by B. B. Miller
“Other than my brother, probably not. And even he’s a stretch.”
I feel the train before I see it; the distinctive squeal, the tracks shaking under the platform. The cars blur past before it finally screeches to a stop.
A gust of air blows her hair in front of her face, and I can’t stop myself from reaching over to tuck the wayward strands behind her ear. “I’m trying to decide if I like your hair up or down better.”
Her eyes widen and meet mine, but she doesn’t recoil from my touch. I drop my gaze to her plump lips, watching as they part slightly, begging me to taste them. She’s so fucking tempting, and I can’t remember the last time I actually wanted to get to know someone—really know them, and not just for a couple of hours that are soon forgotten.
I’m jostled from behind, bringing me back to reality and causing me to bump against her. I hear a quick gasp, and my arm instinctively curls around her waist as we’re edged through the open doors from behind.
She laughs, and it’s a nervous, sweet sound I want to hear again. Her hand flies up to the metal handrail, steadying herself, and I refuse to let her move any further away from me. Now that I’ve touched her I need more. I grip either side of the rail above her head, cocooning her right where I want her.
“Kennedy . . .”
My name is a whispered warning from her lips, sending red hot heat firing through my veins. “No turning back now.”
“Stay right here.” I lean casually against the wall of the subway station, waiting for the train to disappear down the track. To anyone looking on, we’re just two people, hanging out and waiting for the next train. But, I’m on edge, literally vibrating with anticipation. I underestimated what having her close would do to me.
“What are we doing?” she hisses, her hair flying when the train speeds away, until it’s only her and me, and the silence of the station.
“This way.” I move along the length of wall, glancing back to see her following, stealing looks over her shoulder.
“Is this legal?” she whispers as I jump down to the shadow of the tracks, into the damp and dirty no man’s land.
“Not even remotely.”
I can see her hesitate, her eyes wide and excited. “Trust me.”
My voice carries through the vastness of the cavernous tunnel, and with a grin, she puts her hand in mine and does just that.
“This is incredible,” she whispers in awe as I shine the small flashlight onto another mural—this one more cryptic than the last. It’s a dark piece, splashed with only intermittent streaks of scarlet red, and hints of something sinister and forbidden.
We’re in an abandoned, uncompleted subway station that houses a street art exhibition few people even know exists. To some, it’s an urban legend, an elusive conquest. To the police and subway security, it’s an annoyance.
“How did you find out about this place?”
“One of the artists did our last album cover. He told me about it. And you don’t have to whisper. No one is going to find us.” I lead us slowly down the darkened gallery.
“Why are you doing this? Bringing me here?”
I look down at her as she takes a step away. “I’m trying to—”
“But see? Here’s what I don’t get. You don’t have to try. You’re already off the hook. It would be so much easier for you if you just signed some CDs, maybe a T-shirt or two. No one is holding you accountable for Parker.”
“What if I don’t want to be off the hook? What if I want to be accountable? Parker deserves more than a few signed posters.”
“Yes. He does, but he’ll be thrilled with that.”
“Would you believe me if I said it’s not just for Parker? I’d like to tell you that this is a selfless act. But the truth is it’s not. I need to do this.”
“This is about your image, isn’t it?”
“No. That’s not what this is about, at least not for me. When we lost Robin . . .” I take a deep breath, trying to find the words she deserves to hear. “My sister died in a car accident.”
I see what I don’t want to in her expression—she feels sorry for me. “Kennedy, I’m so sorry. I can’t imag—”
I don’t let her finish. This has been gnawing at me for so long, just begging me to release it, so I push on. “When we lost her, it was . . .” I feel my heart tighten.
“You don’t need to say anything,” she says quietly.
“Fuck, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but maybe you’ll understand if I do.” Those devastating hazel eyes search mine, and I push on. “Robin always thought I should do more. I’ve donated to charities and played at functions for different things over the years, but for her, I wasn’t doing enough.” I swallow back the lump in my throat. “The night of the accident, we were supposed to meet with a group of people she had gotten together to discuss setting up a charity. I had put her off for weeks. My schedule was nuts, and I was a lot like you saw me at the Fairmont.”
“I should apologize for that, for my behavior.”
“No. I should be the one apologizing. You were right. Everything you said to me that day was right. I was hung over, and the truth? Probably still high when you saw me. I deserved everything you said and more. Trust me.”
I take her hand with a gentle squeeze, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine. She offers me a ghost of a smile, a little encouragement that spurs me on. “Before the accident, I was drinking everything in sight when I wasn’t performing. Robin and I used to fight about it all the time.” I give a half laugh, remembering how we used to go rounds on it. “Anyway, I had totally blown her off that day, didn’t even call her, and she showed up at the hotel, demanding for me to get my shit together. We just screamed at each other, and I said some awful things. Shit.”
“People say things when they’re mad. It happens all the time.” Gently, her hand slides to my shoulder. “You can’t beat yourself up for it.”
“I told her to get the fuck out of my life. It’s the last thing I ever said to her. The next time I saw her we were putting her in the ground.” Her eyes brim with tears, her grip tightening against my shoulder. “I’m not telling you this for you to feel sorry for me. Fuck, I don’t want your sympathy. I just want to do something she would be proud of.”
A lone tear streaks down her cheek, and I can’t resist brushing it away. Her skin is tempting against the rough pads of my fingers, and my eyes drop to her soft lips. She’s right there, sharing this intense pull that sparks between us, her eyes searching mine, and for a second, I think maybe, just maybe . . . “She’s proud of you,” she says quietly. “Look at everything you’ve done.”
“Like treating you like I did the first time we met? Drinking my way through bottle after bottle? Yeah—she’d be real proud of that.”
“What about everything else? Your awards? Your success? The way you are with your fans? You can’t always look at the bad.”
“Awards don’t mean shit. In this business, you’re only as good as your next hit, your next tour. They always want more no matter how many awards you get.”
“But you love that, don’t you? Isn’t that why you got into music in the first place? Because you love it. You can’t imagine doing anything else?”
Smiling, I lean against her, feeling the tempting curve of her body against mine. “Someone’s been doing a little research. Maybe some late-night reading when you can’t get to sleep?” I tease, shining the light onto her face. She turns away with a chuckle, shielding her eyes from the glare.
“Put that thing away,” she manages to say through a laugh.
“Haven’t heard that one before.” I turn to the opposite wall to cast the light over the next mural. “What do you think of this one?” I grin down at her as she takes in the chaotic design before she meets my gaze.
“I think there’s a lot to it. More than people think. And it’s worth spending time getting to know more about it.”
Abigail
His smile broadens for a brief moment,
before his perma-smirk returns, and he looks away shyly. It’s another display of that devastating blend of drop-dead sex appeal and coyness that has almost brought me to my knees several times this evening. The fact that he seems completely unaware of what he’s doing makes it even more appealing.
“Good to know.” He aims his flashlight back down the gallery and gives my hand a gentle tug. “Well, we’ve come to the end of the line. Are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear my belly growling.
“Good. Me, too.” He leads me back down the tunnel and past the amazing artwork. This evening has been a revelation in ways that I’m still trying to grasp.
“Don’t tell me—you know of an underground café run by renegade gnomes or something?” I return his teasing smile as he laughs.
“No, but I do have a destination in mind,” he assures me with a wink. “I hope you haven’t reached your quota of adventure yet.”
A soft chuckle escapes me. “No, not yet.”
We navigate our way in silence down the dark, lonely tunnel and back to a regular platform. Everything about this evening so far has been incredible.
I notice, with a degree of sadness, that he’s pulled his hood up again and angled himself away from the drunken couple at the other end of the platform. I don’t think they even noticed when we climbed up from the tracks, but it seems he’s taking no chances. I’m not sure I could stand living such a public life and having to take such precautions just to maintain a modicum of privacy. I’m never going to take my anonymity for granted again.
With a rush of noise and air, the train arrives and he ushers me on. I take hold of one of the poles and find myself encircled from behind by a strong pair of arms. He places his hands over mine on the cold metal and presses his hard chest against my back. “Wouldn’t want to fall, now, would we?” he murmurs in my ear, his warm breath caressing my neck. Words fail me, so I simply nod and try not to shiver as his chuckle vibrates through me. No, I don’t want to fall . . . in more ways than one.
My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest as I melt into his warmth. No man has ever provoked this kind of reaction or this kind of unbridled exhilaration from me before. I’m not sure what to do with this much pure giddiness coursing through my body, but I’d better get a handle on it quickly.
Because now it’s obvious why he’s trying so hard; I must remind him of his sister. It doesn’t really have anything to do with me personally, but only with the foundation and my desire to help the kids. His anguished expression as he told his story almost broke my heart. He feels guilty about Robin; he shouldn’t, but he obviously does. This is something I understand. How many years did I beat myself up over what happened with Lucas? I close my eyes and savor the warmth surrounding me, my emotions warring. It would be so easy to let this silly infatuation bubbling inside of me take over, but I know I can’t. Not when he’s simply reacting to his guilt and remorse.
It’s admirable that he wants to prove to me, or at least to the memory of his sister, that he can reform himself somehow for the greater good. And, for reasons I can’t quite explain, I need to help him if I can. Parker is the main reason, of course. But now there’s also . . .
The train lurches to a squealing stop, jarring me out of my thoughts. When the doors slide open, my human cage releases me and takes my hand securely to lead me off the train and up the station steps to emerge once again on the streets of New York.
“Where are we?” I look around, but nothing is familiar.
“Not far from the hotel. Come on.” He gives me a devilish smile. I appreciate that he shortens his stride to allow me to keep up in my not-made-for-walking boots.
After a few minutes, we come upon a row of food carts. Based on the crowd milling around, they must be popular. Kennedy pulls me to a stop in front of one shiny trailer, and we join the short line. The tantalizing aromas of cinnamon, cumin, and turmeric swirl heavy in the air. “Do you like lamb?” He glances down at me, and I nod. “Good. Still trust me?”
“It’s worked out so far tonight.”
His lips quirk in amusement, and he turns and places our orders at the window. Minutes later, we’re strolling down the street with cardboard containers of succulent grilled, marinated lamb and vegetables over fluffy rice. I have to force myself not to inhale it.
“Wow. This is delicious,” I comment. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I did promise you dinner, after all.” He nudges me playfully with his elbow, and I laugh.
“Yes, you did.”
I have no idea where we are, but I find myself not caring. Kennedy clears his throat and looks at me nervously. “So, what’s next? You know, with Parker. What do I need to do?”
“Well, it depends on your schedule,” I say between bites. “You’re right when you say Parker deserves more than a few signed posters. What do you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking about a benefit concert?”
I nod thoughtfully. “That sounds wonderful. But when? Doesn’t your tour start soon?”
“I could work it in.”
“But your schedule isn’t the only one at stake here,” I remind him, my voice sterner than I intend. “Parker’s been having a hard time of it. His last chemo treatment really took a lot out of him. I need to be careful about what he’s exposed to.”
He purses his lips and shoots me an irritated glare. Snatching my empty container from my hands, he stalks to a nearby garbage can and chucks our trash in. “You know, Abby—I’m trying here,” he says defensively. “I’m obviously not a saint, but damn it, ease up, would you?”
My gaze darts to his and remorse washes over me when I look beyond his scowl to the hurt in his eyes. He is trying. He’s revealing the side of himself that lives beyond the flashbulbs, and he’s confided in me. I don’t know what will come of it yet, but he is trying.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I place my hand on his arm. “Parker’s medically fragile and needs to be stronger if you plan on holding an event outside the hospital. Whatever happens will ultimately depend on his condition.” He huffs in frustration and looks down at my hand, but doesn’t shake me off. Instead, he looks back up at me contritely, his eyes searching mine.
“Sorry. I’d thought we were past . . . Well, past your initial reservations. I apologized for my behavior in San Francisco. Please don’t hold it against me.”
“I’m not. I’m simply . . .” Withdrawing my hand quickly, I glance down, debating with myself. I’ve only told a few people my story, but maybe if he hears it, he’ll understand my hesitations concerning Parker. Although Kennedy keeps asking me to trust him, he’s shown how much he trusts me tonight. In fact, he’s shown me since that day he gave me his phone number. It’s time I repaid it.
“Lucas and I met in high school,” I begin quietly, and he looks at me cautiously, no doubt wondering what the hell I’m talking about now. I resume walking, and he falls in step beside me, our hands brushing occasionally. “He was the star running back on the football team, and our dads were friends. My dad was the police chief, and his owned the local grocery store. Lucas was smart, but he’d never been the best student. My dad asked if I’d be willing to tutor him in English.”
“It was probably just a convenient excuse to get to know you,” Kennedy teases, one eyebrow cocked.
“Doubtful.” I chuckle, remembering my awkward teenaged self. “I wasn’t on many people’s radar. I was more often studying at home than sitting in the stands at a game. I liked football, but I had other priorities.”
“I bet you were on more people’s radar than you realize,” he murmurs, so quietly that I’m not sure I was supposed to hear. He clears his throat before continuing in a normal tone, “So, you started dating?”
“Not until that summer. He was funny and charismatic, and I fell head over heels. Our fathers were pleased; Lucas’s dad thought I’d be a good influence on him.” I laugh, but the sound is hollow. “We both ended up gettin
g into Cal. Lucas went on a football scholarship, but he wasn’t the only star on the team anymore. He really had to work to become a starter. Then, in the last game of the season, this huge defensive lineman flattened him and separated his shoulder. He was given a prescription for Percocet for pain.”
Kennedy shifts uncomfortably, but remains silent, so I continue, “He worked on rehabbing his shoulder during the rest of the school year, and recovered fairly quickly. I remember finding a half-full bottle of his prescription that spring, which was surprising because I’d thought he was done with it, but he said it was old, and that he’d forgotten he had it. He took it from me, threw it away, and that was that.”
“However, in our sophomore year, a couple of his teammates caught him using OxyContin at a party, and he was suspended for one game. The team made him go to counseling. He swore to me it was just a one-time thing, that a couple other guys had tried it, too, except they didn’t get caught. And I believed him. I knew a couple of his teammates, and I could see how that could happen. More importantly, I couldn’t imagine that he would lie to me.
“We didn’t go home that summer; I was taking extra classes so I could complete my double major, as well as working. Lucas stayed with me and got a job doing yard work. He’d been after me to leave the dorms and move into an apartment with him, and I finally agreed to do it that summer.”
“Don’t tell me that you actually lived in sin with a boy?” He places a hand against his chest in mock horror, and I roll my eyes.
“Don’t look so shocked,” I reply dryly. “I’ve probably done plenty of things that would raise even your eyebrows.” At his eager grin, I laugh. “But that’s another story for another day.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Anyway, that’s when things changed. Fast.” I’m quiet for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “Our junior year began, but Lucas was . . . different. Distracted. The occasional late practice became more of a constant, and sometimes he wouldn’t come home until really late. And he wasn’t eating—his coaches started riding him because he was losing weight. I started worrying. So I showed up to surprise him with some dinner one night at practice, but he wasn’t there.”