Silver Edge

by Ciara Knight

  I only shook my head and turned away, my knees up to my chest once more. “Just go.”

  “No, you promised to return to Bands, and we have a job to do.”

  The million bee stings on my skin faded to annoying mosquito bite itches. “Bands is closed today. It’s Sunday.”

  He bit his bottom lip and eyed the floor. “Well, you’re not staying here.”

  “You can’t force me to leave.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, then how about this, you made a promise to save my club. I can’t do it without you. Will you help me?”

  I dared a glance, and I knew he cared less about the job and more about my crazy at the moment, but I needed the job. I wanted the job. Fighting my urge to retreat into my upstairs haven and never return, to curl up and cry myself to sleep, I forced myself to focus on business instead. The itching faded into a slight tickle until it disappeared for the moment. “You mean you want me to help pick the groups to compete?”

  “Yeah, I do.” He shifted back on his heels then stood up.

  “I-I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Don’t.” Drake held one finger in front of my lips but didn’t touch me. “Let’s go. I have something I need to do today and you need to go with me if we’re going to have time to get ready for the Battle of the Bands.”

  “Okay.”

  He stood with a few pops and crackles in his joints and offered me his hand. I took it and he lifted me from the ground. “Would you be okay if I held your hand?” he asked, smiling.

  I nodded, but the apprehension that I’d have to focus on that more than anything else worried me.

  Drake squeezed my hand slightly. “If you need your hand back, just let me know. I won’t be upset. I promise. Just tell me what you need. Deal?”

  This guy must be a figment of my imagination, some dream I’d concocted while high. I looked around and thought I’d fallen into the same old world of self-medication, but with one more squeeze, I knew it was real.

  We headed out of the building and I secured the chain around the door. “Can I ask for one favor?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Can I use that shower of yours? I’ve been sneaking into the YMCA since arriving in Atlanta. I wouldn’t mind a longer, hot shower.”

  “I think I could oblige.” His eyebrows rose high on his head and he smiled crookedly, but he averted his gaze and then led me down the road.

  We meandered down Peachtree Street and the fresh aroma of coffee drew me to my one addiction I still allowed. “Do you mind?” I pointed to the coffeehouse.

  He tugged me through the door into a make-everything-better aroma of coffee. “What would you like?”

  “Latté, please.” I pulled money from my pocket, but he held up one hand and stepped up to the cashier.

  “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  He smiled that melting smile of his that made my legs quiver. “I’m not taking care of you. It’s kind of a date. We’ll call it a practice date if you go with me today. Guys pay on a date.”

  My hands started to tremble. A date? I’d never been on a real date before. Was this really a date? Is this what people did on dates?

  “Don’t worry. Just be yourself.” Drake handed the cashier a credit card before I could even process what he was doing. I noticed it was the barista from before, the one with the snake tattoo with a tongue ending in an X. I nodded and she nodded back.

  “How long have you been living there?” Drake asked and we scooted around the counter from the ordering line to the pick-up side.

  “Since I arrived. It’s quiet. Trust me, it’s a good place.”

  He took a long breath and shook his head, the dark waves of his hair falling over his face then back to reveal his perfect, dark eyelashes. “You surprise me. Not many women can do that.”

  “Scarlet, up. Drake.” The barista set two paper coffee cups on the counter, capping them with plastic lids with a nod. Drake looked between us but released my hand, retrieved his coffee, and slid it into a cardboard sleeve.

  Usually by that point, I welcomed any physical contact to end, but my hand was cold, almost like it was lost from its home. I shook my head and placed my own cup into a cardboard sleeve, all the time imagining his fingers laced through mine once more. A moment later, my wish was fulfilled when he snagged my fingers and we exited to the downtown Atlanta noise pollution.

  Drake sipped his coffee and we walked along the main road to the skate park then turned toward Bands. “You walk this every night?”

  “Yeah, it’s not that far.”

  Drake quirked his head to the side. “I know, and I’m not your big brother, but you shouldn’t walk out here alone at night.”

  “You’re right. You’re not my big brother. I don’t want another one of those.” I rolled my eyes at the memory of Ton getting arrested for beating up a guy who had me pinned against the wall in the subway.

  “You have an older brother?” He lifted my hand to guide me over a skate ramp as if I were a princess on the way to a ball. Geesh, this would take some getting used to.

  “No, not really. My friend, Ton, back in New York City. He was like a big brother to me. He’s the one who set up the Community, where I lived before I came to Atlanta.”

  “What kind of community?”

  “It’s a place for people who have trouble staying clean, or who struggle with life in general. Ton started it with help from the Straight Edge community, and he works with a certain sect of the Straight Edge community in New York to keep things going.”

  “Do you keep in touch with him?”

  I shrugged. “No. I tried to call him once after I got here but it went to voicemail.”

  We walked in silence for a moment until we reached the front door to Bands. “Why don’t you borrow the phone inside? I’d lend you my cell, but it met its demise last night. I’ll go straighten up my bathroom a little before you come up.” He chuckled. “Not that I don’t think you could handle it.” He unlocked the door and we entered the dark dungeon-esque entryway.

  “You’d be surprised. Dark spaces don’t scare me, but you know your fear of rats? Well, mine is of sticky surfaces.” I winked.

  He pointed to a phone at the bar. “Come up when you finish your call.”

  I wiped the phone receiver down with my shirt and dialed Ton, half expecting it to go to voicemail again, but after two rings it clicked. “Hello?” His deep voice sounded perplexed.

  “Ton? It’s Scarlet.”

  “I’ve been worried about you. Why’d you take off like that?”

  “I told you I wanted to do this on my own,” I argued.

  A pause, then he said, “How are you doing with your sobriety and maintaining the lifestyle you’ve chosen?”

  “I haven’t gotten high,” I said with a little hint of pride.

  “And?” Ton waited.

  “And what?”

  “Come on, Scarlet. Don’t play games with me.”

  “I haven’t fucked a guy in a back alley after knowing him for five seconds if that’s what you’re asking, okay?”

  “I see Atlanta hasn’t changed your foul mouth and attitude.” He chuckled.

  I smiled, imagining his sweet laugh despite his massive frame and scary Rock look. “I got a job.”

  “I know, and then you got fired,” he retorted.

  I gritted my teeth, deciding to call him out. What could he do all those miles away? “I found my own job and I love it.”

  “Listen, Scarlet, I don’t want you to end up in trouble, or lost again.”

  “I know you want what’s best for me, and that you like to be in control, but I needed to do this on my own. You should support me. That’s what big brothers do. They lift their little sisters up, support them. At least that’s what some wise person told me once when I tried to go back to my foster father.”

  Ton growled on the other end. “Yes, well, if you had gone back, I would’ve dragged you home by your long purple hair and locked you in
a closet after beating that prick senseless. Child-molesting bastard. He should be shot.”

  “Don’t hold back. You’ve called him worse than a child-molesting bastard before. You must be going soft on me.” I laughed, but he didn’t join me. “Listen, I borrowed a phone to call you. I’ll try to get one of my own soon.”

  He cleared his throat. “Whose phone are you using? What’s Bands?”

  For a moment, I considered telling him about Drake and my job but decided it was best not to, since he’d only jump to conclusions. “I borrowed it from my boss, so I should get off now. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

  “If you don’t, I’ll call this number. If you don’t answer, I’ll find you and drag you back to New York. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir,” I mocked before I hung up, shutting down the rest of his reprimand.

  Following the back stairwell up to his office, I found Drake waiting at the top of the stairs with a strange look on his face. His eyes were downcast and his lips pressed together.

  “What’s wrong?” I shuffled to the last step then leaned back against the wall opposite him.

  Drake scrubbed his face and took a long breath. “I came down to see if Walter had gotten everything cleaned up when I overheard part of your conversation. Scarlet, I know it’s none of my business, but can I ask you something?”

  “I guess…” Warning bells sounded in my head that I should avoid what was coming, but I didn’t know how to stop it.

  He inhaled once more and dropped his hands to his side. “Did your foster father abuse you?” His hand gripped his jeans as if he was trying not to punch something. I’d seen the way his shoulders would slump, yet his arms would tense as if wanting to hit something. Ton had looked that way when he found out about my foster father, too, but this was worse. I saw the sorrow in his eyes. The look of disgust.

  I knew someday I’d have to tell him the truth. Better now before things became too complicated. Once he knew, he’d no doubt send me away and never want to look at me again.

  I toed the step, as if thinking I’d find courage in the scuffmarks on the black-painted wood. “It’s not what you think.”

  “You can tell me the truth. I can handle it.” He nudged forward, sending me back against the handrail. With one more step he blocked the stairs and my exit path.

  I looked over the balcony at the stage below and considered whether I’d break my ankle if I jumped to get away. “You say that now, but you’re imagining some sweet and innocent little girl that was abused, who should be cuddled and reassured that there’s nothing wrong with her. News flash. It didn’t go down that way. I’m not sweet, and I’m certainly not innocent.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Drake’s finger grazed my upper arm, startling me. I wasn’t able to process physical contact while confessing about a past I would rather stay hidden.

  He held his hands in front of him, palms facing me. “I won’t crowd you. I just want to assure you, there’s nothing you can tell me that will send me running.”

  I whipped my head from side to side, strands of hair lashing my cheeks. “No, you’ll throw me out. I know you will.”

  “You don’t believe that. And if you do, then you don’t give me enough credit.” Drake rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. The room remained silent for several loud heartbeats before he released the last bit of flesh from its prison. “Come on.” He tilted his head toward the hall. “If it’s that serious, then let’s sit down. I’ll even consider sharing something about myself that would make you want to run screaming from the room.”

  I angled my feet toward the stairs, but my curiosity won out. With a hesitant step, I followed a few feet behind him. While he took a seat at his desk, I remained in the doorway. How could the perfect Drake Markham have anything to confess near the level of my epic slutdom?

  “I promise I won’t send you away. Look.” He sat on his hands. Even with that goofy smile and weird ape-like posture, he still appeared confident and gorgeous.

  With a deep breath, I inched over to the chair by his side. While my body managed to remain in the seat, my gaze lunged to his hands.

  “I’ll keep them there, okay? I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

  I didn’t need to look to see him wink. His dark lashes always lowered when his words did a jig.

  “Fine. You want the truth?” I lifted my chin and pushed my shoulders so far back the blades nearly touched. “I fucked my foster father because I wanted to, not because he forced me.” I waited a long moment then dared to lower my chin enough to see something besides the ceiling tiles.

  Drake sat stone straight. “You’re still trying to shock me. It won’t work. Continue.”

  I didn’t stop to think; I flooded the room with my confession before I lost my nerve. “My foster mother caught us one day and tossed me out onto the streets. That’s when I ended up under a bridge, strung out on Oxy. I guess I got what I deserved.”

  Drake remained perfectly still, like a work of art from Michelangelo. “How old were you?” he said, with a low, deliberate voice.

  “When I left? Seventeen.”

  “How old were you when you were first with him?”

  “Fifteen. Why?” I quirked my head at him, daring to search his face for some sign of a reaction, but his mouth, lips, eyes, cheeks remained ice-sculpture frozen.

  “When you were fifteen, did you have trouble with people touching you? Not in a sexual way, but just a handshake or a slap on the shoulder?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. At least, I think that was the noise that swooshed from my lips. It sounded more like a zebra in labor. “Are you kidding? I ended up suspended from school more times than I can remember for fighting. Every time someone even bumped into me, I’d lose it. I’m a delinquent, according to my principal, teachers, and foster mother, but she was a bitch.”

  “So, you voluntarily had intercourse with your foster father even though you didn’t like people touching you?”

  Still, not one line creased his face. My nerves began to rapid-fire slugs into my internal organs. “Yes, but he helped me with that. You see, that’s how it all started. He gave me some pot to make me chill one time, and we figured out it helped. It sort of numbed my senses. A few months later, he brought some more home and while we got high he touched me everywhere. Next thing I knew, we had sex, and I didn’t want to peel my skin off halfway through. It was quick, so it worked for me.”

  Drake’s jaw twitched, the first indication of life beyond the marble facade.

  “Go ahead and hate me. I don’t blame you. After a while, the pot didn’t work, so he brought home pills, then coke, then whatever he could get his hands on. Heck, I can’t even remember all the drugs we tried. One night, we were both so strung out we never heard my foster mother come home. She went nuts. I don’t remember much, but the next morning I woke up facedown by a sewer with a gash in my shoulder and slashes across my back. I was in a lot of pain, so I went to a friend’s house and got wacked out of my mind. The rest of that year was more of the same. As long as I had drugs I could deal.”

  Drake’s knuckle popped and I saw his fingers clutching his legs in a vice grip. “You don’t see anything wrong with a grown man having sex with a minor? A girl he was supposed to be protecting?”

  I shrugged, the only thing I could manage with my insides twisting, turning, twirling with unease. Drug-hazed images of half-naked bodies, beatings, and blood combusted in my brain. At that moment, I’d do anything to make them fade back into the compartment where they’d been stored since I got sober. “So, you said you had your own dark past to share? Your turn. Spill it.”

  Drake’s hands slid from his legs and he balled one into a fist in front of him and clasped it with the other hand. Each knuckle popped then he did the same to the other hand.

  We sat in silence once more.

  One.

  Two.

  Ten beats sounded in my ears.

  He cast his gaze in my direction and his
lips pressed tight before he let out a loud, long breath through his nose and unfurled his fingers. “A few years ago, I was a real dick. You may have made mistakes in your life, but you didn’t know any better. I did. In college, I felt like I was something special and bagged a different girl every night, broke hearts without a thought. I was scum, but I didn’t care. I went to an Ivy League school, graduated, and secured an insanely high-paying job thanks to my dad’s connections in the industry. I bought expensive cars, dated celebrities, socialites, and anyone else that would help me climb the corporate ladder. Trust me when I say I had no morals at all.”

  He sighed and leaned back, stretching his strong legs out in front of him. His hands clamped behind his head and his gaze traveled along the tile ceiling as if searching for the spot I’d analyzed a few minutes before. “On opening night of this club I was supposed to be here. You see, this wasn’t my club, it was my brother’s, and I was supposed to be here to support him. He’d finally gotten his dream, and instead, I went to a bar, got drunk, and took a girl home. I can’t even tell you her name. The fact that I had a girlfriend didn’t make a difference to me at all. The next morning, I got the call that my entire family was killed in a car wreck by a drunk driver leaving the club.”

  I reached out but stopped myself. I wasn’t sure how to console someone. I’d never wanted to console someone before. My arm did this awkward dance in the air before I did one of those I’m-gonna-put-my-arm-around-you movie theater moves then quickly returned my hands to my lap. “That wasn’t your fault, though.”

  “No, but it could’ve been. I was driving drunk that night and hit a tree. I left the scene to go sober up. When I got the call, all I could think of was that I was the one who killed my family. After I spoke to the police, I knew it wasn’t my car, but that didn’t matter. The next week, I quit my job and came here. I’ve been working on this place, trying to make my brother’s dream a reality, but I lack his vision, his talent.”

  A twinkle of hope entered my heart. He’d never want to touch me again, but he might still need me to help him. This wasn’t about me, though. “Is this what you want? Do you really want Bands to work, or are you doing it out of guilt? That’s what Barbie accused you of that day, right?”