by S. L. Scott
Whispering, he asks, “May I see you in the hall?”
I look back at the class before I step out. “What is it?”
“I need two favors.”
“My kids are taking a test. I should be in there. Can this wait?”
“I was planning on asking you last night, but I decided against it since you weren’t yourself.”
That was the real me, whether he chooses to acknowledge it or not, but I’m not going to fight to prove otherwise. “What do you need?”
“I need you to take the lead for the Halloween dance.”
“You’re asking me now? This couldn’t have waited?”
“Mrs. Warner needs you to take the lead since she got as she says, ‘shafted with homecoming’ this year.”
“Look, I can’t add another thing to my plate, Brian.” I check on my class again. “I told her I would help her, but to take over? That’s too much right now.”
“It’s the only other major dance besides homecoming and prom. The kids love it, and if you can’t do it, it’s getting dropped this year.” Talk about being pressured.
I sigh and lean on the wall, feeling cornered. I really don’t want the added stress, but he’s right. “The kids love it. Fine. I’ll do it.”
He pats my shoulder. “I knew we could count on you. You’re always dependable.”
Dependable?
Ugh. Who knew at twenty-five that the only compliment I’d be receiving these days would feel more like an insult. The sound of the soft soles of his dress shoes against the floors as he walks away draws my attention.
Looking down at my own soft-soled shoes, I tap my foot several times trying to make them clack, to echo down the hall, but I’m punished with the sound of sensible, responsible, and comfortable instead. Ugh.
I go back inside the classroom and quietly shut the door so I don’t disturb the students’ concentration. Sliding back into my chair and tucking my legs under the desk, I scan the room of high school students again before I open my laptop to look up Halloween themed dances. Music disrupts the quiet, and I scramble to turn it off. All the students look up and some start giggling while I fumble through my thirty open programs to find my music player. I hit mute instead.
Sasha, a student who sits in the front row, laughs behind her hand, and says, “Good taste in music, Ms. Fellowes.”
Josh, one of the star football players and Mr. Popular, sitting in the back, says, “I saw The Crow Brothers over the summer. Kick-ass concert.”
It’s been three days since I talked to him on the phone, and sticking to my request, he hasn’t contacted me since. But my heart still clenches from the mention of their name. I try to steady myself and get control back. “Language, Mr. Baird.”
Just when I return my attention to the laptop, he adds, “Sorry, Stella.”
My gaze shoots up, directed on him. “It’s Ms. Fellowes.”
“My apologies, Miss Fellowes.” With his hand over his heart, he smiles, but I know that kind of smile. It’s a smirk that used to work on me when I was younger and much dumber.
I don’t need smirks or handsome faces, great abs, or hands that . . . shit. Coming to my rightful senses, I say, “Everyone back to work, or you’re not going to finish before the bell.”
When the class settles back into their test, I find the music player and hit stop but not before glancing at the band name and song title—The Crow Brothers, “Daydreams.”
My mind reaches into my memories and pulls the night Rivers wrote that song to the forefront.
Wrapped in the new sheets we recently treated ourselves to, I relish the softness of them against my bare skin. Keeping my eyes closed, I snuggle into Rivers’s side despite the sunshine sneaking in under the shade.
When he starts to move as if he’s climbing out of bed, I throw my arm over his leg and hold on. “No, stay with me. All day.”
I feel the heat of a large hand cover my back, and I smile against his hip. He says, “Let me get my guitar. I’ll be right back. Promise.”
His voice is so sexy, deep, and full of dirty promises. I release my arm and watch as he stands—his body would make the cast of Magic Mike envious. Olive skin over carved muscle. Two lower back divots lead my gaze lower to the smooth indentations on the sides of his ass. The muscles in his back flex as he bends down to pick up his acoustic guitar.
He turns around, and there’s just enough hair on his chest to dust the tips of my fingers across when he sits down. Rivers has changed over the years we’ve been together. I watched him become a man. He used to be a few inches taller than me at fifteen, but then nature made a masterpiece, stealing the peaks of physical perfection and creating the man he became. At six foot two, he stands almost a full foot taller than I do. His body eclipses mine, but I feel safe, protected, his love felt in his shadow. I willingly move into the darkness and find his welcome embrace on the hardest of days.
“A melody came to me while watching you sleep.” Settling back on the bed, he kisses my forehead while strumming. “It starts off soft like this.”
He plays a few chords and then tightens a string to tune the guitar, strums again, and closes his eyes. His fingers play the melody in his mind.
I say, “It’s pretty.”
“Like you, my love.”
Rolling onto my side, I close my eyes while he creates a song, and I memorize the purity of this moment. There’s been a shift in his life, and I’ve been trying to keep up. He’s partying harder and drowning himself in the after-parties. Sometimes, I drink and sometimes I don’t. I always observe.
I used to be right there at his side, but he seems not to notice a difference lately. So moments like these when we lie in the place where we’re building a home and life together, it’s easy to forget our late-night struggles. I drift off into the peaceful illusion.
. . . I look up just as the bell finishes ringing. Popping up from my chair, I call out over the noise of talking, chairs skidding against the linoleum, and bags being packed. “Your test should be on my desk before you leave the room, or you’ll get a zero. Thank you and have a great weekend.”
“Ms. Fellowes?”
“Yes, Sasha?”
“Mrs. Warner said you were taking over the planning of the Halloween dance.”
“I just agreed during class,” I start, realizing I was set up. They already planned for me to take it on whether I wanted to or not. I really need to get a life, so I can learn to say no. “Yes, I will be.”
“Great,” she replies with a wide smile. “I’m on the student decorating committee.”
“Oh, good. If you have any ideas, let me know. I’m drawing a blank on a theme right now.”
She nods excitedly. “I have a whole folder of ideas. I started planning during the summer.”
“Wow. All righty then. We can organize an after-school meeting with the committee next week.”
“I’ll email the team.”
“Thank you.” When the class clears out, Josh leisurely struts his way to the front and sets his test down in front of me. I hate his arrogance. Everybody at this school bows to him because they want another division championship, but his athletic career isn’t my priority. His education is. I say, “You should get going or you’ll be late for your next class.”
As if I didn’t say anything at all, he asks, “I was wondering what a teacher does on a Friday night. Do you go out or like to stay in?”
“That’s none of your business, Mr. Baird. Have a good weekend.”
His eyes stay on mine a beat too long, making me uncomfortable. I stand my ground, keeping my body stiff so there’s no room for interpretation. He swings his backpack over his shoulder and laughs while walking to the door. “If you ever want a break from that rut you’re stuck in, come by the lookout off the 360 Bridge.” I watch until he leaves. He’s such a cocky little shit.
I came into this field starry-eyed, wanting to make a difference in education and help shape young minds. Everyone warned me about teaching high
school. They told me to work in an elementary, but I was drawn to the subjects. I realize now they were right.
It took me a few years to adapt and make enough changes to start garnering respect. It’s ridiculous that a pair of glasses with non-prescription lenses, wearing my hair in a low bun, and loose-fitting clothes can throw off hormonal teenagers. Even though the changes were necessary, I miss being me.
I had also hoped to find not just peers once I settled into my first job, but also new friends. It didn’t work out that way. I’m too broken to make real friendships. Nobody knows what I’ve endured. I’ve become a master of protecting my secrets. Meadow doesn’t know, and no one else ever will. I lost so much of myself in the past few years that I have nothing left to give.
It’s funny, though, because Rivers looked at me like he was seeing the old me. If I wouldn’t have been in so much shock, I could have appreciated that more. In the quietest of moments when my mind is open, I will savor that look on Rivers’s face since I may never see it again.
Sadly, Josh’s words ring true. “Rut you’re stuck in.” I am in a rut. I used to go out all the time, at least three nights a week. Grabbing my phone, I call my sister, Meadow.
Only two years younger than me, most mistake us for twins. She hates that, and I love it. She’s a gorgeous girl with a strong sense of herself. With a few short-term relationships behind her, she’s currently single and has been begging me to go out for weeks. “Hey, what’s up?” she answers.
My heart races from the adrenaline, and my words rush out, “Want to go out tonight?”
“Now that’s the sister I know. Yes, I want to go out. Where and what time?”
Standing, I start packing up my stuff, excited to break out of this rut. “La Condesa for tacos at seven and then out after that?”
“Perfect. I’m getting off work now. Are you driving or calling a car?”
“I’ll drive. I can pick you up.”
“Come get dressed at mine. This has been a long time coming. Let’s make the most of it.”
She always makes me smile. “I’ll see you soon.”
“With wine.”
“Yes,” I reply, “with wine.” Tonight feels like a good start to some much needed trouble. I need to find myself again. And if anyone knows how to find that, it’s my sister. But only the best kind of trouble, the fun girls out for a good time kind.
I head home to pack and then back out to Meadow’s. When she opens the door, I hold the wine and my bag up. Laughing, she grabs the wine, making me whine. “Hey, thanks for the welcome and the help.”
“Get your ass in here, sis. Let’s get to drinkin’ and lookin’ our best. We have a date with destiny. Are you ready?”
“More than ever.”
6
Rivers
Ridge empties the contents of the Taco Bell bag on the coffee table just as I sit on the couch and set down two beers. Shuffling through the options, I ask, “Where’s my double stuffed?”
“Weren’t you ever taught that you get what you fucking get and you don’t throw a fucking fit?”
Chuckling, I toss a beef Meximelt at him. “It went a little differently back then.”
“Too many fucks?”
“Yeah. Pretty much. My kindergarten teacher didn’t say that version.” Spying my two requests, I reach over and grab the double stuffed tacos and kiss my delicious pretties. “Come to me.”
After shoving half a Meximelt into his mouth, he pops open the beer can and washes it down. “Wanna head downtown later? The Dahlgreens are playing Mohawk tonight.”
“Man, I haven’t seen those guys in a few years. They’re back from New York?”
“Moved back over the summer. I told Sheckler I’d stop by.”
“Yeah, it’ll be good to get out.”
It’s weird how much things change when you’re away. We didn’t know the doorman at Mohawk even though he knew us and let us skip ahead of the line. We missed the first two bands but arrive while The Dahlgreens are still setting up.
Grabbing beers from the bar, we head over to the side of the stage. Sheckler, their lead singer, nods when we approach, a large smile spreading. He stands to greet us. “Crow. Carson. Good to see ya. What brings you to town?”
I hand him a beer, and then we shake hands. “Trying to take care of some unfinished business before heading back to LA.”
He and Ridge fist bump as he says, “Cool. You staying for the show?”
“That’s why we came out. Don’t let us down,” I joke.
“Yeah, I’ll try not to.” He turns over his shoulder, and to his bandmates, he says, “We’ve got celebrities in the house. Don’t fuck it up.”
The guys laugh. I used to party on the regular with them in my bad days and created some of my worst memories with them. They’ve cleaned up, as I have, for the most part.
Ridge is a lot like me and doesn’t need the spotlight. With a few people now staring at us, he asks under his breath, “Think it’s safe to stay?”
Looking around, I nod. “It’s cool here.”
Sheckler tightens the mic, and asks, “So how’s the big time? As great as we all dream?”
Ridge replies, “Better.”
Knocking Ridge on the arm, he adds, “The pussy or the profits?”
“Both,” Ridge says, laughing.
Sheckler also chuckles. “It’s good to have The Crow Brothers gone. We’re getting more of your old gigs and maybe even some of the ladies you guys left behind brokenhearted.” Coming to the side of the stage, he adds, “Not that you’re interested or anything, but I saw Meadow Fellowes and your ex in here earlier.”
I lower the beer and lock eyes on his. “I’m listening,” I say, giving him my complete attention.
“Still don’t know how you left that pretty all alone. Was Naomi worth it?”
I tug at my collar, hating that gossip persists in spite of how hard I tried to tell the truth. “Nasty rumors, man. We never hooked up. The whole situation is jacked up. I was only helping her out; a favor that ended up fucking me over with Stella.”
He looks over his shoulder when his name is called, giving the drummer a nod. When Sheckler turns back, he says, “That sucks, Crow. Maybe you should go talk to her. I’ve not heard any updates on her.” He signals to the front corner of the bar. “I stopped by to say hi but had to get back to set up.” He makes sure my eyes are on him before he says, “She’s looking good. And her little sister—damnnn. If I didn’t have a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be here talking to you fuckers.”
Jealousy rises like bile in my throat, and my grip on the beer bottle tightens. He’s a fucker for even thinking about them that way.
I turn around and scan the crowd, but it doesn’t take me long to find her. Fuck. My chest constricts, and I hit my fist against it twice, hoping to loosen the sudden ache. Why does she have to be so goddamn gorgeous?
It’s only been a few days since I’ve seen her, but every time feels like the first time again when it comes to her. Just enough light filters over the bar where it reaches her and her sister for me to see her smile and laughing, engaged in a conversation with Meadow.
Meadow was like the little sister I never had. She could be as annoying as Tulsa sometimes, but other times, she was a good girl, sweet as my mom’s apple pie. I used to greet her dates after working out. My muscles were taut, my shirt covered in sweat. I let them know from the get-go not to fuck with my family.
Her parents never gave a shit if she was out late or dating some loser, but Stella and I did. The day of the breakup, Meadow delivered my guitars to me after Stella locked me out of the apartment. I begged her to help me, to get Stella to talk to me. Making a call, she did her best.
Hugging her goodbye wasn’t easy. She wiped her tears on my shirt and told me to keep trying. I did, but anger came after the grief, and I stopped trying.
Standing in my brother’s apartment, I realized we might be over. The shock settled in, the pain engulfing me. I didn’t cry when my mother
died. No. I was too busy trying to pretend it wasn’t happening to give her death an ounce of honesty.
I cried for Stella.
I let my fucking emotions pour out of me and dropped to my knees. Her words troubling me now just as they did then. “You promised me you would never hurt me, but you did. You betrayed me, Rivers. You destroyed me.”
That’s when I knew I had fucked-up beyond repair.
I look back, and Ridge asks, “That’s her?”
“That’s her.”
My shoulder is clapped. “Seems time hasn’t healed old wounds, my friend.”
I put my back to her, not knowing what I should do, but hoping she doesn’t see me. “I must seem so fucking weak to you.”
“We’re friends, Rivers. You can talk to me. I’ve been there. The difference is my ex cheated on me, so it was a lot easier to walk away. The night we ended was beyond fucked-up.”
Running my hand through my hair, I glance back once more before saying, “I’m the one who fucked-up. I made a bad decision.”
“Thought you said you didn’t cheat?”
“I didn’t, but she thinks I did.”
“Tell her then. Maybe she’ll forgive you.”
I’m already scoffing before I can think otherwise, because part of me is angry that she didn’t believe me. Didn’t trust me. It took time to see how bad things had looked to her. Understandable why she reacts to me the way she does now.
Please don’t do this to me.
“I’m thinking she’s not quite ready.” The band starts warming up, the sound blaring through the speaker next to us. We work our way back to the bar for another round. I lower the beanie over my brow, hoping to remain unseen by any fans. It would be good to hear the full set from The Dahlgreens, if possible.
I lean my hands against the cement bar top and look down the length to the far end, stealing glances around other patrons. Stella and Meadow are looking around, so I rest my elbows and lower my head, glancing toward the stage. The band starts jamming, and the audience turns to watch. I realize Stella is going to have to look past me to watch the band. Shit. I catch the bartender’s eyes, and she heads over. She asks, “What can I get you?”