Reverb

by S. M. West

  At the familiar yet foreign act of compassion, my desire to take her mouth, own her, is fierce. I close my eyes, battling to keep myself in check.

  She presses the top of her head against my heart for a beat before stepping away. Slowly, my eyes open, and I stare down into her tender gaze.

  “Tell me, what did you end up doing with your life? I sing—what do you do?”

  “It took a while to figure out what I wanted to do. For a long time, dying was my greatest wish.” She huffs, shaking the fatalistic thought away. “With my injuries and losing you, my recovery was long and hard, full of setbacks.”

  We start to walk again, her hand nestled in mine, along the shore. The cool, salty water rushes over our bare feet.

  “My greatest struggle was finding calm, getting centered. Take going in a car. I equated cars, even driving, with losing you. I used to have such horrible and frequent panic attacks. So many panic attacks. So much so, they removed all traces of the outside world for fear of triggering an attack. All I had to do was think of you and I’d be plunged into hell for days on end. It felt like I was dying.”

  I tuck her closer to me, and she lets me hold her. “I know the feeling.”

  She peers up at me, tears dampening her dark lashes. “So much loss, first Mamá and then you. I couldn’t bear another breath without you. Over time, I learned and adopted techniques to help me with the overwhelming despair. I still use many today. That’s when I decided I wanted to go into occupational therapy, specializing in neurorehabilitation. I wanted to work with others who have had similar experiences.”

  “Wow, that’s cool. You’ll have to show me sometime—sounds like I could benefit from it.”

  “Some of the things I use work for anyone. I’ll show you.”

  Her light and hope are a jump start to my dark and battered heart. She gives me a rhythm and reason I’d long ago lost.

  “I have to go to New York tonight.” I don’t even stop to think, just wanting her there. “Will you come?”

  “Oh.” Her lush lips part, forming an O. “Tonight?”

  “Yeah, for business. I’m announcing my solo album soon, and I’ve got some meetings with a PR firm and some of the record execs first thing tomorrow morning. With you here, I don’t want to go, but I have to. I want you with me. Tell me you’ll come.”

  Her eyes drop to the sand, the sea foaming and cold on our feet. Then she tilts her head up, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Is Bianca going to be there? I haven’t talked to her since yesterday and I’m not ready to.”

  “No. I fired her.”

  It’s the first time I stop to really consider what her absence might mean for the business trip. As my manager, she handles these things, but I’m not reaching out to her. I don’t need her.

  I’ll text the label and they’ll figure it out. I’m sure they’ll find someone to fill the void. In this business, everyone is dispensable, everyone replaceable.

  “C’mon, it’ll be fun, and I’ll see if we can meet up with Eli. He’s gonna love you, and I think he’s gonna be your favorite.”

  My former bandmate is the most straitlaced of us all, despite knocking up a groupie and becoming a single dad.

  “Impossible. You’re my favorite,” she whispers against my mouth.

  My fingers dig into her slender hip, and my other hand cradles the back of her head, leading our kiss.

  Sadly, I’ve kissed my fair share of women after us, when I thought she was dead. But the second our lips meld together, my nasty past dissolves. Everything around us disappears.

  Gone is the hard-packed sand beneath our feet, the cold salty water pooling around our toes, and the squawking seagulls above our heads.

  Her mouth is warm, as sweet as honey, and mine for the taking. I’m exacting, almost severe, and she opens for me. I seize and claim, now gripping her face like I’ll die without her.

  Eva’s small hands latch onto my biceps, clinging to me, holding me in place. Her body rubs against mine as if clambering to get closer, to burrow herself inside me.

  I revel in our endless kiss.

  “Jared. Eva,” someone shouts from the direction of Silas’s beach house.

  She’s the first to break our kiss but remains plastered to me. Her cheeks are the prettiest pink I’ve ever seen and with Eva pressed up against me, unmoving, our hearts beat in sync.

  My chest hurts to look at her. She’s alive and striking.

  She isn’t mine, not like she once was. But I want her to be, more than anything. To make her mine, there’s more to say, and I don’t relish the thought of hurting her, but things can’t be left unsaid.

  Silas shouts again, and this time Gray’s trotting down the stairs.

  “We better go.” Eva steps away, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the house.

  Gray chuckles, waving us in and turning on his heel to go back to the house. We follow the same path and at the top of the stairs, I nearly crash into Eva. She’s frozen, staring ahead, her lip curling in disgust as her sister slips outside through the patio door.

  Silas groans, raking a shaky hand through his hair, and Pansy bounds to the door. Judging by their worried faces, they didn’t invite Bianca.

  “We can go, if she stays,” I say to Eva, now standing beside her, hands entwined.

  “Shit, she isn’t supposed to be here.” Gray comes to my side. “I’m not sure how she knew you’d be here.”

  “Miguel,” Eva says, gaze never wavering from her sister.

  Miguel. What the hell is up with that guy? I’m kicking myself for not asking sooner. He must be the same guy from all those summers she spent in Spain during high school.

  Truth be told, I’ve been dreading the answer even though I want to know who he is to her. Now isn’t the time but soon.

  Shit, so much still to talk about and I can’t shake the nagging feeling we’re running out of time.

  23

  Too tarnished

  EVA

  So this is what being bullied feels like. Bianca, Miguel, and my father have been at it for an hour. While I pack for New York, they spout nonsense as to why I shouldn’t go.

  I didn’t want them here, but we need to talk. After Bianca showed up at Silas’s unannounced and refused to leave without me, I finally relented.

  Jared wasn’t too happy, but I reaffirmed I’d go with him and that seemed to help. Once we got back, I started to pack and changed a few plans, and Bianca called Miguel and my father over.

  “Stop. Just stop.” I zip my suitcase and reach for the handle to set it on the floor as Miguel jumps to my side.

  “Let me get that for you.”

  Always the gentleman, or at least that’s what he wants you to think. He carries it to the living room and we trail behind him. He deposits it near the door, and I consider it a good sign that he hasn’t run out of here with my bag.

  “Listen. You are all relieved of your duties.” I place my hands on my hips, and they stare at me, confused.

  “What are you talking about?” Bianca fails to curb her irritation.

  “For too long, you’ve been orchestrating my life, and that’s over. I don’t care what any of you want. This is my life. I’m an adult and I’m competent in making my own decisions. And Miguel, you no longer have the right to be here.”

  He chooses to ignore me—this isn’t new—and attempts to take my hand, but I step away. “Eva, it’s been thirteen years. You no longer know this man.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t,” Bianca is quick to add. “He isn’t the boy you once loved. Being a famous musician has afforded him a lot of opportunities in life. A lot of excess.”

  She clamps her mouth shut as if she’s already said too much and folds her arms over her chest.

  “If you’re talking about that lifestyle, I can imagine. I’m not going to hold his past against him anymore than I’d want him to hold my past against me.

  Bianca snorts, looking to Miguel before coming back to me. “Eva, yo
u’re a saint. Jared isn’t. Don’t kid yourself.”

  “We’re done here. We’re going to have to agree to disagree. Now please leave. I’ve got a few things still to put together and I’ve only got a half an hour.”

  I march past them and open the room door. Arching a brow, I wait them out, and Miguel is the first to relent. My father and Bianca follow and she pauses in front of me. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  I don’t have an answer for her. It’s too soon to fully comprehend all they did to keep me from Jared. I can’t even think about forgiveness.

  “Eva, Jared will hurt you.” Bianca is solemn.

  “Just stop.”

  She opens her mouth, and I glare. We aren’t in a good place. I tolerated her today, still not accepting her reasons for lying.

  I’m trying to put myself in her shoes, but even still I’m not sure I could have lied to the love of her life to make my father happy. And saying things like that doesn’t make it easier to forgive.

  “Goodbye.” I shut the door behind her, the other two already in the hall.

  Resting my back against the metal door, I release an exasperated breath and collect my thoughts. My laptop is the last thing I need before the car arrives. Jared will meet me at the airport where we’re taking the record label’s private jet to New York.

  I amble over to the island where the laptop is on and open. Bianca’s words skim through my mind about his life as a rock star. Before I can stop myself, my fingers do the work, and I open up a browser to do a search.

  The Internet is a dangerous thing and just like doctor Google, delving into social media to unearth anything and everything about the hot bassist for Trojan isn’t smart. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Jared’s popular with the ladies. Silas and Jared were the biggest draws for the groupies, and the magazine article even hinted at such.

  So why am I torturing myself? Because my stupid sister planted the seed, and now my curiosity has the better of me.

  I hit enter, and my stomach drops to my toes. All my fears splash across the screen. Picture after picture of Jared in various stages of undress with a variety of women.

  Some look like publicity images at music events and things like that, and others are fan photographs. There’s kissing and groping. I click on a picture of a platinum blonde woman draped over him, her boobs in his face.

  Bianca may be right. It looks like he lived up to all the hype of being a rock star. And I meant what I said—I won’t hold his past against him. It just hurts to see what he did to himself.

  In most pictures, he doesn’t look like he does now. He seems to be high, completely out of it, and it breaks my heart.

  The boy I fell in love with is still there. It’s evident in the images and even now in the reverent way he talks to me and how his eyes soften when he watches me.

  Nauseous and sorry for looking, my gaze snags on my name. I click on the article and read. I’m blown away and near tears when the hotel phone rings. Dazed, having lost track of time, I answer and the front desk lets me know the car is here.

  The ride to the airport is a blur. I use my phone to pull up the article and continue reading. I also find more, related articles and consume it all before boarding the plane.

  Jared stands, striding toward me the second I’m on board.

  “Eva.” He wraps me in his arms. “You smell so good.” He buries his nose into the top of my head, and my stomach flips, butterflies coming to life.

  “This plane is awesome.”

  “Yeah, it isn’t too shabby.”

  We sit side by side in big, comfy leather seats that swivel. The takeoff is smooth, and once we’re in the air, I turn to face him.

  “How was lunch with Silas and the gang? I’m sorry I had to leave.”

  “It was good. Would have been better if you’d stayed. We missed you. How did it go with Bianca and the others?” A wary expression clouds his features, like he wants to say more.

  “Difficult, but fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” I push down any irritation. “I don’t want to talk about them. I’ve got a confession to make.”

  His dark brows arch with interest. “What did you do?”

  “Something not too smart.” I take his hand and he inches his upper body forward, studying me.

  “Go on.” Trepidation pours off him.

  “I looked Trojan up on the Internet. Well, more like you.”

  “Shit.” His fingers slice through his thick hair.

  “Yes, and as I’m sure you know, some of it wasn’t too pretty. I thought I was prepared for it, but I guess not.”

  “Eva, I don’t want you looking at that. I’m sorry—”

  “No. Don’t be sorry for your past. You thought I was dead. We did things that we had every right to do without knowledge of the other. We were living our own lives.”

  “Really.” Mischief plays in those amber eyes. “What did you do that I should know about?”

  “That isn’t the point I’m trying to make.” I squeeze his hand. “What I’m trying to say is, we don’t need to tell each other every single, nitty-gritty detail.”

  “What if I want to know every detail?” He knits his brow and his voice drops, more somber to match his expression.

  “Well, I’ll tell you…if you ask.”

  “Okay.” He relaxes, somewhat relieved by my response. “But this isn’t my turn. I interrupted. You were going somewhere with this.”

  “Yes. The pictures and women aside,”—he grimaces and I force a smile, still remembering some of the images weren’t for the faint of heart—”I came across an article, actually several, about one of Trojan’s more successful albums.”

  “Okay.”

  “The one entitled Eva.”

  A small melancholy smile draws at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, that was mine. I wrote ten of the twelve songs. It was the early days of Trojan and I was still working through a lot of shit.”

  “I just…I don’t know what to say. I want to buy it. I didn’t have a chance to before I had to leave.”

  “You want to listen to it?” I nod and he gets out his phone. “I’ve got it. You can listen now if you want. I’ve got some work to do. A few songs I’m working on.”

  “Yes, please.” I bounce in my seat, thrilled to have the chance. “I want to hear ‘Forget Me Not’ first.”

  He blushes, handing me earbuds, and then gets to work. I sink into the chair, completely blown away by the album chronicling not only our years together but also his time alone.

  I pass the time listening to the album and sleeping. The music finds me in my slumber, and some of the songs are dark, loud, and angry. Violent feelings of loss and sorrow, and while not my kind of music, I understand it.

  The lyrics evoke so many emotions, speaking to me on a visceral level. And there are a couple of ballads that bring me to tears. I can’t express it in words.

  His creation somehow brings me closer to him. I have a better understanding of what he went through all the years we weren’t together.

  We arrive in New York in the early hours of the morning and check into the hotel. The record label booked a suite with two bedrooms. While Jared showers—his meeting is in an hour—he urges me to take a nap, and I sleep.

  By the time he returns, I’m ready and we head out. He’d planned the day filled with things tourists do. We visit the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building, and close to early evening, we end the day in Central Park with a horse and carriage ride.

  I’m exhausted and also exhilarated from a fun-filled day. We hardly spent any time talking about the past and instead concentrated on enjoying now.

  “You ready for a party?” After his meeting, he did mention a function he had to attend tonight.

  “Really, you’re going to a party?” I follow him into our suite.

  “No, we’re going.” He removes his jacket and then his shirt, now prancing around shirtless.

  At six feet, three inches tall, a full foot more than me, Jar
ed cuts an impressive figure, and my stupid heart skitters. It’s as if I’m in high school all over again and unable to tear my gaze from him. I force myself to stare into his deep, amber eyes.

  “I’m just tired.” I rub at my temples, a headache coming on. “Do I have to go?”

  He stops midstride to the bathroom, peering over his shoulder to look at me. “I have to go—it’s all part of my career. I promise we won’t stay long, just so I can make an appearance. I’d like you there, but if you don’t want to go, I understand.”

  The desire to please him, make him happy, overrides the mounting tension in the back of my neck and skull. “Okay, but I need about twenty minutes to relax.”

  “Of course.” He steps in front of me, and his incredibly sculpted body fills my vision. “We don’t have to leave for another hour or so. It’s early for these kinds of things, but it doesn’t matter. Just as long as I show my face. Then we’ll come back and chill.”

  I nod, still mesmerized by him. His body is honed and defined. The corded muscles in his arms are smooth and extended, stretching across his broad shoulders, joining his wide and impressive chest.

  His waist tapers into a V, and the muscles on the sides…it’s called the Adonis belt and I suddenly understand why. He’s a god. Glorious.

  “Eva, if you keep looking at me like that, we aren’t going anywhere.” His words are filled with laughter.

  Heat rises up my neck, and I avert my gaze, guilty for ogling him. “Go shower.”

  Later, I hear him exit the bathroom, and I stay lying on the bed, finishing my deep breathing exercises. When I finally bring myself out of my meditation, he’s perched on the edge of the mattress, staring intently at me.

  “I thought you were sleeping at first.” His hand lightly rubs the top of my foot and ankle. “But that didn’t seem right. I could sense your awareness, if that makes any sense. You were so still. So peaceful just lying there.”

  “I was meditating. Using my breath to center myself and eliminate the tension in my body.” Smiling, I slide closer to him, my feet now dangling off the side of the bed. “Today was a lot of fun but also hectic. Since the accident, I can get fatigued after doing a lot, I suppose like most people can. But sometimes it can bring on a headache that turns into a migraine that will knock me off my feet for days. So this is one of the techniques I mentioned that helps.”