by Kacey Shea
“Sure. Yeah. Go ahead. Thanks for asking first.” Trent rolls his eyes, but doesn’t glance up from his phone. He’s been texting Lexi on and off for most of the game anyway.
“I guess game time is over. ’Night.” Sean pushes to his feet, his body swaying with the roll of the bus as he shuffles over to his bunk and climbs inside.
Seconds turn to minutes and still Opal doesn’t come back. I clean up the beer cans, needing to do something while I wait. She probably wants space. She sure as hell doesn’t need me. But shit, do I feel like shit. The woman who I thought was sweet and untouched by anything but good holds a great amount of pain behind those gorgeous green eyes.
With the kitchen clean and the table wiped down, I feel more like a jerk than ever. She still hasn’t come out of the bathroom. I can’t stand it anymore. The need to check on her overpowers any sense of propriety as I make my way down the hall. I knock on the door softly.
“Just a minute.” She falters through what sounds like a sniffle. Fuck. I made her cry. I didn’t know about her parents, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. She cracks open the door and the redness of her nose only confirms the hurt I’ve triggered. Her gaze drops to the floor. “Excuse me.”
I don’t move for her to pass. “I’m sorry . . . I-I didn’t—”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I’m sorry for your loss.” I meet her gaze when it snaps to mine. “About your parents.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes. God, they cut right through my soul. Swimming with such pain and emotion, and yet for once she doesn’t shy away or hide. Her vulnerability is right there to witness.
The need to acknowledge it comes before anything else. “Do you miss them?”
“My parents?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“It’s hard to miss something you never really had.” Her gaze focuses over my shoulder, not quite meeting my eyes. She inhales sharply and I swear she doesn’t see the interior of the bus right now. She’s somewhere else completely. “Still hurts.”
Truer words were never said. How many times have I longed for my mother to embrace me in a hug, or my dad to invite me into his office for something other than a verbal lashing? How many nights did I come home to a giant empty house and wish for someone to notice I was there? To love me for more than my accomplishments.
She clears her throat. “Did I ruin the game?”
“Not at all. Austin took a call in Trent’s room. Trent’s texting Lexi, and Sean turned in for the night.”
“I should probably do the same,” she says without much conviction.
I don’t want her to go to sleep yet. Maybe it’s because I’m not ready to be alone, but more likely it’s that when I’m around her, everything feels lighter. Free. Good. For once she’s hurting and I feel this yearning need to comfort and console her. “Dessert? We haven’t had dessert.”
Her brows rise with surprise. “You’re still hungry?”
“Only for something sweet.” I clear my throat. “You? At least join me so I don’t feel like a loser.”
“Sure.”
Opal follows me back to the kitchen where we discover Trent passed out and laying long ways on the bench seat. He appears comfortable enough, and since Austin’s still occupying his room I don’t wake him. I also don’t want to share this moment. Something about this feels important. After all, I was the one to dredge up her past and make her cry. I need to make things right.
Reaching inside the freezer, I pull out two individual tubs of ice cream and then grab two spoons. I nod to the floor, near the recliners and where we have our guitar lessons. Opal pads over and takes a seat against the wall. I slide down next to her, delighting in the touch of her body against mine, even if it’s totally platonic.
“Chocolate chip cookie dough or bourbon pecan pie?”
“Both?” She lets out a laugh, but the sadness is still clear in her tone. “I don’t care. You pick.”
“How about we share? Best of both worlds.” I hand her a tub and a spoon, and then pop the lid off mine. I take a spoonful and groan against the metal silverware. “So good.”
“Better than my sticky buns?” She takes a scoop out of my container.
“That’s ludicrous. Your buns are the best thing that’s ever been in my mouth.” My eyes widen the second I realize what else that could mean. I turn my chin to find Opal staring with the same look.
A giggle bursts through her lips, and she covers her mouth, either to cover the sound or keep from spewing ice cream.
I chuckle, and once I do I can’t seem to stop. We sit there like two stupid kids, laughing over my faux pas and it’s the best I’ve felt all damn day. I’m surprised we don’t wake Trent or Sean.
“I’m sorry,” I say when I finally catch my breath.
“Don’t be. I’m glad you like my baking.”
I love everything about you. The thought comes into my mind so quickly I almost speak it aloud. Thank God I don’t. Instead I reach across her body and shove my spoon into what’s left of her cookie dough. I ignore the impulse to throw the dessert to the side and claim her lips with my own. They probably taste like the ice cream I shove into my mouth. No, I’m certain she tastes even better.
Fuck me.
Not because she’s perfect, or that it’s taking all of my self-control to keep my hands to myself right now. No, that’s bad enough. Fuck me, because I’m running out of excuses why this is a bad idea. I don’t deserve a woman like Opal. I really don’t. But since I’m reinventing myself anyway, maybe there’s a possibility I could.
Together in companionable quiet we share the rest of the ice cream, trading spoonfuls of our respective containers. It might be wishful thinking, but she appears lighter, happier, and I want to write Ben and Jerry a thank you note for that alone.
“Well, I better turn in.” She glances down at her hands and the spoon she holds. I want her to lift her gaze, and yet at the same time it’s probably safer this way. If she did I’d be tempted to kiss her. She pushes off the ground and takes a step forward before looking back. “Thanks for the ice cream.” A smile stretches her lips, faint and more beautiful than any I’ve seen her wear before because this one’s meant for me. “Good night.”
“Good night, Opal. Sweet dreams.”
She turns away and drops her spoon in the sink, gathering her toiletry bag on the way to the bathroom, but before she’s completely down the hall I catch her gaze again. She’s still smiling, but there’s something more, something so real, and I can’t help but lift my hand, waving as I smile back like an idiot. Her lighthearted giggle is worth the embarrassment. I might be a fool to think I could have anything more than this moment with her, but by the way warmth spreads through my very soul, the risk might be worth it.
19
Opal
“Freedom, mother fuckers!” Austin bursts through the bus doors like a man released from prison. We’ve only just stepped out into the streets of a town I can’t recall, somewhere in Ohio.
Before I can ask, Trent turns his attention to Leighton. “Austin acts like he’s never had a day off in his life.”
There’re no clouds on the horizon, and the day feels full of promise despite my lack of itinerary. With my bank account fuller than it’s ever been, my only plan is to hit up the local mall for new clothes.
“Don’t tell me you aren’t up for a break?” Austin shakes his head and slides on a pair of dark shades.
“Oh, I am. Especially with Lexi’s birthday coming up.” Trent smiles the same way he does whenever he mentions my sister. She’ll be joining us next week and I’m impatient to have her back. The tour is severely lacking in female company. Not that I expect her to spend every second by my side.
“We passed that row of vintage stores a few miles back.” Sean points down the road before taking another sip from his coffee. “Wanna head over?”
“Yeah, that’d be cool.” Trent nods.
“Have fun with that.” Austin claps t
hem both on the back and takes a few steps backward. “See you suckers in eight hours.”
“Where you headed, Mr. Trouble?” Sean calls out through his laughter.
“Love the nickname.” Austin points at Sean and slings a backpack over his other shoulder. “And none of your damn business.”
Sean rolls his eyes, but Austin’s already halfway across the lot, his long strides faster than usual.
“Hey.” Leighton bumps against my shoulder with a whisper. He places a scrap of paper into my hand and then gathers near Sean and Trent.
I turn the note over as inconspicuously as possible.
Tattoos?
Crazy how one simple word strikes excitement in my core and sends my pulse racing. He wants to get tattoos? Not so surprising since it came up last night. It’s something my grandparents would never approve and while that should trigger caution or pause, it only makes the idea more appealing. Hell, I’ve already broken many of their rules. What’s another?
“Opal, you want to come, too?”
“Oh, um.” I worry my lip between my teeth and glance beyond Trent to find Leighton’s hopeful stare. “Leighton and I . . .” Why can’t I say it? Is it because I’m worried they’ll try to talk me out of it, or because I want to do this alone?
Or because you want Leighton all to yourself.
Bingo.
“I asked her to keep me company.” Leighton interrupts and draws their attention. “That okay?”
Trent and Sean both look between us with pointed stares that douses my thoughts with embarrassment, as if they can see how much I’m crushing on Leighton despite the fact he’s way out of my league.
“Everyone got what they need? I’m gonna lock this baby up.” Jay steps out of the bus.
Sean nods to Jay. “We’re good.”
“I’ll keep her safe. Promise,” Leighton says and it’s as though some silent conversation passes through the men. Whatever it is, they must come to an agreement.
“Okay, but let’s all get dinner tonight.” Trent nods.
I smile at him. “Sounds great.”
Sean points at Leighton, then me. “We’ll text you. Don’t be late or we’ll send the hounds.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be there.” I almost want to roll my eyes.
“We’re both grown-ups,” Leighton says.
“That’s debatable.” Sean laughs and shakes his head.
Trent levels me with his serious stare. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” And I will, but both he and Sean are acting absolutely ridiculous right now. I don’t know what it’s like to have two older brothers, but I imagine it’s not far from this. I grab Leighton’s arm and walk away before they try to attach a tracking device.
“That was strange.” Leighton chuckles, but by his stiff posture he doesn’t find it all that humorous.
“Yeah.” I let loose a long breath and shake my head. “They’ve become really protective.”
“They’re looking out for you.”
They are, and it brings a smile to my face. I appreciate his protectiveness. I’ve never had that before. “So, we’re really getting tattoos?”
He flashes a smile. “Oh, yeah. At least I am. I found a shop that opens in an hour. Want to grab some breakfast and then head over?”
“Yeah.” I can’t keep the smile from my voice and even my steps feel lighter and free as we stroll down the street. The day is full of possibility and there’s a voice inside that begs me to rise to the occasion. To throw responsibility to the wind, and live in the moment. It’s more than a little terrifying, but I’m feeling extra brave.
After a breakfast which Leighton insists on paying for, he calls us an Uber for the trek across town to Ripley’s Tattoos. They have an artist who’s accepting walk-ins for the day, and after perusing her portfolio we both put our names down to wait for Avery.
Nerves don’t hit until now. Inside the waiting area, the buzz of needles and the thick scent of ink permeate the air. My gut churns with apprehension and my body feels restless just sitting around so I stand and walk back to the digital touch-screen kiosk. I flip through pages of completed tattoos to have something to do with my hands.
Leighton joins me within minutes. “Hey, if you’re having second thoughts or don’t want to—”
“No. I want this.” I lift my gaze to his.
His lips pull up at the edges with the beginning of a smile. “Your face says otherwise.”
I’ve always been easy to read. Wear my heart on my sleeve, along with my worries, so I can understand his concern. Appreciate it even. But there’s no way I’ll let a few nervous butterflies get the best of me. Not now. “I have to do this.”
His brow scrunches with concern and he lowers his voice. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I need to.” I swallow to gather my thoughts and explain this to him. “My whole life I’ve been told what I can and can’t do. I’m tired of living for someone else.”
I expect an argument but find his face full of understanding. “I get that.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“No. I’m not. I grew up with lots of opportunity, but what I could do with that? It’s always been decided for me. Until now.” He chuckles and reaches his hand back to rub against his neck. “My parents wouldn’t approve of a tattoo. Hell, they pretty much disowned me the second I decided to go on this tour.”
“Really?” My heart sinks at the thought of any parent pushing away their child. Not that I knew my parents, but I like to think they’d be accepting of me, maybe even proud.
He laughs but it falls flat. “Yeah, that’s how much they hate rock music.”
The need to console him overwhelms me. “That must hurt.”
“It’s fine.” He glances down to the screen and where I left off. He points to a daisy. “That’s nice.” He’s trying to change the conversation and maybe I should let it go, but there’s this need within that pushes to ask for more.
“I can see how much you love playing. Surely, they must understand how big of an opportunity this is for your career?”
He swallows but doesn’t answer. He drops his pride and lifts his gaze enough that I see every bit of pain. I can only imagine how hurtful their rejection is.
My hand reaches for his and I give it a gentle squeeze. “Their loss. You are an amazing drummer.”
His lips tick up with the hint of his smile. “I’m supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around.”
I shrug. “You can hold my hand when I get my tattoo.”
“Really?” His brows arch.
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “Because as much as I want this, I’m still scared.”
“Opal and Leighton?”
I lift my gaze to the woman standing at the front of the shop. Tattoos scrawl out from the low-cut hem of her shirt, cover her neck, and go all the way up her hairline to near her temple. The septum piercing and ear gauges only add to her badass, no fear demeanor, and for some reason it suppresses my nerves.
“That’s us.” Leighton doesn’t let go of my hand and I try not to read into it considering the conversation we’ve just shared.
“I’m ready for you. Come on back.”
We follow her back past several doors to another smaller waiting room where she invites us to have a seat. “So, what are we doing today? And who’s first?”
I glance at Leighton and it’s as if he can read my mind. Not me.
He explains the idea for his tattoo, showing her images he found online. It’s a tribute to a band who influenced his love of rock music. She asks him several questions about sizing and placement, sends a few things to her email, and then leaves us while she goes back to her station to work it up on paper.
Leighton leans his shoulder into mine. “You look nervous again.”
“Oh, I never stopped.” I try to let loose a laugh but it’s laced with the same fear that’s held me back for year
s. “But don’t ask me again. I’m decided.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His hand slides along mine and this time he threads our fingers together before holding it tight. All thoughts of needles and ink scatter from my brain and in their place is a surge of lustful need. I glance down at our hands. The pads of his thumb rub tiny circles against my skin and my body responds by scattering goosebumps across my arm.
It’s happening again, just like last night. My body tightens with need and if I had the nerve I’d push him back onto this loveseat and straddle his lap. Never have I ever wanted a guy to kiss me more than I do with him. It’s a crush, I know. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing he saw me as more. That he would kiss me. That he could love me.
I have no business wishing for any of those things. Not with him. But still . . . my heart holds out hope.
20
Leighton
“It’s badass, right?” I stretch my arm out wide and stare at the finished tatt again.
Opal grins at me from across the room. “Very badass.”
“Okay, Opal, you’re next. Give me a few minutes to clean this up and switch out supplies.” Avery’s been awesome. Talented and completely professional. This shop had stellar reviews, but I think we lucked out with her taking walk-ins today.
Stepping up to the mirrored wall, I examine the image now permanently inked on my body. It’s a play off the Grateful Dead’s Reckoning album on the inside of my bicep. The record was a secret gift from my Uncle Bedo for my eleventh birthday. I listened to On the Road Again on repeat every chance I had. That album was what made me dream of being more than a concert pianist.
I give it one more long look before turning away from the mirror. My mother would lose her shit if she saw this. A rush of delight courses through my body at my act of rebellion.
“Okay, Opal, what’ll it be for you?” Avery pats the center of the reclined chair.
“Oh, um.” Opal hops up and sits in the center. She twists her hands together in her lap. She’s hesitant to explain her tattoo, and for the first time today I feel in the way. Maybe she doesn’t want me here.