She doesn’t respond at first. I can tell that one word means a lot to her, and I feel good about my gift.
“I like that,” she says finally, her eyes connecting with mine.
I nod, and lean back again. “It was my father’s name. Patrick.”
“Were you and he close?” she asks. “You mentioned him the other day with the guitar.”
I take a breath. “Yeah. He died when I was eleven.”
“I’m so sorry, Luke,” she says, and I can hear the compassion in her voice. It scares me a little, what her empathy does to me.
I just shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but still. I’m pretty close to my parents. That had to be hard.”
I focus on her again. My heart is racing at the direction of this conversation, but for some reason, I’m still here. I haven’t run yet. Maybe I won’t for once.
“It was. I was very close to my dad.”
“What about your mom?”
A harsh laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Yeah, right. No. Not my mom.”
She’s studying me with a disturbing intensity, and I sigh. I’ve invited this. It’s my own fault.
“She was a junkie,” I explain. “Not much interest in kids.”
I look away again. I can’t handle her expression, and I’m not surprised when she doesn’t respond. It’s my stupid sob story, I know. There’s a reason I hate talking about my past. It does nothing but make all of us regret the conversation in the first place. I didn’t even get to the bad part.
“Anyway, what about you?” I ask before things get too awkward.
She shakes her head. “We’re talking about you. So how’d you end up here?”
I stare at her in disbelief. Even Callie doesn’t push this hard. “Trust me, you don’t want to know any more than you do.”
“Oh, trust me, I do,” she returns. “Actually, I can’t think of anything I want to know more at the moment.” She’s not flirting. She’s completely serious and my stomach drops. There are precious few people on this planet who know more than what I’ve just told her.
“What do you want to know?” I manage finally.
Her smile softens me in ways I’ll never understand. “How about we start with what you’re willing to tell me, and work our way up from there.”
I return her smile and shake my head, knowing my walls are in for the assault of a lifetime. “You’re optimistic.”
“And you’re stalling. Talk. How’d you end up here?”
I draw in a deep breath. “Ok, fine. My mom hooked up with some other junkie loser after my dad died, they made my life a living hell for a few years, then finally decided even that was too much, and shipped me off to her sister in Houston.”
“Houston? Wow, that’s far. Aren’t you from Johannesburg or something?”
I glance at her in surprise, unable to stop my grin. “You did your research, I see.”
“Well, when your manager says you’re touring with Night Shifts Black, yeah, you do research. You didn’t look me up?”
I’m actually a bit embarrassed and give her a shy shrug. “Sorry.”
She only laughs and shakes her head. “Wow. Thanks.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I believe my exact words when our manager told us we’d be touring with you were, ‘Sweet. They’re legit,’” I offer in exchange. “Bringing you on board was actually Casey’s idea. He’s been impressed with you guys and told TJ to make it happen.”
Holland looks pleased, and I love that I’ve made up for my previous disappointment. “Really? Wow. I’m honored. Casey is extremely talented.”
“And has excellent taste,” I add, but regret it when her direct gaze and grateful smile shred my shield again.
“And, now you’re back to stalling. Keep going.”
I sigh. “You got the story. There’s not much else.”
“Yeah, right,” she smirks. “You’ve barely started. I want to hear the rest. All of it.”
I grunt. “Really? Come on.” My tone was too dark. I immediately know my deflection has failed, which only makes me defensive.
“Yes, really. I want to hear about your childhood, your dad, your junkie mom.”
“No, I guarantee you don’t. No one wants to hear about that shit.”
“It’s not ‘shit’ to me.”
“It doesn’t even matter anymore.”
“Of course it matters! And the fact that you refuse to talk about it shows how much!”
She’s being way too pushy, and I hate that I can’t hate her for it. I especially hate the fact that she’s so genuine, part of me feels like she’s earned the question. And all of that just makes the other part want to punish her with the answer. I feel my muscles tense, my heart harden as my grimace spreads into a glare.
“Really. So you want details about what it’s like to be an eleven-year-old kid forced to take care of yourself and two adults who hate everything about you and wish you didn’t exist? About getting pushed around, going hungry, being told you’re a worthless piece-of-shit who should probably just disappear. That’s how we’re going to spend our afternoon at the beach?”
I stop. Suck in air. Something just happened and I can’t look at her. I know I won’t like what I see.
“Yeah, I do,” she replies quietly after a long silence, and I glance up. Her eyes reach deep inside of me, and before I can fight it, I feel something softening. It’s almost painful as the strength in her gaze mixes with what I think might be tears in her eyes. It’s hard to tell in a hot tub. “I really do, Luke,” she whispers.
I swallow, terrified of the fact that I might actually share my story with her. Most of that part was off limits even to Dr. Flynn. I think she senses my hesitation, that she’s losing me, and moves to close the physical distance between us. My stomach is in knots, from her, from the memories. The ancient pain. When she takes my hand, I’m not sure what to do with the war raging inside me.
“Why Houston? How did your mother’s sister get to Houston?”
We’re compromising. I sigh, grateful. That one’s much easier.
“That’s where she’s from.”
“Who?”
“Both, really. My mom and her sister.”
Holland straightens in surprise, and I almost laugh at her look. “Wait. Your mom is American?”
I grin and nod. “Yes. So am I.”
“Um…ok, I don’t remember reading that. But your dad wasn’t, obviously.”
I shake my head. “No. They met in Johannesburg while my mom was modeling, so we lived there.”
“Is your mom still alive?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. I doubt it.”
She settles against me, still grasping my hand, and once again I marvel at the effect of her touch. “Wow. I guess that answers my questions about immigration and work visas. And why you’re so damn beautiful.”
I laugh. “You’re not even kidding about that are you.”
I can feel her grin. “Maybe.” Then she grows serious again. “Ok, so now you’re what, thirteen, fourteen? And in Houston with your aunt. Tell me about the music.”
“The music, huh.”
“It’s in you, Luke. Deeply embedded like no one I’ve ever met. I’ve seen it a couple times now. It takes my breath away. Do you not get what it does to people when they witness it?”
I stare at the palm trees lining the pool area as I consider her words, strangely touched, uneasy. “The music…” I repeat to myself. Facts I can do.
“Ok, well, I guess it started with my dad actually. He was a musician. He knew he was dying and gave me his guitar. He told me it was so that I’d take care of it, but I always knew it was supposed to be a lifeline for me to hold onto after he was gone.” I quiet, my chest getting heavy again. I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath. “He knew what would happen next,” I continue quietly. “He fought as hard as he could for as long as he could. Somehow, even as a kid I sensed he didn’t want to leave me alone with her.�
�� I stop again. I can’t do any more with that part and draw in a ragged breath before I lose myself. I only agreed to facts. “Anyway, so yeah. It was just me and my guitar most days. When I was scared, lonely, hungry, in pain, Percy was always there, pulling my head back above water. I guess that’s where the music came from.”
“Percy?” she asks. I glance over at the wavering in her voice and now I’m certain I can see a glisten in her eyes.
I swallow and quickly look away. “Yeah, I named my guitar Percy. I have no idea why. It was my best friend, often my only one. Too important not to have a name, I guess.”
She nestles closer, and I can feel my own guard slipping. I’m not crying in front of her. It’s not going to happen.
“What? You’ve never named one of your instruments?” I ask before I get lost back in that horrible place.
She chuckles. “No, but I am now. I think my guitar would be Sam.”
I grin. “Sam? Boy Sam or girl Sam?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. That’s why I like Sam.”
“Ok, that’s fair. Sam it is.”
“Where’s Percy now?” she asks.
“In my room.”
She pulls away again, and I love the look on her face. “Really? You still have him?”
I laugh. “Of course. He goes with me everywhere.”
“I want to meet him!” she cries.
My eyes widen in disbelief. “What, like right now?”
“Yes! Right now! You need to introduce us!” She jumps up from the seat and moves toward the stairs. “Come on!”
It’s all so funny, so sweet, I can’t even argue with her. “Ok! Geez. I’m coming.”
She tosses a towel at me as I reach the deck, and this time doesn’t even pretend not to study me as I dry off. It’s fine. I’ve given up pretending I’m not captivated by her.
“God, you’re pretty much perfect, aren’t you,” she mutters, and I glance at her, then laugh.
“Um…did you not hear a word I just said? I’m a fucking disaster.”
She doesn’t smile, which surprises me. “Maybe, but we’re all disasters. Perfection is finding that one disaster that makes sense with yours.”
I don’t know what to do with that. She’s confusing me again with her maddening push and pull. “I thought we agreed my particular disaster wasn’t good for anyone.”
It comes out more bitter than I intended, but her “honesty” is starting to grate on me. We can’t be together. Got it. So then why are we still pretending? Why is she still sending these cryptic signals? And why the hell is she looking at me like she wants to shove me against the wall and rip my shorts off? My pulse is attacking my will again.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m not being fair,” she admits quietly, and I feel badly for hurting her. She wasn’t being fair, but I can tell she truly understands her offence and regrets her lack of control. The thing is, I understand it. I can’t control myself around her either. We’re playing with fire, we both know it, and we’re both dangerously addicted. It’s all right there in the pulsating tension between us. The looks, the stolen touches, the simmering flame just waiting for us to show weakness and explode into something we can’t restrain.
“Look, maybe we should just cancel this whole ‘friends’ thing,” I say after a long pause. Her eyes shoot to mine, and I soften. “I just don’t know how to be friends with you, Holland. And I think you’re having the same problem.”
“Luke…”
I give her a sad smile and sling the towel over my shoulder. “I’m not upset. I have complete respect for you and your rules. I even agree with them. I’m not sure I’m ready for a relationship anyway. I may never be, and even if I was, no one would be ready for one with me.”
“Luke…stop…”
“No, it’s ok. Seriously, thanks for the time we’ve had. It really has been amazing, but we’re not helping ourselves by doing this.” I start toward the door of the building.
“Luke!”
I know I owe her a chance to speak as well, but I don’t think I can handle it. She has this way of cutting through my walls, and I need them as strong as possible right now. I keep going.
“Luke, please! Just stop for one second!”
I close my eyes. I can’t, can I? But god, I want to so badly.
I sigh and turn, immediately regretting it. She’s there, inches away.
“No,” she says. “No, it’s not ok.” And her lips collide with mine.
My body erupts in an immediate rush of fire I know I’ll never contain. I let her push me back against the wall of the pool deck, her fingers locked in my hair, mine in hers, pulling ourselves into each other. I can feel my skin absorbing hers with a desperation that’s knocking the air from our lungs. Minutes, hours, days of starvation explode on us, finally unleashing that reckless exploration of the forbidden. Our mouths, our hands, fight for every inch they can control, struggling to connect in an impossible union that will lead to the one place we both agreed we can’t go. We won’t go.
And suddenly, I’m terrified. How much of this is her? Me? How much is my need to be close to someone again? Her getting sucked into my deadly vortex? How much am I going to destroy her when this all crashes down? Because it will. It’s going to crash so hard and I’m going to have another victim I care about on my conscience.
I groan and push her away. “Stop! Wait.” My body is screaming. It’s never going to forgive me for this. I can see the hunger in her eyes as well, just ravaging us as we stare, breathing hard.
“This isn’t what you really want,” I whisper, searching her eyes with an anguish she returns.
“It is, Luke. I do. Please.” Her lips find mine again, her fingers sliding down my chest, circling my waist in a grip that sends my blood pounding to every cell, every recess of my being. She’s tugging at my suit now, lower, oh god. She’s so close, I know she can feel every hard inch of how much I want her too. She positions herself perfectly to invite it all, and I swear I hear the slightest groan as she pulls my hips into hers in an impossible invitation. Her intoxicating form is totally surrendered, her mouth denying me any arguments as she breathes me in. I’m going to lose if I don’t stop this. We both will. Oh shit. A couple years ago I wouldn’t have thought twice and now…
It takes every ounce of self-hatred I have left to force her hands away and gently push her back. “No. No!” I search her eyes. “You’re about to hook up with me. You don’t hook up with musicians, especially on tour!”
She shakes her head and closes the gap again, taking my face in her hands. “I know, but I don’t care about the rules anymore. The rules are bullshit!”
I flinch and pull away. “No, they’re not! They’re important to you! And they’re good! So good… Don’t you see what’s happening? This is what I do to people, Holland! This is how I hurt them! I infect them and turn them against themselves! I’m not doing it anymore! I’m not doing it to you!”
I know she’s hurt, but I’m completely gutted as I remove her hands from me and launch toward the lobby. This time, I’m running from myself as much as her.
“Luke, stop! Wait!”
She’s coming after me, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I’m not strong enough to keep fighting this. I frantically press the button to the elevator, but of course it doesn’t open in time to rescue us from this mess. She catches up just in time to jump in with me.
“We’re talking about this,” she states firmly. “You wanted that as much as I did. You still do. I know you do!”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing else to say.” I barely even notice the chill of the air conditioning on my wet body as the ice inside starts to spread to the surface. I can feel it begin to calm the fire, dissolve the warmth. I’m able to shutdown better than anyone.
“So what, you’re just going to deny what’s happening between us?”
“No, I’m going to ignore it,” I quip.
“What? How can you possibly ignore what just happened?�
�
I only shrug, knowing it’ll upset her. She curses and throws up her hands. “Seriously? God, you’re infuriating!”
I study the light moving over each number above the door. One… Two... Three.
“Again, as advertised, right?”
She’s about to explode as she turns on me. “No! That’s bullshit and you know it! You’re scared! You’re scared because I mean something to you! Because I got behind your glass barrier, didn’t I? Because our connection is more than sex and you have no clue what to do with that!”
“Yep, that’s it. I’m scared. So original, Holland.” God, what a dick thing to say, but I need her to hate me. I’ll never be strong enough to push her away if she doesn’t.
Her glare turns hostile, and I wonder if she’s actually going to hit me. She doesn’t, but her eyes do it for her.
“Wes is a better match for you anyway. You should stalk him instead,” I continue for good measure. It works, and this time I can see her visibly shake in anger.
“Excuse me?”
I offer a casual shrug. “I mean, it’s obvious there’s something going on there. I bet he doesn’t come with the same baggage. Does your rule apply to your own band?”
“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about!”
“No? Come on, Holland. You’re lying to yourself if you can’t see your guitar player has it bad for you. He’s doing everything he can to keep me away from you.”
Fire burns in her eyes. “Oh, because you know us so damn well? Like I said, you have no idea what you’re talking about! Is that what this is about? Wes?”
The elevator arrives at our floor and I get out. She follows, but I don’t stop.
“No, this is about us,” I call back with a devastating nonchalance. I’ve always been a master at channeling my uncanny ability to read people into the ability to cut them with precision. “You’re the one who told me out of the gate it can’t happen. I’m just respecting your wishes.”
I pull my key out and slide it into my door. But instead of the rage I expect, she softens, her face covered with her sudden desperate plea for me. I can’t look. Oh god, I can’t look.
“Luke, come on! I know whatever this is right now isn’t real! I know this isn’t you!”
Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) Page 9