate. “You wouldn’t!”

  I shrugged, giving him a sly smile, but otherwise made no answer.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What will it take to buy your silence?”

  I pretended to think it over for a moment. “Share the Hollandaise, and your secret is safe with me.”

  He pushed his plate into the center of the table, gesturing to it as though to say, help yourself. And because I was indeed in a good mood, I did the same, and we both took bites of each other’s breakfasts.

  I hummed happily as the rich sauce hit my tongue. “Oh, this is good.”

  He smiled. “Worth coming to a bar on a Sunday morning?”

  I nodded enthusiastically. “You picked a good one, Morris. I will give you that.”

  He chuckled. “Stick with me,
buddy. I promised I’d do you right.”

  I watched him take another bite of my French toast, marveling at how easy this was with him. He’d said he wanted to be my friend, and maybe it was because I was still raw from – well, from everything. Or maybe it was because I really, really needed one. But he’d smiled at me so sincerely, like he genuinely wanted nothing more than to be my buddy. So, weirdly, I’d said yes.

  But the weirdest part of all was, I actually wanted to stick with him.

  “Don’t trust your feelings to a stranger,

  Don’t want to go through this again.”

  - A Flock of Seagulls, “The More You Live, The More You Love”

  “You’re late.”

  My brother filled the entryway to his house, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at me.

  I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t specify a time,” I reminded him.

  Sage rolled his eyes right back. “I did, too. I said Violet gets home at three.”

  “It’s two forty-four,” I shot back, checking my watch. Then I held it right in front of his nose so he could see.

  He pushed my arm out of his face. “You were supposed to be here well before then so that the adults could catch up. You know once she gets home she’s going to monopolize your time.”

  I did indeed know that, which is why I’d timed this visit so carefully. I wanted to surprise my niece by being here when she got home. I’d even given myself a margin of error in case the school bus got here early.

  But I also wanted to avoid what would no doubt be an hour or two of grilling by my loving, well-meaning – but annoying – family. “Catching up” meant they’d ask me eight million questions, give me pitying looks, and use the word “feelings” way too liberally. They’d want to know how I was “holding up.”

  Fuck that noise.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I drawled, not at all sorry.

  Sage grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “butthole.” Naturally, I stuck my tongue out at him in response. Because there was just something about siblings that made you revert to the immature antics of a ten-year-old when you were around each other.

  Meanwhile, he was still standing in the doorway, blocking me from coming inside, where it was warm and brightly lit and not about to rain any second. I nudged his shoulder, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Move, dingus.”

  When he obstinately shook his head, I put my hands on his chest and pushed. He didn’t even have the decency to sway. He just stood there, glowering at me.

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on with the guy.”

  I gave him a what-the-fuck kind of look. Because I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

  “What guy?”

  He gave me his best bad cop face, the one he used in interrogations. You know, with all the hardened criminals in South Bay. “The guy you ran off with the other day, right after I caught you breaking into the shop.”

  I growled in frustration. For one, I did not want to talk about Graham with my brother. Especially not when I wasn’t even sure myself what was going on with him.

  And for another: “For fuck’s sake. I did not break into the shop. I had the alarm code.”

  I’d been hounded about this for the last two days. Apparently, even though my brother and his partner hadn’t filed a report – even though there was no actual crime committed – the town of South Bay had been abuzz with the scandal all weekend.

  My aunt Louise, Krista’s mom, had stopped by Sunday night, shortly after Graham had dropped me off. She offered me some of the aloe vera cream she made, telling me it was great for all kinds of skin injuries: sun damage, blisters, scars. Pepper spray burns.

  Then, yesterday morning, the checkout girl at the Stop and Shop had snickered and asked me if I was out on bail.

  And of course, my favorite neighbor, Phillip, had knocked on my now boarded-up front door shortly after dinnertime, his wife and their stupid little mop of a dog right beside him. I’d been forced to open the living room window just to ask them what the hell they wanted. Bitty Lowenthal had looked me straight in the eye and asked me whether I’d robbed my own business because the mystery man I’d escaped with had turned me on to cocaine. She asked me if I needed cash to support my habit.

  Me being me, I’d asked her if she was offering. She made a horrified little squeak, turning purple as she clutched her dog to her chest, like she was afraid I was going to steal him and sell him on the black market. You know, to fund my coke habit.

  They left quickly after that.

  Suffice it to say, I was not in the mood for my brother’s shit just then.

  “And besides, Kristi was the one who caught me.”

  He nodded, his serious, slightly pissed-off expression never wavering. “I know. I keep trying to get her to give me the security cam footage.”

  I frowned. “I thought you said there wouldn’t be an investigation.”

  He shook his head. “Not for official business. I just want to see you get maced.” Then he burst into laughter.

  I punched him in the shoulder. “Asshole.”

  “You actually hit me?” He tried to look outraged, but he was still laughing. “Dad, she hit me!” Then he gave me a smug grin, sure that our dad would yell at me.

  Like I said. Couple of ten-year-olds.

  “You probably deserved it!” Dad’s voice called from inside the house. I could just picture him sitting on his recliner in front of the TV, probably watching the NatGeo channel.

  “But she hit me!”

  “Because you were making fun of me!”

  “Stop making fun of your sister!” Dad yelled.

  “Stop taking her side!” Sage groaned.

  I just gave him a smug smile of my own. We both knew I was Dad’s baby. He would always take my side.

  “And let her in, for God’s sake,” another voice called. My sister-in-law, Jenny, appeared a moment later, peeking her face over my brother’s shoulder. “It’s like fifty degrees out, you jerk.”

  “Am I or am I not the man of this house?” Sage asked of no one in particular.

  His wife ignored him, giving me a warm smile. “Hey, Lark.”

  I smiled in return, but it still felt far too stiff and uncomfortable. I’d been practicing the whole ‘trying to get better’ thing the last couple of days. But it was slow going.

  “Hey, Jen.” I nodded to the asshole still blocking the doorway. “Maybe you can get Officer Crankypants here to move?”

  He scowled at me. “Not until you tell me what the deal is with the beanstalk.”

  Jenny laughed. “Don’t you mean beanpole?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, beanstalk is more accurate.” Graham was way too solid to be a beanpole.

  Not to mention he was most definitely climbable.

  Jenny gave me a grin, her dark eyes alight with mischief. “Oh, so it’s like that, huh?”

  “Like what?” Dad asked from the living room.

  “Like Larkin has a crush on the getaway driver,” Jenny replied, turning her head to be heard.

  “Like hell she does,” Sage barked.

  I groaned. It was bad enough having all these inconveniently lusty thoughts about my new friend. I did not need my family giving me shit for it, too.

  “All this bullshit, and I’m not even through the door yet.”

  Luckily, before anyone could embarrass me further, the rumble of a school bus engine sounded behind me. I turned just as it stopped, and I watched my niece bounce off the bus, waving to the driver. Then she started skipping up the front walk, but she stopped when she saw me. Her whole face lit up, and she raced up the path, waving furiously.

  I didn’t have to force my smile this time. I crouched, holding my arms out in wait. And of course she didn’t disappoint. She jumped right into them, and I hugged her tight, burying my face in her silky black hair and inhaling the scent of peanut butter and crayons and coconut shampoo.

  God, I loved this kid. I blinked back tears, ha
ting myself for staying away so long. Hating that I’d let my emotional paralysis keep me from hugging this amazing little human.

  She squirmed, and I let her go, knowing she was eager to talk to me.

  I missed you, Auntie, she signed.

  I missed you, too, I signed back.

  You didn’t come for a while, she accused, her lower lip wobbling, just like mine did when I was about to cry.

  I sighed, piling that guilt onto all the rest.

  I know, I signed. I’m sorry.

  You’re sad. She paused. Because of Uncle Daniel, she carefully signed, spelling out ‘Daniel’ correctly.

  For years, when she signed for ‘Daniel,’ she’d simply made a letter D and then a guitar, because he loved music. So I clapped for her now, signing that I was proud of her for learning how to spell his name. But inside I died a little. He’d never get to see her sign his name. He’d never get to see the perfect person she was becoming. He’d never get to meet the new baby and learn about all the little things that would make him or her perfect, too.

  We’d never give them any cousins.

  Violet put a hand up, wiping my tears. She made the sign for sad again.

  I nodded. I am. I’ve been very sad.

  You miss him.

  I could only nod again. God, I missed him so much.

  I miss him too, she signed. And you stopped coming over when he died. She gave me a glare, and I almost laughed. It was a carbon copy of her dad’s favorite expression.

  I know. I’m sorry. I swallowed roughly, trying to smile. But I’m happy to see you now.

  Violet smiled, proving that kids have a higher capacity for forgiveness, not to mention a greater resiliency, than the jaded adults around them.

  I’m happy you’re here too. It’s taco Tuesday!

  And with that she skipped into the house.

  My brother, of course, stepped aside to let her in without further ado. I managed to squeak in after her, sighing in appreciation when I realized there was a fire going in the living room. Then I gave Sage a scowl that told him I did not appreciate him keeping me outside in the cold just to interrogate me about unfounded rumors.