by Sybil Bartel
Oversized truck tires screeched down the driveway.
I was still holding the bottle.
I no longer knew if it was a victory.
SHE DIDN’T SHOW UP for karate.
I’d gotten there over a half hour early and waited in my car. I had my Gi. If she showed, I was joining her class.
But she never showed.
I threw the Jeep into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. Ten minutes later, I was at her house. Marcus’s truck wasn’t in the driveway, and she either wasn’t home or her car was in the garage.
Fuck it.
I got out and knocked.
No response.
I looked in the front window, but no lights were on and the TV was off. Pulling my phone out, I called her, but it went to voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. You weren’t at practice. Call me.”
Where the fuck was she? It wasn’t like her to skip karate just to avoid me. I walked back to the Jeep and thought about calling the club where she worked to see if she was on tonight, but I didn’t want to come across as a complete stalker. Myles and his uncle owned the club, so no one would question me calling, but still.
I was halfway home to do fuck all, when my phone rang. I glanced at the screen and answered. “What’s up, Myles?”
“Hey, Graham said you flew home last night?” Myles wasn’t only the lead singer and guitarist of our band, he’d brought us all together and he did all the promo. If it weren’t for him, none of us would be rich.
“Yeah.” I didn’t explain myself.
Myles laughed. “We were coming home, bro. The bus pulled in a few hours ago. Didn’t want to wait that long to see your buddy’s sister?”
My jaw ticked. “He’s not my fucking buddy.”
“Okay,” Myles drew the word out on a chuckle. “Hope that works out for you.”
Fuck. “You called?”
Myles instantly sobered. “Yeah, we’re all meeting at the studio. We’re going to lay down those new songs we wrote.”
Songs he wrote. “When?”
“Now.”
The last thing I wanted to do was play. I wanted to see Elyssia, and I wanted to know why she was still giving me the cold shoulder after a damn year. “Be there in ten.”
“All right.” Myles practically sang his response out because he lived for the music. “See you in a few. Bring your girlfriend if you want.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and started up the Jeep. “You purposely being a dick?”
“No.” Myles laughed. “That’s Graham’s job.”
“No fucking shit.” He’d flipped off more audiences than I could count, but the fans still fucking loved him. He played bass like a damn genius, so we all put up with him.
“Damn, dude, swearing like a little bitch today. I think you need to get laid.” Myles laughed again and hung up before I could tell him to fuck off.
I drove to the studio Myles and his uncle had built in a strip mall. It didn’t look like anything from the outside, but inside was state of the art. The band had taken off because Myles had learned all the sound equipment, then we’d recorded our first studio album.
I walked in and Myles and Graham were behind the soundboards.
Myles stood and gave me a bro hug. “What’s up, lover boy?”
“Let it go,” I warned.
Graham spun in his chair and tipped his chin. “Ignore him. I do.”
Myles laughed. “Neither of you would know what to do without me.”
Graham looked at me and deadpanned, “I’ll take the head, you get the feet.”
If I wasn’t so fucking hung up over Elyssia, I would’ve laughed. Graham rarely joked, let alone smiled. “Empty lot out back?”
Graham got up. “Works for me.”
“Fuck you both.” Myles grinned. “You’d have no one to write the songs.”
I nodded at Graham. “He wrote the last three.” The lyrics, anyway.
Graham picked up his bass. “Don’t fucking tell anyone.”
Aaron walked in reeking of cheap perfume and sex. “What’d I miss?”
Graham shook his head. “A shower.”
Aaron grinned, already looking high. “No fucking way, man. Pussy smell’s where it’s at.” Grinning, nodding, he held his fist up to Graham.
Graham gave him a look of utter contempt. “Dignity. Look it up.”
“Says the man who’s fucked more groupies than the Stones.” Aaron stupidly grinned harder.
Myles and I looked at each other, but it was Myles who spoke up. “Piss Graham off and you’re on your own.”
“Dude, what I’d say?” Aaron’s eyes went wide. “That comment’s like epic. It’s a compliment!”
“Shut the fuck up while you’re ahead.” Graham walked into the recording studio.
I followed Graham while Aaron tried to explain himself to Myles. Grabbing sticks, I sat at my favorite kit.
“How’s the woman?” Graham asked, plugging his bass in.
“What woman?” Fucking Myles.
“The one you’ve been pretending not to be fucked-up over for the past year.”
I stared at my drums, wondering what alternate universe I was in. Graham had never asked me a personal question, not even after he’d helped me get Elyssia out of the crowd that night. Since I’d joined the band, he’d kept to himself, rarely said shit, and when he did speak, it was usually to tell you to fuck off. But recently, there’d been a slight shift. I was guessing he was seeing someone, but who fucking knew. He didn’t talk about himself ever.
I tapped my sticks and hit the foot pedal twice. “She’s my best friend’s sister.” I didn’t know why I told him.
“The one you always text?”
I didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”
“The brother’s not cool with it.”
He didn’t ask it as a question, but I answered anyway. “Not even close.”
Graham nodded. “Rough.”
My cell vibrated in my pocket before I could respond. I pulled it out, and when I saw it was a text from her, my heart did double time.
No practice today
I stared at the text a minute because something felt off. There were classes every day, and I knew she taught the younger kids twice a week and attended the advanced classes twice a week for her own practice. I fired off a response.
You didn’t feel like going or you don’t go every day anymore?
I hit send and waited.
Graham smirked. “You gonna play or stare at your phone?”
“Both.” If I had to.
Myles and Aaron walked in.
No little dots showed up, and she didn’t respond. I fired off another text.
Elyssia?
Aaron sat behind his keyboards. “What are we playing?”
The three dots showed up.
Don’t go every day
Something was definitely up. She practically lived at the dojo. My thumbs flew across my screen.
I’m in the studio with the band. I’m coming over when I’m done in a couple hours and we’ll go to dinner.
I knew she didn’t like to cook. Growing up, Marcus had always made dinner, or a few times in high school, I’d cooked at their house. Helen was always working, so Marcus and I would handle kitchen duty. My foster home had been shit for meals anyway. There was hardly ever food except cereal, and there was never enough of it to go around. As a teenager, opening the cupboard to boxes of pasta and jars of sauce at Marcus and Elyssia’s house had been fucking nirvana. Cooking the pasta was a small price to pay for a full stomach.
Myles tuned his guitar. “Let’s start with Graham’s song ‘Apologize.’”
“Fuck you.” With his bass across his hips, hanging from its shoulder strap, Graham crossed his arms. “I’m not singing shit. That’s your job.”
Myles pushed his blond hair off his forehead. “Dude. It’s your song and you fucking kill it. Let’s finally record it.”
Graham glared at Myles. “It’s not going on the new album
.”
“Why not?” Myles challenged.
My cell lit up with a new text, and I zoned out of the standoff between Myles and Graham.
Going to bed
Bed? It wasn’t even six o’clock. I typed a reply.
It’s early. You feeling okay?
Her response was immediate.
Fine
What the fuck? My thumbs were on my screen when Myles barked out my name.
“Ben.”
I finished the text.
Are you avoiding me?
I looked up at Myles. “What?”
Graham snorted, and Myles looked irritated as fuck. “You’re the tiebreaker.”
Since when did we use tiebreakers for this kind of shit? “It’s Graham’s song, if he doesn’t want it on the album, it doesn’t go on.” No argument. I didn’t give a shit what Graham did with his songs. I glanced at my phone, but she hadn’t replied.
Graham caught my eye and tipped his chin in thanks.
“So which song then?” Aaron asked.
I sent another text.
Elyssia, talk to me.
Myles rattled off a short set list of four of his new songs, then strummed the chords of the first song.
I picked up my sticks as a single-word text came through from her.
Goodnight
BREATHING IN THROUGH MY nose, out through my mouth, I negotiated the pain and bowed before entering the studio. I was late. I’d never been late. The instructor was going to give me shit, but when I stood back upright, he wasn’t there.
Instead, I was met with shrewd blue eyes I’d dreamed about for as long as I could remember.
Standing at the front of the studio in the instructor’s position was Ben in his Gi. “Take your position, Elyssia.”
I’d been in classes Ben had taught before the band took off. He was a higher rank than me and he’d always been better, but today, seeing him here? It was the last thing I’d expected.
“Yes, sir.” I flushed as I adjusted my Gi and joined the class on the mat. No one called me by my full name except him.
Ben Stark.
The serious boy who’d shown up at our house when I was fifteen. Marcus had brought him home from school beaten up, and casually told Mom they were hungry. Mom had wordlessly fixed Ben up, then she’d cooked a huge meal. A week later, she’d put me and Ben in karate classes and Marcus in boxing. She’d had to work overtime to pay for all the classes, but I’d never said anything to Ben. His foster parents never would’ve paid for those classes.
We went to classes together every week for four years. Ben had watched me go from a shy fifteen-year-old to a black belt. I’d watched him become a man. Now he was a rock star. A rock star I’d kissed… before he’d pushed me away.
Ben called out the kata and began the class. “Ichi, ni, san, shi…”
Five minutes later, sweat pouring off me, a tear mixed in with the pain shooting through my bruised and beaten body. I never should’ve come tonight, but I’d needed to get away and this was my second home. Determined to push through, I moved into the next kata, but when my left leg kicked out, I stumbled and winced.
Ben was behind me in half a second. “You dropped your guard,” he scolded. “Again.”
“Yes, sir!” I kicked again and saw stars. Bringing my knee back close to my body, I lost my balance and Ben caught me. The second his hands touched my back, I flinched in distress.
“Elyssia.” He barked my name short and fast and with a concern I wasn’t used to.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” I moved to repeat the kata.
“Stop,” he commanded.
I assumed the ready position, and Ben moved in front of me.
His voice dropped to just above a whisper, and worry lines creased his brow. “Are you hurt?”
Struggling to take a full breath, my back and my chest killing me, I stared straight ahead. “No, sir.” Oh God, why had I answered his texts?
“Eye contact,” he snapped.
Panting, I sucked in only half of a breath through my clenched teeth and looked up. “No, sir,” I repeated the lie.
Ben studied me.
Fighting the urge to squirm, I willed myself to hold his stare and my stance.
His sharp, precise nod was an extension of the control he carried, both in the studio and on stage. “Work through the katas with the two brown belts. Let them show you. Don’t do the moves with them. Correct their form when needed.”
“Yes, sir.” Relief flooded through me, only to be ripped away with his next words.
“Stay after class. You’re locking up tonight.”
Ben moved to the next student, and my stomach bottomed out. For the first time in my life, I wanted to run from this studio. The only thing stopping me was that I had nowhere to go. Steeling my resolve, I turned to find the younger students waiting for me. “Ready?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they answered in chorus.
For the next fifty minutes, I lost myself in the beauty of their synchronized movements. Then Ben dismissed class, hit the lights in the lobby, and locked the door as soon as the last student left.
With his unreadable blue eyes focused on me, Ben came back into the studio. His powerful body moving with quiet grace, his muscles rippling in perfect unison, he crossed the room to me.
My heart pounding, I held position.
“Remove your belt,” he said quietly.
What? “No!” The force of the single word robbed me of my breath in my bruised lungs.
His voice lost all of its softness. “Now,” he demanded.
Desperately fighting the stupid tears I’d been at war with all day, I didn’t question his barked command. I loosened the knot and let the belt fall to the mat. The muted thud made me drop my gaze and stare at the one thing that’d kept me sane for the past couple of months. Misery mixing with the pain, I didn’t notice him move behind me.
Long fingers reached from behind and pulled first one, then the second tie of my Gi. It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to stop it. Ben jerked the top down my arms and heavy cotton hit the mat a split second before his sharp intake of breath echoed through the studio.
“Who did this?” he roared.
I crossed my arms over my sports bra and choked back shame. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t.
Graceful like a panther, Ben moved in front of me and dropped to a squat. With a gentleness I’d never known, his hands slipped around my left ankle and he pushed my pant leg up. The stoic expression he religiously carried had turned into pure fury.
Rocking back, he looked up at me with horror. “Who?” he demanded.
I started to cry.
An inhuman roar of rage broke from his lungs, and in the next instant, I was in his arms—in Ben Stark’s arms. For the second time in my life, I was exactly where I wanted to be, and for the second time, it was all wrong.
I cried harder.
“Elyssia.” Like my body, like my spirit, his voice broke. His hands held the back of my head, as if he knew it was the only undamaged place on my body.
I couldn’t stand another second in his strength because I knew it was fleeting. He would push me away like he did last year, but more, I was steeped in a secrecy I would never betray, not even to the one person I looked up to.
I did the only thing in my power to do. I pushed him away first.
But he caught my face and didn’t let go. With his deep blue eyes boring into mine, his thumbs glanced across my cheeks. “Is this why you were avoiding me? When did this happen?”
I said nothing.
He dropped his voice to a soft cadence. “Elyssia, please. Tell me so I can help you.”
I pulled out of his grasp. “I’m fine.”
His nostrils flared, but his voice never rose again. “Someone beat you, Elyssia. That is not fine.”
I bent for my Gi, the simple movement stealing my breath.
The hard lines in his forehead etched deeper.
“It’s—it’s not what you
think,” I stammered, struggling to push my arms through the sleeves.
His hands covered mine, and he took over, gently putting my Gi back on. “I know you don’t have a boyfriend.” He deftly tied the sides of my top, then reached to the mat for my belt. Wrapping it around my waist twice, he knotted it with practiced efficiency and gave the long ends a final tug. “Who attacked you?”
None of the excuses I’d come up with over the past couple of months rolled off my tongue. My carefully controlled existence was crumbling, and I had nothing to grasp at. So I asked the one thing that stupidly felt like a safe topic. “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”
His dirty-blond hair, half disheveled, half spiky, and the only testament to his rock-star status, glistened at his temples as his intense gaze studied me. “Do you?”
Tearing my eyes away, I shook my head. “I have to go.” I stepped around him.
Then Ben did something he’d never done. He grabbed my hand and wove his fingers through mine. “I’m here,” he said quietly.
That was just it. Ben Stark wasn’t here. He never was. Distant, aloof, he’d pushed me away after he’d fiercely kissed me back, then he’d done what he always did. He’d kept to himself. I’d fallen in love with him so long ago, I didn’t remember my life before him, but I never really knew him. He was the foster boy whose dad had died, leaving him an orphan. He was the serious and quiet seventeen-year-old my brother had brought home. He was the lost soul my mother had taken in and loved like her own. He was the determined boy who’d grown into a man and made a life for himself most never even dreamed of. He was the drummer for a famous rock band. But Ben Stark wasn’t ever really there for me, not emotionally.
He’d driven us back to Ocala from Miami that night I’d braved going to the concert to get in touch with him. He’d made the arrangements to get Mom transferred to hospice. He’d gotten a hold of Marcus so he could come home, and he’d quietly sat next to me while I’d fallen apart at my mom’s wake. A day later, when Marcus deployed again, he silently stood next to me. Then he’d bought me groceries and gone back on tour with his band.
But he’d never talked to me.
We didn’t even talk about the kiss. I was too caught up in my own grief to register the deep embarrassment I would feel weeks later, but it hadn’t mattered. Ben had said goodbye and simply left.