Reverb

by S. M. West

  Reverb

  Trojan #2

  S.M. West

  Contents

  Playlist

  1. Tall, dark, and inked

  Before

  2. Another kind of hustle

  3. The elusive thing

  4. Same peculiar feeling

  5. Looking my way

  6. A girl like you

  7. Forget-me-not

  8. Madre is too kind

  9. Part desolate, part captivated

  10. Guilt raps at my chest

  11. A force of nature

  12. Center of her universe

  Limbo

  13. A game of tag

  14. Not a fairytale

  15. Darkness and drought

  After

  16. My eternal darkness

  17. My world

  18. Starved for our flesh

  19. Plot its demise

  20. Spoiled and infected

  21. Every opposition

  22. Sadness runs deep

  23. Too tarnished

  24. Secrets are dangerous

  25. We have time

  26. Worth every opposition

  27. Worth every tear

  28. Worth every demon

  29. No matter the battle

  30. An end date to us

  31. Slay all the dragons

  32. All the wars

  33. Bubblegum on fire

  34. All I’ll ever need

  Epilogue

  Epilogue 2

  Other books by S.M. West

  About the Author

  Reverb © 2020 by S.M. West

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely

  coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover Design by: RBA Designs

  Edited & Proofed by: Happily Editing Anns

  Cover Photo: Regina Wamba of ReginaWamba.com

  Cover Models: Madison & Gabe

  Want a free story!

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  For Julia Lis

  The idea for this story started with you and a song. NF’s “Goodbye” and our talk inspired Jared and Eva’s epic love story. Thank you for your friendship and most of all, for being you.

  This is for you.

  Playlist

  Listen On Spotify

  * * *

  “Goodbye” – NF

  “Butterfly” – Crazy Town

  “Hard to Love” – Calvin Harris Ft. Jessie Reyez

  “Everlong” – Foo Fighters

  “Cherry Hill” – Russ

  “Lose Yourself” – Eminem

  “Wild Horses” – The Rolling Stones

  “Time after time” – Cyndi Lauper

  “Lust for Life” – Lana Del Ray Ft. The Weekend

  “Great One” – Jessie Reyez

  “High Hopes” – Kodaline

  “Shot at the night” – The Killers

  “Starlings” – Elbow

  “Unforgettable” – French Montana, Swae Lee

  “To be Human” – Sia Labrinth

  “My heart’s always yours” – Arkells

  “Only One” - NF

  1

  Tall, dark, and inked

  Present day

  EVA

  “In the unlikely event of an evacuation, the lights at ground level will guide you to the exit. On this aircraft, exits are located as follows…two doors at the front, four over the wings, and two doors at the rear.”

  The tall, stylish flight attendant points in the direction of the exits, while another attendant continues her spiel through the speakers about the safety procedures aboard the airplane. All of which I hope to never need.

  Mid-to-late-twenties, he’s attractive with angular, chiseled bone structure, stunning blue eyes, and eyebrows shaped better than most women’s. He’s pretty and young. So young, he could easily pass for a teenager. Next to the airline pin on his jacket with his name, Trevor, there’s another pin of the American flag.

  It’s been well over a decade since I’ve stepped foot on US soil—my birthplace and what I still consider my home for so many reasons. My first, albeit brief, stop was New York City—well, really LaGuardia. I didn’t leave the airport, just hustled through the terminals to catch my next flight.

  At the boarding gate, the flashing red delayed next to my flight details left me deflated and sticky with sweat from the spontaneous sprint across the terminal. The strap of my carry-on fell from my shoulder to dangle from my wrist.

  I could have grabbed a coffee—the time difference was kicking in. On the upside, the wait wasn’t going to be too long, only forty minutes, and we would be in the air to LA. With the extra time, food, drink, and reading material were at the top of my list, right after the bathroom.

  Once done in the restroom, I texted Bianca, my sister, and she roamed my mind while I wandered the kiosks and shops. She isn’t expecting me. My departure from Spain was spur-of-the-moment, and if I’d told anyone about my plans, I wouldn’t be here.

  Miguel would have stopped me. He is most probably just figuring out now that I’m gone. I’m not proud of the way I left things, with only a few lines on a piece of paper, but like most things with him, I had no choice. Face to face would have been the proper way to tell him I was going back to the US. The decent thing given our history.

  But if he had even an inkling of my desire to come back to the United States, he’d have stopped me and called in reinforcements to make sure I had no way of escaping.

  For too long, others have been calling the shots, and that’s why Miguel and Bianca couldn’t be told ahead of time. And forget about Papi. There’s no way in hell I would have talked to him about going out on my own. I may be twenty-nine but he treats me like I’m a toddler.

  Even still, guilt tugs at my insides. I don’t want to worry anyone and that’s what my family does. I get a headache and they’d wring their hands, insisting on checking my vitals as if they are doctors.

  And for way too long, I’ve let them carry on this song and dance. Stupidly, I went along with it, thinking it’s how we’d all survive. But I can’t take it anymore. Long before Miguel’s betrayal, I’d had rare moments when the fire in my belly would ignite.

  The sizzle and heat would urge me to break free and live life to the fullest—that’s what Jared would want for me—and I’d beg Miguel to try something new. A trip to the Great Barrier Reef or the Grand Canyon or the Amazon. And on every occasion, his response was as predictable as time.

  “You’re being childish and fanciful. That isn’t who you are. You belong here, with me.” He’d kiss my forehead, his moustache tickling my flesh, and then walk away, leaving me scolded for my rash whimsy.

  There was the odd time when he might waver, only to come to his senses and dissuade me with an endless barrage of excuses, most of which made no sense and only served to make me feel ungrateful and selfish. After all, he had given his life for me—staying put at his side was the least I could do.

  But in the end, his deceit opened my eyes. And now, not even the obligation or guilt is enough to keep me in Barcelona, because here I am, sitting in first class, on my way to Los Angeles.

  A night of stale air, white noise, and strangers is ahead of me.

/>   “Good evening.” The brunette flight attendant hands me a warm hand towel with plastic tongs. “Are you heading to LA for business or pleasure?”

  “Neither.” I glance at the empty seat beside me. “I’m going home, I suppose.”

  “That makes me think of a Thomas Wolfe novel. You know what they say—you can’t go home again.”

  “True, but one can try.” My response is wistful, and she commiserates with a hopeful smile before moving on to the row behind me.

  Los Angeles is no longer my home. I could have easily stayed in New York or anywhere else, yet there are so many memories in LA. The city calls to me, if even for only a visit. It might not be where I eventually settle down, but for now, it’s where I want to be.

  And truthfully, it isn’t for my sister. She lives in LA, and there was a time when I longed to be close to her, but we hardly know each other anymore. And if I’m brutally honest, we aren’t close. I’m not sure we ever were.

  There was a time, briefly, after…well, after everything changed when I thought we might be more than sisters in name only. That didn’t last long.

  No, I’m going to LA for my own reasons. There’s an incessant and irrefutable need to be there. The loss and sorrow will never go away but there’s something calling me. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, yet I’m filled with the hope I may find whatever it is.

  The attendant places my drink on the tray and I open my e-book. Reading usually centers me, fills me, although it isn’t likely to help right now. I’m anxious to get to my final destination.

  Even tired, I’m restless and not near ready to sleep. Glossy magazines stuff the leather pocket of the seat in front of me. I realize I never did pick up any reading material in the airport.

  My hand curls around the stack, and I pull them from the pouch. The one on top is Bloomberg Businessweek with a familiar looking man in a well-tailored suit on the cover. A small smile spreads across my face. Miguel will want to read this.

  Because old habits die hard, my hand flicks to the empty seat beside me, ready to give him the magazine. Dazed, I pause. He isn’t here.

  I’m alone.

  This is my adventure.

  Dropping Bloomberg Businessweek onto the leather, the next magazine in my hand is Rolling Stone. I glance nonchalantly at the cover image of four young men, all in varying stages of undress.

  Muscles, ink, and hair assault me. Just another rock band. Music no longer interests me. It hurts too much and holds too many memories. At most, I’ll listen to classical or jazz to relax.

  Ready to toss the magazine aside, I give it one more look and as if zapped by electricity, I shudder, transfixed by the glossy cover picture.

  Tall, dark, and inked.

  He stands above the others, the darkest of them all. Brooding and haunted, he grabs my soul like fingers stealing around my insides. My heart spasms, wildly kicking and leaping into my throat.

  It can’t be. He’s dead.

  Before

  From the moment I saw her I knew this one was worth a broken heart. – Atticus

  2

  Another kind of hustle

  Fifteen years ago

  Freshman/Sophomore year

  JARED

  A bubble-gum pink dress, a rain of raven hair, and skinny limbs blaze a path down the middle of the street. She’s a butterfly on fire. Colors burning, a fervent blur, as she stumbles, shoving her tangled hair out of her face and twisting to look over her shoulder. He’s on her tail.

  The tall, gangly boy nips at her heels. His scrawny legs eat the pavement and he’s closing in on her, close enough to say something but not enough to tag her.

  Nowhere near, I can’t hear or even guess what he says, but whatever it is, he’s cocky about it. Her features and body tighten, and she pushes her muscles that bit more, her desire to get away even more alive. The burst of energy isn’t enough.

  The gap between them narrows, and a car pulling up in front of the house draws my attention away from the chase. Grudgingly, I abandon the girl to her fate as Ike saunters across the lawn, his shoulders square and upper body taut, failing to hide his unease. He shouldn’t be here, and yet he came as a favor to me.

  “Let’s jet.” He slaps my shoulder, vigilantly sweeping the area for trouble.

  I inhale the last of my cigarette, my curious gaze once again on the flying girl. Why is he after her? Did she steal something?

  Long black hair whirls in the wind like a tornado devouring her petite frame, and warm, pungent smoke fills my lungs. Hand now gripping her shoulder, the boy effortlessly spins her tiny body, and the acrid puff lodges in my throat. She cries out, tumbling to the ground.

  “Fucking asshole.” The faint grey smoke billows from my mouth and I push off the side of the house.

  “What’s wrong?” Ike follows my line of sight, barely looking at the two in the middle of the road. “C’mon, fuck this. These people ain’t gonna be your family.”

  Impatient, he strolls to the car, muttering under his breath. If it were up to him, I wouldn’t be here. I’d have left the system months ago when he did.

  Today, he’s my getaway, if I need one. I’m not so sure I do. This neighborhood isn’t so bad. The homes look decent enough, almost cared for. And the house at my back, soon to be my home, looks well kept. The grass isn’t green, more a dry yellow, but it’s tidy and trimmed, and there’s a small garden lined with flowers and shrubs. It feels like a home.

  I could do worse.

  I have done worse.

  Maybe it won’t be so bad this time.

  Damn, who am I kidding? Even the nice homes turn out to be rotten.

  People let you down.

  People hurt you.

  “J, you comin’?” he hollers from inside the high-end SUV as his fingers drum the steering wheel, eager to leave.

  The car is hot, and any minute now Brenda, my bleeding-heart social worker, will call me in to meet my foster parents. What will this be? Thirteen homes in seven years. I’m not ready for the street. The system is bad, but on the street, it’s another kind of hustle. Never close your eyes, turn your back, or trust anyone.

  Ike wants me to follow in his footsteps. He has plans for us—a life of money and girls. He’s dreaming big and we both know that’s all it is. A dream.

  Reality is, we’ll be Milo’s errand boys, taking all the risk and in jail by twenty-five, if not sooner. I’m no angel—I’ve had my run-ins with the law—but I don’t want that to be my life, even if my mother didn’t bother to give me a starting chance.

  I just haven’t told Ike my plans aren’t the same as his. Let’s see this one out. Not too long now and I’ll age out of the system. At least for now I have a bed and a roof over my head.

  The girl sits on the pavement, legs folded to her chest, glaring at the pimple-faced boy. Instead of defeat or useless tears, she is furious. Her black eyes are thin slits, lips twisted, and hands tiny balls of rage.

  Shooting to her feet, she glares and the dumbass leers, bending his head to hers. They are so close it looks as if he will kiss her. His mouth opens to say something, but he never gets the chance.

  Her fist connects with his face, knocking him onto his ass, and I snort, laughter bubbling from my throat.

  Firecracker.

  Not knowing when to back down, the punk gets up, face tomato-red and mouthing off some more. She ignores him, wiping at the dirt on her pink dress, and the jackass fumes, nostrils flaring, before once again shoving her onto the pavement. Fuck that.

  His cruelty lights an all-too-familiar fire within me and my fingers curl into tight fists. I’m best friends with my anger. People are always quick to use their strength, power, or whatever else they have against those who are lesser, smaller than them.

  I hate bullies.

  Both the butterfly and punk are strangers to me. I shouldn’t care but I do. I will beat the shit out of that fuckface. He’s easily my age, fifteen, maybe a year younger. He wants a fight. Let’s see how he
does with someone his own size.

  “Jared!” Ike yells over the purr of the engine, and I recognize his tone. He’s done waiting.

  Waving him off, I flick the butt onto the grass and immediately bend to pick it up. The yard doesn’t look half bad. Maybe if I try, make a good impression, this time will work out.

  My best friend shakes his head, disappointed, but hides it behind stony indifference. Growing up in the system, we learned quickly to never show weakness or emotion.

  Never.

  We go way back, living in some real shitholes together. He’s out now and wants the same for me, but today isn’t the day to run. I can’t explain it and want to see where this house, this family, leads. Who knows, this time might be different. Better.

  The car peels from the curb, burning rubber, and I smirk—he can be such a sulky bastard—and march toward the pair on the road. The fair-haired boy observes the car driving away, stalling when he sees me.

  Today is a good day to kick ass.