by Julie Reece
“Good.” Jeff ignores me. “Let’s go again.”
• • •
Grey and I sit at a traffic light in silence, the car’s engine purring steadily. I could curl up and sleep right here I’m so tired, but my mind nags me to ask Grey about whatever he started to say, back when I was bawling like a baby and wiping my nose all over my clothing. Charming, Bird, really. It’s shocking you don’t have a string of boyfriends by now. Still embarrassed over my outburst, I can’t bring myself to restart the conversation.
“Bird?” Grey’s voice breaks the silence. “How soon does Fenris need to go out?”
I shrug. “He should be okay for a while, yet.”
“Do you mind if I run an errand before I drop you off? I need to take something by Dylan’s.”
“Sure.” The light turns green, and I crane my neck around as we speed through the intersection where a sleek, red Camaro zings past. “You know, I really should get back to my car search. I’m starting to feel bad mooching all these rides off you when you won’t take any gas money.”
“I’m supposed to be with you as much as possible, remember? So even if you had a car, I wouldn’t let you drive. It’s my job.” He speaks with determination.
“You sure are stubborn, you know that?” I try to sound casual and diffuse the fact Grey just admitted I’m a duty, like voting or doing laundry.
“Unlike you?” He smiles. “Yeah, I know.” He pulls over and parks in front of a line of storefronts.
I peer out and read the words painted over the last doorway: Shatter Music Store.
“I’ll only be a minute. You can wait in the car and stay warm if you want.”
I nod.
“Lock the doors while I’m gone, okay?”
“Okay.”
Grey disappears into the one story, red brick building, and I snuggle down in my seat, but I’m not comfortable. All that water I drank during practice has come back to torment my bladder.
Reaching over Grey’s empty seat, I slide the key from the ignition and step out of the car. The Audi’s alarm chirps in response to my thumb on the key-lock. Wind harasses a few fallen leaves; they tumble and swirl around my legs as I hurry inside the store.
Chrome gleams. Wild colors adorn electric guitars everywhere. I’m surrounded by instruments. Someone in the back of the store is playing guitar, and the heavy base thrums inside my chest.
The guy behind the register is pale and gaunt, covered in tattoos and piercings, and purple circles underline both eyes. I’m thinking Lurch from the Adams Family or Keith Richards. I want to call 911 and see him hooked up for immediate intravenous feeding, but instead I ask, “Ladies room?”
He hands me the key and jerks his greasy head to the left. I hurry to open the door, but upon entering, the need to lock the room escapes me. The once white tiles are speckled black with mold and mildew. Inside the toilet is rusted orange and smells awful. A community hole in the ground of some third world county might be more sanitary than the cesspool where I stand. I can’t hold it, though, so I squat, still standing, and pray for no splash.
I can’t get out of the bathroom fast enough. The key goes back to the cashier when an advertisement behind the counter catches my eye. It looks a bit tattered, as though it’s been there awhile, but I can’t stop staring. Four guys in black jeans and t-shirts stand, shoulders back, feet apart. The words printed underneath say PUSH, September 15th. My breath catches in my throat at the singer in the center with a guitar hanging over his shoulder.
It’s Grey, but not as I’ve ever seen him. His hair is styled different, shaggy lengths razor cut to his shoulders, and the highlights contrast over eyes dark with liner. His ears are double pierced with silver hoops. His gaze reaches out to hold mine. It’s just a photo, but, man, there’s something about him. He’s so alive, commanding. To his left stands Dylan, ripped biceps protruding from short sleeves as he holds his bass. I don’t know the other two guys in the poster.
I point toward the wall. “Do you know the guys in the band, Push?”
Mr. Death twists his neck around. “Oh, yeah. They were awesome. Love their stuff.”
“Were?”
“Broke up when the singer’s brother died. That was messed up.” The guy rubs the dark place under one eye with his knuckle, and I wince. “Those guys could have taken off, you know? Totally weird you asked, too, ’cause the Wizard is here right now.”
The wizard?
Mr. Death’s gaze travels up and down my body giving me the willies. “Grey Mathews. He still comes in sometimes for supplies or just to hang. Do you want to meet him? I can arrange that. He knows me.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. Thanks anyway.” I start for the car.
“Are you sure?” He ogles me again. “I don’t think he’d mind.”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks for the … er, restroom.”
I climb back in the car and restart the engine before rubbing my hands together to try to squelch the butterflies in my gut. The face in the poster is seared in my memory. He’s confident, charismatic, gifted. I’m impressed and intimidated all over again and can only imagine the effect ‘the Wizard’ had on the girls who saw him perform.
Jeff’s voice plays like a recording in my head, “Keep things platonic. Professional.”
Reminders are good, right? It would be easy to fall for a guy whose talents seem endless, and I’m … well, I’m nobody, a job, Jane Doe.
Don’t forget that, Bird. You’re Jane Doe.
12
As we head to Dylan’s, we pass quaint houses, smiling shoppers, young couples holding hands as they visit chic boutiques and bistros.
“Grey?” I say.
“Hmm?”
“Do you … do you have a girlfriend?” Where the heck did that come from?
“You know I don’t, Birdie.” He lifts a brow like he does when he’s got questions. “I think it would have come up by now, don’t you? Why are you asking?”
Aw, hell. That came out all wrong. I decide it’s better to go with the truth. “I was thinking about you and groupies. I mean—”
“What?” He cuts his eyes over at me, and the car swerves a little.
A nervous giggle erupts from my lips, and I sound like a mindless bimbo. Get it together, Bird. I take a deep breath. “I needed to use the john, and I saw the poster of you that said Push, and the guy behind the counter told me some stuff. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, you know … um, yeah. But I wasn’t spying or anything.”
Grey’s shoulders stiffen, and my desire to know more about him drains along with the color in his face.
Nosy. Impatient. You just had to ask, didn’t you?
I bite my lip, wishing I could turn to dust and fly out the car window. He would have told me in time if he’d wanted to. “Crap. I’m sorry. I, of all people, should know better than to bug somebody about something they don’t wanna talk about. I’m an idiot. Just ignore me. I’m—”
“Shut up, Bird.” His words come out soft and quiet. The corner of his mouth hitches upward.
“Good idea.” I wring my hands in my lap.
“There’s nothing I won’t tell you about myself, but I asked you to wait in the car because I didn’t think I was ready to talk about this part of my past. It’s funny, now that it’s out there, I guess I am.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No. It’s okay.” He puts his hand on my arm. “I want to.” His hand relocates to the steering wheel. “We started the band in middle school. That’s when I met Dylan. We were obsessed, playing every waking minute. We got pretty good, started booking a few gigs around the southeast.” He smiles wanly, like the memory had mellowed over the last hundred years. “The longer we played, the better the venues got. We had a following. Cut a CD. My dad thought the band was harmless—a high school passion we’d abandon once we grew up. Typical dad stuff.
“He forgot the rest of us when Sean died.” Grey’s brow wrinkles. “My brother was, like, the golden child … good ath
lete, perfect grades. I couldn’t be jealous, though. He defended me all the time and supported my music. The perfect brother, son … or so Dad thought.”
Grey’s palm smacks the steering wheel, and I jump. “When Sean told my dad about the Navy, he lost his mind. I’ve never heard him go off like that, ever. Looking back, I think he freaked because he was afraid Sean could get killed … and then he did.”
“A piece of us is gone and won’t come back.” His eyes are glassy. I’ve learned to recognize pain, and Grey’s expression crucifies me with him. “Sean was the bridge between me and my dad. When Sean died, nothing mattered anymore. I quit the band, enrolled in Tech to study engineering, and when I became Sean, things got better. Dad’s happy again, more at peace.”
I swallow and put my hand on Grey’s arm. “I’m sorry, so sorry, but you know you can’t live someone else’s life, and you can’t live your life for someone else.”
“Really?” he says. “Then who are you living for?”
My lips press together when I realize I can’t answer. He’s right. There’s my mother, Shondra. Even the ghosts of people I’ve never met. Everyone but me.
• • •
The Bowen’s home is a 1920’s English Tudor, maybe a step down in size from the Grey’s Victorian, but awesome, nonetheless.
Dylan meets us at the door. “Hey, Bro.”
The boys clasp hands and bump shoulders.
“Brought a friend I see—the mysterious Ms. Orin. So, can I call this official?” His finger wags between Grey and me. “Does your status say ‘in a relationship’ yet?” He laughs like it’s the funniest thing ever.
Grey shoots him a dirty look. “Shut up, man. It’s not like that.”
That’s true, but Grey’s confirmation stings anyway.
Dylan laughs. “If you say so.” He grabs my hand and drags me inside.
Grey follows, speaking over my head. “I picked up your stuff from Sam’s. Everything’s in the trunk.”
“Awesome. Thanks, man, I’ll help you bring it in. You got time to jam?”
Grey raises an eyebrow at me, and I smile.
He grins at Dylan and nods. “Yeah, for about an hour. Bird’s got a dog she’s got to get back to.”
“Cool,” Dylan says. “I wrote something, but it needs the Wizard’s touch.” He nudges Grey and faces me. “You want to listen in, Birdie?”
The chance to hear him sing? Are you kidding? “Sure.”
“Awesome. I’ll call you when we’re ready. Just make yourself at home and hang out here a few minutes.”
I saunter over to a big leather couch and sit with my hands stuffed under my thighs.
A stack of boxes labeled ‘Christmas decorations’ sits in one corner. After waiting ten minutes or so, Izzy comes gliding down the stairs, red curls bouncing.
She stops short near the bottom stair. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Orphan Annie. You lost again?”
Nice to see you, too. I hold my tongue for the sake of the Mathews and the rest of the Bowens, who’ve been kind. “I’m waiting here for Grey and Dylan. They’re going to play.”
Her eyes widen, and I can tell the news takes her by surprise. She shrugs and closes the distance between us. “Whatev. So, you and Grey have been spending some time together, I hear. That’s … interesting.”
“Is it?”
“Well, he usually hangs with us.” She crosses her arms. “He doesn’t let people in easily. He’s got a soft heart underneath, though. I guess he must have felt sorry for you.”
Heat boils beneath my skin. Every girl has her limits, and I’ve about reached mine with this chick. “Look, I—”
“Oh, don’t get your nose out of joint, honey.” Her hands drop from her arms to her hips. “I’m looking out for Grey. He’s been through a lot—their whole family has. You’re totally freaking his mom out. She didn’t raise him to waste his time and considerable talent on tragic little waifs. Grey doesn’t need any more drama right now, and you don’t exactly fit with the Mathews’ standards, do you?”
“True, yet he’s still friends with you. That gives me hope.”
Her smile is wide but doesn’t reach her eyes. “Ooh, touché.”
I sigh and mentally kick myself. I’ve sunk to her level pretty fast. She doesn’t say one thing I haven’t considered myself, but I don’t want to hear about it from her. “Izzy … Grey told me about Sean, and I’m not here to make things harder. In fact, I’ve tried to distance myself.”
She snorts. “You could probably try harder, though, am I right? You’re Grey’s little project until he finds another. And you like it, don’t you? Poor, down-on-her-luck Birdie is getting attention from someone like him. He’s smart and likes a challenge, but he never sticks with anything too long.” Her green eyes shift toward some point in the distance. “He’ll figure it out one day. He already has everything he needs to be happy.”
“Oo-kay. Well, it’s been fun, but don’t let me keep you from whatever you were doing … painting your nails, watching infomercials, torturing small animals in the attic ….”
She smiles again, exposing perfect, white teeth, and sweeps her hair over her shoulder as if she’s a model in a shampoo commercial. “Funny, aren’t you? Too bad we had to meet this way. You might have been amusing to have around, but I’m not going to let Grey get hurt or even distracted. Bank on it. He’s like a brother to me.”
Brother? Right. “He’s lucky to have you,” I say and mean every word. I used to wish for someone to protect me like this, snark-queen or not. “If Grey gets tired of our friendship, he can go. I’m not the clingy type.”
Filtering through my brain, a melody starts soft and distant. An electric guitar churns music from somewhere below me.
She purses her lips. “Hmm. We’ll see. Stronger girls than you have tried, hon. And trust me, Grey will get tired of you.”
If she calls me honey one more time, I swear, as God is my witness, I’ll deck her. “Fun chat,” I say as she spins and heads off toward the kitchen.
She waves a hand in the air without looking back.
Drawn to the continuing sound, I move toward a door on the other side of the room. Someone is singing.
Grey?
Narrow stairs leading down to the basement creak under my weight. Not wanting to interrupt, I grab the handrail and crouch down on the fourth step to listen. Grey comes into view through the wooden balusters, singing into a mike, eyes closed. His voice comes out deeper, rough, bluesy, like a smoker. His voice isn’t what I expected.
My heart skips.
Is your mind troubled?
The dream haunts you like a shadow round the moon
Well lay it all down on me, baby
If you leave me it’ll all go brown too soon
Grey’s eyes open and zero in on me. He sings to me—at least it feels like it’s for me. His intense stare, coupled with the words to his song, enter my mind and pull me in like a tractor beam.
And I need you now
I I I … want you so bad, so badly now, baby
The memory’s like a black poison in the heart, yeah, darlin’
And if you leave me it’ll all turn brown too soon.
Whoa.
I suspect every girl who’s ever heard Grey sing is still pining away for him.
A door opens on the far side of the basement, and Dylan walks through, carrying the boxes we brought from Sam’s. His entrance breaks the spell. Grey’s guitar grinds to a halt, and I lift my hand from the rail, stiff from holding on so tight.
Dylan winks at me. “So, what do you think, Bird? He sucks, huh? Okay, now, onto the really good stuff, my song.” Dylan leans over a stool facing a thick spiral notebook. “I need some help at the bridge.”
Grey inclines his head toward me. His eyes ask a question, but I can’t figure out what he wants.
With my heart still stuttering in my chest, I run a hand across my stomach to hug my waist. The action seems enough of an answer because a slow smile spre
ads across his lips. The sight sends a tremor through my bones.
Jeff’s words hit me again: “Keep things platonic.”
I don’t think I can.
• • •
Two nights later, Scud fools with my cable box. It sits in my apartment beneath the new TV I bought a week ago and still haven’t used. I’m not big into movies, but Grey told me Kate is totally obsessed, so I asked Scud to hook me up. She wants to watch Elf. Ugh. I’ll do it, though—it’s a small sacrifice for a friend.
Grey is arguing with Scud over how to set the clock on the DVD player. Kate laughs at the two of them, each so stubborn and proud in their perspective knowledge of anything technical. I could care less. It’s just nice to share a normal evening, with normal people who seem to like me, despite my misgivings they could.
I smile as I watch the drama unfolding from my kitchen counter, happy in the knowledge I can scratch number three off my mom’s wish list for me: surround yourself with good friends you trust.
I fill bowls with chips and salsa as Kate rolls her eyes at the guys pulling wires from the wall socket and comes to stand with me. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. I’m trying to relax, to allow myself to be touched without flipping out. It’s supposed to be a good thing, I say to myself.
Fenris pads across the room and sits by the door.
Not now dog!
“Birdie,” Kate says. “Would you like to come with us to a concert?”
My muscles seize. Izzy’s exclusion of me in the suggestion of catching a show at Philips Arena sits front and center in my mind.
“We’re going to Ray LaMontagne at the Fox December fifth. He’s Grey’s favorite.” She grabs my arm and tugs. Her eyes widen, turn all pleading, while she bats her ridiculous eyelashes at me. “Please say you’ll go.”
My elbow bumps a jar of salsa, and I steady it with both hands . “I thought you were going to see Train.”
“Nah, that’s Izzy’s thing, and she was overruled by the guys. So, you’ll come?”
Kate’s answer doesn’t tell me whether or not Izzy will go, and, frankly, I’d rather not spend the evening with her.