Say You'll Remember Me

by Katie McGarry

  “What if you tell them you don’t want to do it?”

  “I can’t. There’re expectations of me, and I have to meet them. This is my job, a part of who I am. At least right now. It won’t be like this forever. Just one more year of no mistakes and then I can wear glasses all the time.”

  “Your dad doesn’t let you wear glasses?”

  “The focus groups have issues with my glasses, so I have to wear contacts on the road to make me more likable.”

  “I like your glasses,” I say, and that causes Elle to turn her head in my direction.

  “Liar.”

  I cross a finger over my heart, and a sad smile spreads over her lips. “You’d be the only one. In a few minutes, I’ll have to head to my mother’s suite, and there’s this professional who is going to do my hair and my makeup. They’ll pick out my clothes, my shoes. Someone will take a picture and post it for me on Instagram because I don’t run a single one of my social media accounts. Then next week Mom is going to take me to a salon where someone will dye my hair to an acceptable blond people will take seriously, and then she’s taking me to get new contacts that will make my blue eyes bluer.”

  Blue eyes bluer. There’s a string of curse words running through my brain and not one of them is suitable for Elle. “You don’t need to change.”

  The puppy gnaws on her fingers, and she scratches behind his ears. “Do you think we should name him? My parents will never allow me to have a dog, and I’ve been dying to name one. We should name him something ferocious like Spike or Dragon Slayer.”

  Anger causes me to sit up. “Is that what people are telling you? That you need to change? That’s bull.”

  Those intimidating eyes narrow in on me, and warning flags are going off in the back of my head suggesting I should sprint for shelter. “Is it? Because the last time we talked, I believe you were explaining to me that you were going to do everything my father told you to do, yet when I take that advice, it’s bull?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe you forgot I’m a criminal. If I mess up, I go to prison. I don’t get any more second chances or a team full of people who can make my mistakes disappear.”

  “Are you kidding me on the mistakes? I play Whack-A-Mole, and it becomes a national headline. I’m not allowed mistakes. Perfection is the name of this game, and if you think that’s easy, you are sadly wrong. If I mess up, I ruin his career, and I ruin any chance I have of doing what it is that I really want with my life. So don’t act like pressure is something only you own. There’s plenty to go around.”

  Ellison

  Drix glares at me like somehow my burdens are laughable. Maybe in his world they are, but my life is important, too. “Drix, you don’t get to make me or my problems feel small. No one does. I’m not friends with people who want to make me feel bad about myself, my dreams or my goals. I get enough of that garbage at home and from the media. I don’t need additional help.”

  I keep glaring at him, and he keeps those dark eyes on me. Like he honestly thinks I’ll give. “What are you expecting from me here, Elle?” The stare-off still going strong.

  “For you to apologize. Like I did with Mom, and I’ll continue to do when I’m wrong or someone else I feel responsible for is in the wrong. It’s not that hard if you think about it. Two words. Three if you really want to draw it out.”

  There’s a hard glint in his eye. Pride. I get it, because pride is my favorite sin, but I don’t have time for this nonsense. Not even for Drix. I scoop the puppy up in my hands, but before I can roll off the bed, Drix places his fingers on my wrist. “Don’t go.”

  My pulse reacts under his touch, but I try to play it cool. “That’s not an apology.”

  His thumb sweeps across my pulse point and pleasing goose bumps form along my skin. “Maybe not, but, regardless, I’m asking you to stay.”

  I want to stay and being asked to remain in his room somehow feels bigger than an apology. There’s a softness in his eyes that asks for forgiveness, and I give, relaxing back on the bed and permitting the puppy to trot back over to Drix. Traitor.

  “Do you always grow horns when you’re mad, or do you save that for me?” Drix stretches back out, too.

  I sort of hate myself that my lips turn up. “Evidently just for you.”

  “You could have warned me about the blood loss from your nails. Next time, I’ll carry around a first aid kit. Maybe a needle and thread for the deeper cuts.”

  And here comes the soul-sucking killing of my pride. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

  “I didn’t help,” he says, and I notice he still won’t fully admit he’s sorry. “And I don’t want you to apologize to anyone for who you are. Never do that.”

  I open my mouth to respond, and he cuts me off. “My father is a musician.”

  My forehead wrinkles as I have no idea what that has to do with anything.

  “He’s good. Very good. Possibly one of the best.”

  The puppy circles the blanket next to Drix three times before dropping back into a ball to go sleep in the shelter of his body. I’m grateful this happens because, from the expression on Drix’s face, he needs this puppy more than me.

  “My dad knew he was good. Before I was born, he had a number-one hit on Billboard.”

  I brighten. “Really? What song?”

  Drix’s head hits the pillow, and he rolls his head to look at me. “Does it matter?”

  From the pain etched on his face, I shake my head. No, it doesn’t.

  “My dad loved being in the spotlight. It made him feel like a god. He loved the attention, loved the parties, loved the people, loved the life. It gave him a high that he was always trying to chase. And he was willing to do anything, give up everything, hurt anyone to keep that high.”

  The puppy jerks as if he had caught himself going to sleep, and Drix reaches down and places a hand over him. To comfort himself, the dog or maybe both, but either way, at this moment, they need each other. “I became my dad.”

  My blood is pins and needles as this feels like I’m about to learn something huge. Is this the bad he keeps referring to?

  “I used to play the drums with my family. We were good, and I loved it. One time, Dad rolled back into town between gigs, and he listened to me play. He saw my potential, and he hooked me up with a band that was going someplace.

  “Because Dad was on the road so much, I lived with my older brother, and he disagreed with me joining this new band. I was fifteen, and Axle thought I was too young to be on the road, too young to handle the life the road had to offer. I thought he was wrong, so I moved in with my mom because she didn’t give a damn what I did.

  “Musically, I thrived in that band.” A faint smile spreads across his face. “After I joined them, things started happening fast. We went from playing crap holes to venues that could draw crowds. Record labels started to come and watch us, and they talked about possible deals. I loved playing and I loved the crowds, the attention, the parties, and I loved feeling like a god.”

  His smile fades, darkness creeps into his eyes, and my stomach cramps.

  “I was one person before joining that band, and then I became somebody else. I didn’t give a damn who I hurt. The only important thing in my life was myself. I was at that convenience store drunk and high because I thought I was invincible.”

  Drix is courageous because he meets my gaze. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t bare my soul, hang my mistakes out for someone to see, and do it while staring at someone plain faced.

  “I lost myself, Elle. I don’t claim to know who I am anymore, but I’m not that stupid kid who thinks he’s a god, and I have your dad to thank for that.”

  I nod because the sincerity flowing from him is genuine, and he needs to know I understand.

  “But while I’m grateful to your dad, don
’t talk to me about changing who you are. I like who are. Since being home, you’re the only person I feel comfortable with. Maybe I’m drawn to you because I envy you. You know who are. I want that. I want to know who I am, too.”

  My parents say I’m too young to know who I am. They say I haven’t tried hard enough to figure myself out. Maybe they’re wrong.

  Bolder than I have ever been in my life, I reach out and place my hand over Drix’s. My fingers curl around his, so he knows I’m here and that I’m not going anywhere. “You may not know who you are yet, but what I have experienced with you is amazing.”

  Drix turns his hand around so that we’re palm to palm, and my heart skips beats when his fingers glide against mine. I’m staring at our hands, so is Drix, and it’s like magic.

  His fingers don’t lie still. They move slowly along mine in this exotic caress that’s causing my entire body to run warm. I like his hands. They’re strong and they’re rough, yet they’re tender. I could stay like this, on this bed, with him touching me for the rest of my life.

  “I’m not going to lie.” Drix’s voice is rough as he speaks. “There’s stuff that went down after being arrested that’s left me bitter. But that doesn’t have anything to do with you or your dad, but with how screwed up the justice system is. The system doesn’t work for people who are poor. The school-to-prison pipeline is real. It’s also real that people who can’t afford representation serve time they don’t deserve. It feels better to have someone to blame. But sometimes I blame the wrong people at the wrong time.”

  Even though I love how his fingers are brushing against mine, I knot our hands together and squeeze. Drix squeezes back, and my heart mirrors the motion.

  He’s holding my hand. I’m holding his. Neither of us are pulling away. Drix caresses his thumb along my skin, and it’s such a slow movement, such a purposeful movement, that it’s as if he’s memorizing every part that he’s touching. As if I’m glass, and if he presses too hard, I’ll break or he’ll break, or maybe he’s just as scared as I am of this moment shattering.

  Drix’s head is on a pillow, my head is on the pillow and we’re eye level to one another. The material is cool against my warm cheek, and a tremor of nerves sweeps through me. His dark eyes deepen into a chocolate brown, and I melt. My grandmother once told me the eyes were the window to the soul. If it’s true, Drix has the most beautiful soul in the world.

  A million questions float in my brain. What’s happening between us? Does he also feel this gravitational pull for my body to come closer to his? The need for me to put my arms around him? The desire for him to enfold me into his chest? Does his body also have this growing curious pulse that’s awakening cells that have been in constant hibernation? Is he also thinking what it would be like for his lips to be near mine? What it would be like for our lips to touch?

  Drix’s hold on my hand tightens in such a pleasurable way I close my eyes as my breathing picks up speed. I want all of those things. I want Drix to want all of those things, too, and when I open my eyes again, Drix is staring at my lips. My lips. And there’s a hunger in his expression that sends a pleasing shiver through my core.

  Kiss me. Please kiss me.

  Drix edges forward as if I had said the words aloud and he’s willing to grant me my request. My fist kiss. Hendrix Pierce is going to give me my first kiss. My entire body hums and vibrates along with the pulse of my heart.

  My cell rings, and I jump out of my skin, breaking the connection between me and Drix. I’m out of breath when I answer and silently curse myself because it’s my mother, and me being out of breath will trigger her warning bells.

  “Hello?”

  “Elle? Are you okay?”

  I wince. “Yeah, I was reading...Dad’s binders...memorizing bullet points—” I’m incapable of sounding coherent “—the phone scared me.”

  “Oh, okay.” And I now have a happy Mom. “You were supposed to be in my suite five minutes ago so we can start on your hair.”

  “On my way.” I end the call and wonder how to handle this because this is new to me. Very, very terrifying and awesomely new. “I’ve got to go. Do you mind keeping the puppy in your room? I wasn’t kidding about my parents killing me if they find me with this puppy, and they’re still angry about what happened on the midway.”

  “He’s fine. Cynthia said I’ll only be at the fund-raiser for a half hour. I’ll put Thor in the bathroom with a blanket and put the do-not-disturb sign on my door.”

  My eyebrows raise. “Thor?”

  “You have something better?”

  Pure joy floods my system. “I like Thor. I’ll see you at the fund-raiser. Or not see you...” My face, smile, heart collapse to the floor. “Ignoring you at the fund-raiser is wrong.”

  “You really are concerned about the world being fair.”

  “Aren’t you? If we all did the right thing, instead of what other people say we should do, the world would be different. It would be better.”

  “It won’t hurt my feelings if we don’t talk during a rich people party.”

  It won’t hurt my feelings either, but the fund-raiser would be a lot more enjoyable if Drix was by my side. He goes to stand, but I put out my hand, scared he’ll wake the sleeping puppy, scared if he does stand and comes too close he will kiss me, and I’m not sure I can handle that.

  Of course, I’m not sure what I’ll do if he doesn’t because this is all happening way too quickly, and there’s an inkling inside me that questions whether or not we were about to kiss at all. As if I had made it all up inside my head. “Are we friends?”

  Drix looks me over, then says in a smooth voice, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

  Another ping of my cell, indicating my mother’s impatience. If I wait much longer, she’ll hunt me down, and then she’ll skin me alive for catching me in Drix’s room. “So we’ll talk later, then? After the event?”

  “I’ll leave my door open.”

  His door open...for me. The absolute thrill racing through my bloodstream is the highest I’ve ever been in my life, and I can’t wait for the fund-raiser to be over because Drix and I are friends.

  Hendrix

  “You brought a dog into a historic hotel? Are you insane?”

  As it turns out, Cynthia is part demon. Red-faced, spit flying out of her mouth, and I’m half expecting a few new limbs to pop out of her body.

  “The hotel manager has contacted the campaign, and they are livid.”

  The entire conference room full of people stop talking and turn their heads to look at me. I’m leaned up against the wall, my white dress shirt untucked and my tie loosened. Because Cynthia told me that the media has been preferring my “street style,” I’m in my own pair of jeans sans my wallet chain. This isn’t the first time in my life I’ve been busted, and Cynthia has to be aware being caught with a puppy isn’t my worst offense.

  In a half hour, we’re all attending some summer festival in some town in Kentucky I didn’t know existed until four hours ago. This is what my life has become: go to where I’ve been instructed, read from a script, be a robot, but then at night, I spend time with Elle.

  Cynthia stares me down as if she’s scary enough for me to offer an explanation. I cross my arms over my chest. I went to juvenile detention for Dominic. I can take on a pissed-off, pampered, fresh out of college, twentysomething wannabe politician with too much eye makeup.

  “That’s it?” she yells. “You say nothing? There are pictures online with you taking a puppy out of the hotel and getting into your brother’s car. You are representing the governor. You are supposed to be a model of...”

  She open and closes her mouth as she searches for the right words. “You are not supposed to be smuggling puppies in and out of historic hotels where dogs are not allowed and where the damage that mutt could have done could have been close to criminal. That hotel is on the list of hi
storic registries.”

  Thor’s lived with me for two weeks, and besides taking a piss once in Holiday’s room, a dump in the kitchen and eating my pair of combat boots, he’s been good. In the hotel, Thor only messed in the bathroom, and I cleaned, literally, that crap up.

  “Where the hell did you get a puppy from, and why on earth did you think it was okay to bring it into a historic hotel? Is this a joke to you? Is this entire deal you’ve made with us a joke? This picture of you and the puppy is starting to make national headlines, and I have to answer to the governor as to why you had a puppy at a historic hotel on my watch!”

  I can count in single digits my number of cares over someone taking a picture of me carrying a puppy out of the hotel. I had the bugger wrapped in one of my shirts, but he popped his head out right as I made it through the front doors and into Axle’s car. It wasn’t the media who took the picture. It was just a person who saw me, saw the puppy, clicked a button, pushed Tweet, and two weeks later the media found it online.

  The media and the world have wrong priorities if this is news.

  “Say something!” Cynthia demands. “Say something, or so help me, I’ll tell the governor that this entire deal was a mistake.”

  The chain around my neck tightens. “I found a puppy. I took it in. What’s the big deal?”

  Cynthia spins on her feet so quickly her hair catches on her thick coat of lipstick. “Big deal? I have no idea if that thing did damage to the hotel! You should have told me. Even better, you should have never brought a puppy into a historic hotel, and you should never break any rule! You are on probation!”

  The door opens, Elle’s dad enters the room, and my gut twists. It’s not just me who’s uncomfortable. Everyone else in the room looks down and fidgets in a wave as he walks toward a table that has his computer. Cynthia, I can handle. The governor’s disapproval, I’m not excited about, but once again...a puppy isn’t the worst thing I’ve done, and I’m banking on him seeing it that way. Historic hotel or not.