by Ciara Knight
“Yeah, Margo has tried to convince me this was the wrong choice since I made it. I don’t know if it’s guilt, but for the first time in over a year I’m excited about the club. The way you look at this place is the way my brother once did. Seeing you smile or tap your foot to the music does something to me. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s good.”
I picked at a chipped fingernail and thought about the possibilities. “If you want Bands to work, I want to help. But if you don’t want me around, I understand.”
Drake leaned forward slowly until he knelt in front of me. He lifted his hands to my knee level, but didn’t touch me. “May I?”
I nodded and braced myself for his touch. This time, his hands cupped my fingers with the perfect amount of pressure, and I relaxed. Nothing too soft, and not irritating like a bug crawling up my arm, or hard like a car rolling over my foot.
“You see yourself in this dark way, but you haven’t had it easy. Despite everything you’ve been through, you left a city where you had a person who offered you protection to make it on your own. With no money, no phone, living in an abandoned warehouse, you’ve made it. I’m in awe of you. You’re like no other woman I’ve ever known.”
I smiled. “It sounds like you’ve known many.”
His soft laugh filled the room. “Yes, but none like you.” He ran his thumb over my skin and I gasped, but it felt amazing. “Can I ask you something?”
My stupid shoulders rose and fell once more.
“You said you…fucked your foster father. Have you ever been intimate with anyone? I mean, loved someone instead of just having sex with them?”
I thought about it. “Sex is usually something I do to feel a release of sorts. It’s always been quick. I can’t stand much more than that.” A shiver hopped from rib to rib along my spine until it reached the back of my neck at the thought of prolonged exposure to sticky skin and bad breath.
“I haven’t, either. Despite all the women I’ve been with, I’ve never made love to any of them. I mean, they left as satisfied as I did, but I never emotionally connected with any of them.”
I thought for a moment and decided to reciprocate the movement of his thumb, brushing it over his knuckles. He sighed and closed his eyes.
“I won’t ask you to tell me anymore about your past right now, but if and when you’re ready, I’ll listen to anything you want to share. Know this, though, Scarlet.”
“What?” I continued to brush my thumb over his skin, feeling each little bump and groove, but it didn’t send horrific chills deep inside my bones.
“You’re something special.” Drake looked at the clock then back at me. “Listen, I need to get going, so go shower and I’ll be back in a few. We can talk more on the way.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, still trying to catch up with our conversation and where he was going with all this.
“To visit my grandmother. I go every Sunday since my parents passed. It’s up in the Georgia Mountains and I don’t want to miss seeing her, so go get ready. We’ll work in the car on the way.”
“I don’t have any clothes except what I’m wearing,” I protested. “Besides, isn’t it a little early to introduce me to your relatives? I’ve never been introduced to family before. I mean, she’s gonna take one look at me and wonder why her Ivy League grandson is with some streetwalker. Don’t get me wrong. I’m fine with who I am now. I don’t want to change for anyone, but she’s never going to understand a girl with purple hair and tattoos.”
“Have I lied to you yet?”
A lava-like burn seared my stomach at the thought of meeting family. I’d lost mine so long ago, I could barely remember what it felt like. Having to remember manners, make eye contact, shaking hands, avoiding curse words, and just generally acting like a human being. Too much. It was way too much. But still, I shook my head.
“Then get in that shower. It’s time to go meet Nana.”
Chapter Thirteen
I stepped from the cracked tile shower and wrapped a towel around my body. The fresh scent reminded me of my mother’s sheets. I hadn’t smelled that crisp outdoor aroma since childhood. It was funny how a certain smell or sound could draw me back in time to over a decade ago.
I leaned against the sink and wrapped my arms around myself. “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t make you proud, but I’m going to now.”
My skinny jeans, long-sleeve T-shirt, and underclothes lay on the linoleum floor. The thought of putting them back on my clean skin made me cringe. Holding the towel tight, I opened the bathroom door and leaned out. “Drake? You there?”
No answer.
Avoiding my T-shirt, bra, and undies, I slid on my jeans, figuring going commando was best at this point. Perhaps he had a T-shirt I could borrow. Leaving the warm, steamy bathroom behind, I trotted down the hall to his office, but there was no sign of him or any clothes. Then I recalled the boxes of band merchandise downstairs. I could buy one of the T-shirts.
After a quick glance over the balcony, I tightened the towel around my breasts and headed for the stairs. At the bottom, I spotted the baby grand piano tucked into the wing off stage. The music Drake played the other day whirled through my brain and I longed to finish the song, a calling to complete something left unfinished. I had to fix the off beats and mismatched rhythms.
I shuffled in my bare feet to the piano bench, sat down, and secured my towel so it wouldn’t fall. Arching my fingers, I brushed my hand against the smooth, ivory keys. It had been years since I played, not since three foster homes ago. I never had a lesson and still couldn’t read sheet music, but I could feel it as if the music in my brain had overflowed and spilled down into my fingers.
My fingers settled on the piano keys, my hands arched, and my brain shifted to the slow, sensual sound of Drake’s song.
My eyelids closed, sealing the surrounding room from my consciousness. That inexplicable yearning inside me conjoined with the melody. I surrendered to the sensual soiree, the higher notes promenading with the grace of a champion ballroom dancer. My shoulders rose and fell with the tete-a-tete.
I played as if the piano breathed for me, thought for me, lived for me. Note after note, I felt love, loss, longing. Tears trickled over my cheeks and into my mouth. I tasted the sadness of Drake’s song, the same sadness I had lived.
I slid my hands to the bass keys and pounded the approach of danger. Deep, hollow, broken. I found where Drake had faltered in the song. My breath was shallow, but I played on. The melody crescendoed to a battle cadence.
Da-drum. Da-drum. Da-drum.
Faster, faster, faster.
The song peaked, a high, mountainous peak. Energy faded, and the beats trailed into a sweeping calm. My fingers fell from the keys. I slumped, exhausted.
The floor creaked and I jolted. Drake dropped his bag, a flash of intense emotion. I flinched, waiting for the anger I knew was coming to rule his fists.
“Don’t. I wouldn’t hurt you.” He sat next to me on the bench, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, his back to the keys. “I’d never hurt you,” he said, his voice trembling more than my hands.
“I…I didn’t mean to—”
“Beautiful.”
I turned slightly and his gaze dropped to my exposed neck.
“The song.” His voice cracked like the lead singer of a punk band after a long set. His gaze settled back on my face. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
I shook my head. “Don’t understand. You looked mad. I thought I’d done something…”
He rested his forehead to mine. My pulse sped. What did I do? What did he want from me?
He only breathed. Once, twice, three times. Then he touched me, his hand a whisper across my collarbone. “You finished it. My brother’s song.”
I shifted, but he put a hand over mine. “Don’t. Don’t run.” He cupped my face and he raked his fingers through my wet hair, pulling it away from my shoulders. “You’re special. The most special…” When his lips traced the li
ne his hand had trailed, I knew I wanted more. Something real.
I untucked my towel and let it fall to my waist. Exposed, open to his touch. No drugs, no running, no wall-banging.
Him.
Me.
Intimate.
Intimate beyond my experience. I wanted to know what it would be like to feel Drake’s hands on my breasts. I wanted to know if I could tolerate his touch the way I wanted to.
I wanted to know.
I wanted to know.
I wanted to know.
He paused and lifted his face to meet my eyes. Unable to form words, I nodded. His chest rose and fell with an exaggerated breath while his hand slid down between my breasts. I remained rigid but didn’t slap his hand away. His mouth dipped to my neck, and my head tilted back as heat radiated to my chest.
My breath quickened. The smell of fresh laundry, Drake’s light rain-scented shampoo, and the rhythmic breathing from both of us relaxed my shoulders, and I wanted him to touch me.
His kisses continued along my jaw until he nibbled my ear. I tensed again as he neared the back of my neck. With a slow retreat, his tongue did delicious things under my chin and down my front. One of his hands drifted to my spine and he guided me into a back bend. My body didn’t protest at all. Instead, my chest craved his touch.
His other hand moved to the border of my breast and one word slipped from my lips. “Drake.”
Breath after breath, I thought I’d go mad as his hand inched toward the center of my breast, my nipple peaking in anticipation. My insides trembled with need, and when his thumb finally slid across my nipple I whimpered, actually mewled at the sensation. How could this be happening? It wasn’t possible. Soft lips danced across where his thumb just explored, and I arched into his mouth.
Swipes of his warm, wet tongue drove me mad, sending my body into a state of inebriation, a woozy blur of bliss. My mind and body registered nothing in the world except his lips. My senses were on overload and I could only focus on his euphoric exploration of my body.
He broke away. The loss of his touch startled me back to reality. Pleasure no longer ruled my senses, and I heard the heat cut on overhead. The piano keys clanked as I lifted my elbow from where it had braced me.
His arms wrapped around me and he pressed me against his chest. Nuzzling his nose into my neck, I felt his eyelashes flutter against my skin. “See? You can be touched.”
I took a stuttered breath and leaned back to face him. His lips curled into a smile, and I wanted to taste him again, to lose myself from this world, and only feel him. But when I brushed my lips to his, he kissed me softly then turned his head and whispered, “I can’t. I’m way too turned on right now. I think it’s my turn for a shower. A cold one.”
“It’s okay.” I slid my hand up his thigh, but he captured it before it could go too far.
“No, I want to make love to you in a way we’ll both remember and enjoy. We both need time. For once, I want to really know a girl before I take her to bed, and something tells me you’re worth the wait.”
For a moment, I was taken aback. “You’re saying no?” No guy had ever turned down sex. “Was it not—”
“It was everything. That’s why I want time with you. Something tells me if I push things now, I could lose you forever, and I’m not willing to take that risk.” He kissed my fingers one at a time. “Do you know, I’ve never told a girl I loved her?”
Cool air brushed across my skin, reminding me I was naked from the waist up. I quickly retrieved my towel, but he didn’t release my other hand. Instead, he kissed below my neck and, slipping his hand from mine, gently wrapped the towel around me, tucking it between my breasts.
“I want to know what love is, Scarlet. I’ve blocked out every emotion since my family died, and in that music everything flooded to the surface. For the first time, I didn’t feel dead inside. You need slow nurturing for a change, and I need a chance to let my heart heal and open to the possibility.”
I swallowed the lump forming at the back of my throat. “Possibility for what?”
“Love.”
Emotion stirred inside me, but was it love, fear, loneliness? “How do you know what love feels like? I was told by a clinician once that I would never be capable of that emotion.”
He shook his head. “I bet you were also told you could never enjoy physical intimacy without being high.” He tipped my chin up so I had to look into his eyes. “And I think we both just proved that’s wrong.”
I smiled, a real smile. One of dreams and the promise of something that could be. For once in my life, I felt…hopeful.
Chapter Fourteen
I reached for the door handle of Drake’s car, but he snagged it first. “Practice date, remember? I open doors for you and pay for lunch. That’s what guys do on a date.”
The odor of car fumes choked my reply, or maybe it was the word date. Either way, I sat in the passenger seat without a word. To my relief, the interior didn’t possess that new-car smell or was doused in some obnoxious deodorizer. Instead, I smelled only the rain-fresh scent of shampoo and the earthy aroma that was all Drake.
He hopped into his side and closed the door. Turning the key, his car roared to life. My body enjoyed the vibration of a muscle-car engine; the rumbling sensation soothed the jitter from my joints and insides.
“Nice.”
“It’s the only thing I haven’t hocked or sold to keep Bands afloat.” He pulled out of the parking space and bounced us over a few speed mountains, heading toward the busy streets of downtown Atlanta.
“Hope you can turn things around, if that’s what you want.” I didn’t know what to say. The word date kept echoing in my head, making it hard to think of anything else.
After one quick stop at a store to replace Drake’s cell, he maneuvered onto the highway and we were headed to the mountains. “I know this Battle of the Bands will work. It has to.”
“Why do you think the club has struggled so much? I mean, fancy degree and all.”
“Because I didn’t want it bad enough. I half-assed the job, because I never saw the vision of the place.”
The buildings flew by in a blur of tall gray. I gripped my knees and enjoyed the way the vibrations traveled up my legs, into my hands, all the way to my shoulders. “Then why didn’t you sell it and go back to your job?”
Once we were on the highway, he lowered his hand to the gearshift and I started to resent the quieter hum of the engine. The silence had created the first awkward moment between us.
He sucked in a long breath and I noticed a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “At first, I think I was punishing myself. I hated the world for taking my brother away, and despised myself even more for my sins. We’d been close once, I’d taken care of him most of his life. When kids teased him, I’d handle it. When he couldn’t deal with a situation, I dealt with it. When he couldn’t get a job, I found him one. Then one day he didn’t need me anymore and everything changed. He found himself; his talent erupted into a world of opportunities. He not only signed a major record deal, he opened the club.”
Stalling for an excruciating second, he clicked his blinker on and changed lanes. I opened my mouth, thinking he was waiting for me to speak, but I had no words. What was I supposed to do, say?
Drake gripped the steering wheel tight, his gaze transfixed in a hard stare ahead. “I didn’t relate to him anymore, and I pursued my own desires in life. I think I was a little jealous of how happy music made him. I’d never found that kind of happiness, except the temporary satisfaction of purchasing a luxury item. Money and women were my life. He had love and purpose.”
I’d never thought of happiness, only survival. How did I relate to a man with money and education and family? He should be with a socialite, actress, model, not a street reject.
“Scarlet?” he asked after a moment, his voice sounding shaky and unsure.
“Yes?”
“Can I hold your hand?”
Relief flooded me. “Sure.”
I turned my hand over, palm up, and he captured my fingers with his. It wasn’t the zap of want that electrified my system, or the breath that stuck in my lungs, but the lack of need to jump from the moving vehicle that surprised me.
He changed lanes to the HOV and hit the gas. “Can I ask you something else?”
“I guess.”
He paused as if to contemplate something; his upper body tensed. “The song. How did you know it?” He sat stone still, except for his foot sliding between the brake and gas pedal.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
His fingers squeezed my hand and a sense of calm coated my fear. Was this what people referred to as comfort?
“It’s okay. I just wanted to know. Did I leave the sheet music out or something?”
I shook my head and kept my eyes on the bright red car zooming past us. “No. It wouldn’t change anything if you did. I can’t read music.”
Drake’s head snapped to the side. I could see his wide eyes in my peripheral vision, before he looked straight again. “Then how?”
“I, uh, hear music and it stays in my head.” I picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on my skinny jeans.
“I see, but how did you finish it? I’ve been trying to finish it for over a year and you did it in one day. One hour.”
“I didn’t finish it…exactly.” I squirmed in my seat, but his hand squeezed, reassuring me I was safe. “You see, your brother finished it.”
Drake’s mouth fell open, but he recovered quickly. “How? He’s gone.”
The strain in his voice caused a strange heaviness in my chest. “All the threads were already in the music—the patterns, the melody, the build-up. I just followed the natural pace and flow until it came to fruition.”
“You can do that?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
The heat in the car cut on, blasting warm air at my face. I shifted the vent so it pointed away. “That’s the best way I can describe it. I just play what I hear and project from the organization. I’m no musician. I guess you could say I’m more of a mathematician of music.”