by Amber Burns
“I can’t stop thinking about you, beyond being alone in bed at night. My heart,” I bring both her fists to my chest, having to lean in as she doesn’t readily step forward and make it easy. “My heart beats harder whenever you’re in the picture, babe. And I hated – hate when Dan flirted with you, and it pains me when you’re upset.”
I drop my head and breathe deep, before asking, “Does that sound like love to you, too?”
Our eyes meet in the lengthy silence. Astra’s eyes are wider and her mouth is slightly parted, her cheeks and nose rosy from the winter night’s chill. If it weren’t that my whole world seemed fixed on this moment, I would get her inside to avoid her suffering another bad cold.”
I want her to kiss me.
I want her to say she feels the same.
I want her to...I just want her.
I definitely don’t want her doing what she’s doing.
“Ryker,” she tugs until I free her and then she holds her affected hand to the front of her jacket, breathing heavier than the seconds ago when I hadn’t brought up love. “I have work tomorrow.”
I drop my hands from their frozen position mid-air. My arms hang loosely at my side, matching the blood draining out of my head in a whoosh. Oddly my heart is thumping double-time in the face of rejection.
She has her door open, her keys in hand and I can’t bear to turn and see whatever look she has in her eyes as she says, “Good night” again in the same even, cool tone from earlier – before I poured my heart out to her, spilled my guts and all for her to slay me.
She does wait a beat to hear me wish her the same.
I don’t.
And I won’t until she’s wrapped up in me again and we’re chasing sleep together. No, Astra, it’s not fucking going to be a good night. And you’re deluding yourself if you won’t be tossing and turning about me either, babe.
I’m in autopilot mode to the B&B. I hardly make note of anything, passing the front desk and the teen behind it who actually chooses that moment of all moments to talk to me.
Stupid kid, can’t you see I’m busy moping, off to lick my fucking wounds?
“You’re Ryker, right? That guy from the rock band?”
I try to minimize the eye roll. “Yeah. Who’s looking for me?”
Introducing himself as a sophomore at Orange Compass High, the normal public school that isn’t St. B&J, he pulls his backpack from behind the counter and draws out his colorful binder.
“You drew these?” I point to the life-like art scrawled over the purple vinyl and at his enthusiastic ‘yeah’, I slowly nod, studying as many pieces as my tightly-wired patience allows. “Neat.”
Realizing I’m waiting for him, he asks, “Could you sign this, please? If it’s no trouble.”
First autograph out of OC. News of Tense Finger might have gotten around in the last week, but I hadn’t exactly been out and about…
Remembering Astra cuts through my dalliance over the binder. I silently hold up a hand and the kid is speedy at putting a pen in it. “Here good?” I point to the front cover and wait for his verbal approval.
“How do you spell your last name?” as he says each individual letter, I finish his name and sign with a quick, if not cheesy, personal message. I’m signing mostly because he isn’t one of those spoiled kids like Lola and the kids I had to school with nearly two decades ago.
His binder back in his possession, he smooths a hand over the front and reads aloud, “To Nate Ringermann.”
“That all?” I drop the pencil over on his side and make to turn when he calls me back.
“Um, you’re playing at Lola Lopez’s birthday party?” his face a darkening red at this point, his voice cracks when I look up briefly. I don’t ask how he knows Lola; probably the same way Liam got sucked up by my goddaughter’s charm and teen beauty standard.
“Yeah.” I keep my voice even. The party is reminding me of Astra, too. Is she going to come now?
“I thought I heard that. Man, now I wish I did have tickets. Your music is pretty cool, and I’ve never been to a live concert.” He flushes, dropping his gaze to his binder. Why do I get the sense he hasn’t been too many parties either?
I take a deep breath through my nose and reach for the pen again. “You got paper? And I’ll need your phone too.”
He does as I ask and I scratch out a message for the bouncers Lola asked TzaTza for to manage the RSVP guests from any party-crashers. Or in her whiny soon-to-be sixteen words, ‘any loser posers who think they know me’ and cue hair flip. Too much like her entitled parents.
I find the record button on his cell and save a message with me reading the note.
“There you go. Pass that to the bouncers and they should let Nate plus one in for the show.”
He stumbles through two or three ‘thank yous’ before I hit the bottom of the stairs. “Tell your parents I said ‘night’,” I toss back. It’s the best I can do with my mood.
Chapter 11
As predicted I don’t get sleep. Instead for the next two nights I count the floral pattern of the wallpaper in the Victorian-styled room. It’s either that or rewinding the clips of the moments in front of Astra’s house after our dinner with the Campos and Lopezes. I’m not sadistic – even if I’ve enjoyed torturous foreplay with Astra.
So counting flowers is the way I go, and that does its job until sunrise. The day following our ‘talk’ I spent practicing with Jesse and Dan. It was the longest I stayed with them, and it didn’t go unnoticed. I brushed their questioning off.
Lucky for me I also didn’t run into Custodio. I had a few choice words to say to him, but a last-minute business affair took him out of the city for the night with promises to return for Lola’s birthday.
Now here I am, dragging my lazy, tired ass to the adjoining bathroom in my room. Considering I’d only slept in their a couple times before calling Astra’s home for the rest, a lot of things jumped out at me. The soft yellow walls, the two small scenery paintings lined up above the toilet, the flowery-scented air freshener, the black granite sink, and the lighting paneled atop the sink mirror.
It’s pretty.
Quaint.
But it isn’t anything like Astra’s place. It isn’t Astra’s.
“God, you idiot,” I grumble, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes and trying to get a grip on my pounding temples. It feels like a jackhammer – no, a rock concert is going on up there. Hurling is an option, calling in sick isn’t.
The Saturday morning of Lola’s party and one-third of Tense Finger decides to plug the concert would make headlines surely, both here in OC and L.A.
I drop my hands and get a good look at what I’m working with and I’m prepared to snap them shut again, walk right to bed, call the guys and let them know I’m so out.
“Fuck,” sums it up. My eyes, bloodshot and outlined by dark bags, blink blearily back at me. My hair is standing on end, some of the dark ends curled, others in mid-Afro mode. Dark stubble lines my jaw and, breathing into my hand, I get a grip on my gag reflexes: Surprise! My breath reeks.
Here’s what I gather from my rumpled tee shirt and sweats that could use a washing machine, and that’s that I look ready for nothing, let alone entertaining a bunch of partying teens and their adult chaperones.
I don’t need to meet with the guys, but I’m too wired to sleep still. I end up showering and changing, and when I decide I look more like a normal human being, I set off to the Lopez residence – praying to avoid TzaTza and Custodio as I had yesterday.
My luck runs out as I run into TzaTza and Lola in the foyer, mother and daughter heading out for their salon trip.
“Ryker,” TzaTza retreats after breezing kisses over my cheeks twice. I hate the way her cat-like eyes draw into thinner slits and rake over me. She isn’t undressing me, more like sizing me up.
Since I hadn’t seen her since the dinner, I figure she’s curious of the aftermath. Sure enough, following a lengthy pause for her up-down survey, she say
s silkily, “Custodio isn’t here yet. His flight is due in another five hours.”
Lola is a bit more affectionate than her mother, also way more vocal. “Uncle Ry!” she loops her arms around my middle and I hug her, hand passing over her shiny, straight black hair. “Jesse and Dan were telling me over breakfast that they’re going to play a song from your new CD, and that would be the first to hear it.”
I smile and nod, wishing I could muster up more energy to match her enthusiasm. But four or so hours of sleep sort of drain a guy from doing much.
“That’s generous of you all.” TzaTza says.
Generous? Not exactly.
Jesse had thought of the idea and cleared it with us, and then we’d only managed to do that with the blessing of our producer and the other higher-ups at the company.
Everyone happened to agree it’d be a great promotional tool.
So not generous, more fortuitous for both our parties: Lola can ‘wow’ her friends and we can get a relatively cheap way to market our goods. Considering this is to be our last CD for a while, going out with a bang seemed a tall order, one the guys and I are ready to fill.
TzaTza, Lola and I part for now, they are off to make their appointment and I’m heading to the studio further back in the house.
Jesse and Dan are not alone.
Holly is wrapped in Jesse’s embrace behind the drums. “It’s pretty simple. Just count, one and two and three and four and,” he shows her the technique, adjusting her wrists and then covering her hands over his drumsticks, playing the quarter measure out with her.
As I’m wondering how our uptight friend got her in his lap, Dan notices me. His glower turns to a grin and he waves me over.
“Buddy,” he bumps my fist and strums his bass. “What the hell took you so long?”
“You’re early,” is all Jesse says, but he’s smiling like Holly before the former goes back to instruct his pupil.
“I thought a little last-minute practice couldn’t kill me.”
“Yeah,” Dan belts out a riff, his finger slide at its best – just what we need for tonight. It makes me more confident, gives me that much of a reason to unbox my Gibson and lift the strap over my shoulders.
I stroke the black, triangular body, my fingers falling away at bottom before slapping over the bottom strings. “You and me?”
Dan shrugs, his frown returning on tossing a glance back at Jesse and Holly, the two in their little bubble.
I start strumming, Dan joining in when I open with lyrics. It’s the new song Lola mentioned; the one that originated in my home-built studio and the one that hasn’t left Custodio’s either. Yet.
Normally we’d have Jesse in the back, but he’s occupied...or at least he was. He joins in and I swivel on a pause from the lyrics to see Holly standing to the side, turning her smile on the lot of us.
“Dreaming on and breaking every bone, cruel ivory or sweet ebony,” I sing, holding the note and turning my head to finger-crawl a finish over the range of the strings.
Jesse’s cymbals crash close and I bow my head, catching my breath from the moment.
Holly’s clapping registers late. I lift my head slowly and adjust the mic, kicking at the strings under my boots and checking the cord connection to the bass.
“You liked that?” Dan’s asking, sounding much happier with Holly at his side. He’s pulling his head through his bass’s strap and hauling it over Holly. “You’re a little short, but here,” he tucks behind her and maneuvering her hands has her in a passable position to play.
“Oh,” her shock brings a sardonic smile to my face, my pushing out the scene to the memory of Astra’s surprise at my love confession. And then she all but slammed her front door in my face.
“Yo.” Jesse taps me with his drumsticks, his other hand shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “What’s up with the face?”
I subconsciously massage my face.
“Not literally,” Jesse smiles, but it slips at my heavy sigh and dropping hand. I run my hands over the string and then slap my fingers to shut the chord up.
“It’s – ” I cut myself off from saying, nothing. It’s not nothing. Far from it, in fact. I love Astra, but it’s clear she doesn’t feel the same and now I’m seconds away from doing the thing I love most, playing my music, and all I can think about is...her.
As it’s a Saturday, she’d be home right now, but is she alright since I last saw her two days ago? Is she eating lunch in bed like we used to, and what is she wearing?
“It’s Astra,” I say. Once it’s out, it doesn’t feel as disastrous. Jesse nods, folding his arms. Realizing he’s waiting for me to elaborate before he weighs in on the friendly advice, I gather the courage and relive what’s becoming a bit of a nightmarish hang-up: Astra’s rejection.
“That’s it. What the fuck am I supposed to do with her ‘good night’?”
“Did you try knocking on the door? I mean, after that night.” Jesse says.
Hitching up my shoulders, both hands covering the face of my guitar, I mumble, “No.”
“And you said you loved, excuse me, love her?”
I’m starting to see what he’s getting at, not that it lightens my mood. Standing in the eye of the shit-storm called A One-sided Love I’m not exactly ready to man up and concede that’s the right thing to do.
But I’m warming to the idea of going back to Astra, cornering her and getting this off my chest before we leave for L.A. Sunday after Lola’s party.
“Say I do go in there, and I tell her again, more rationally, what if she slams the door in my face again?” at the thought, my chest tightens, mind blanking on the one thought, and my hands squeeze into fists in response.
Jesse takes my babbling into stride though. “That’s totally a possibility. It’s a two-way street, after all, and she’s free to decide she doesn’t want your ass as her property.” He unfolds his arms and pokes both of his drumsticks into my chest.
I brush them off only to have him replace it there. “Have to ask yourself what counts more for you, this girl in your life or the potential of your heart kicked and handed to you all bloody for trying?”
Hard words. Tough love. It’s what I need to hear.
What I need to weigh.
Holly and Dan join us quietly – much too quietly for me to vet my confessional with Jesse in time, like I want anyone else to hear my heartbreak and moping.
“I knew it! I so knew it,” Dan grins, his clap on the shoulder taking me by surprise. “She’s hot, man.”
“She’s my friend.” Holly stresses, and her smile is peppy and positive despite the tone. Dan scratches the back of his head and abashedly apologizes. That’s a first. “And she’s not a piece of meat, Ryker McBride. If you hurt her, I’ll make sure to ruin your life.”
“What is this, the warning from the friend?” I frown, not in the mood to be scolded or threatened by anyone right then.
“Damn straight,” she settles her hands over her hips. “Lose the attitude. You aren’t going to win points with anyone, least of all Astra with that ugly mood.”
I bark a laugh, snapping, “I’m way past the brownie points, so that doesn’t scare me.”
“But Astra’s rejecting you does?” Holly jumps on my silence as an affirmative – which it is, and in a blink she’s smiling. “There’s hope for you yet, Ryker.”
I’d be lying if I said I’m intrigued. Try drooling, salivating at whatever will help me win Astra over, prove to her I’m not dicking around about us being something strong...maybe forever-kinda strong, and if she could look past my weaknesses I’ll dedicate her happiness to my every breath.
“I haven’t seen Astra in a while –”
“Yeah. You’ve been pretty busy here.”
Her smile widens and spreads out her hands. “Working my magic here.” Leaning in conspiratorially she adds, “This doesn’t leave the room, but this place is gorgeous. I was expecting more evil castle-slash-cave lair from the Lopezes.”
Jesse
and Dan laugh. My humor is fleeting today. I’m bobbing my head fast, trying to rush her on, and it’s not helping with my headache, cancelling the painkillers I popped before leaving.
“I called her this morning though, on my way over, to make sure we’re still meeting at hers to change.” Her brows furrow as she continues, “But she told me that she had a guest over.
“I heard his voice, but she didn’t tell me anymore. I was busy anyways. Liam’s still grounded and I had to leave him alone so I doubt he’s in his room, doing his homework.” She sighs, probably rallying to continue ranting but I missed most of it, hooked on the whole part about Astra entertaining a male guest.