by Aly Stiles
I turn on the faucet. “He’s probably checking in with Naomi,” I mutter.
“His niece?”
I nod. Soap. That’s part of the hand-washing process as well. I squirt some into my hand.
“Wouldn’t she be in school on a Thursday morning?”
Right. Yeah. I blink at my hands. So what is he doing in that lounge—alone? My phone buzzes in my pocket but my hands are wet from their random cleaning. I shake off the excess water and wipe them on my jeans so I can pull out my phone. My heart pounds when I see a text from Julian.
“Oh my gosh. He just messaged you!” Viv whisper-shouts, leaning forward.
“What? How—”
“It’s all over your face. Don’t deny it. Well, check it! What did he say?”
I take a deep breath and stare back at my screen.
Can we talk? Meet me in the lounge at Studio 8.
I bite my lip, my pulse now hammering. “You good?” I ask Viv.
She grins and offers an exaggerated nod. “So good. Have fu-un!” she sing-songs, waving me to the door.
I shoot her a look and rush out.
Julian is waiting in the lounge, and sure enough, he’s alone as predicted.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
His gaze locks on me, sending swarms of fluttering insects through my belly again. He leans out past the main entrance and looks both ways before ducking back into the room and shoving me against the wall.
“Not really,” he growls, tangling his hands in my hair.
I moan when he kisses me. Can’t help it. I’ve been stripping him in my mind all morning, making mental love to his music in a wide array of fantasies I now get to live.
I lock my arms around his neck to drag him closer. His body is firm and warm against mine, his kiss intensifying until I’m gasping for air, silently pleading for more. I tug the waist of his jeans forcing our hips together, enjoying the firm pressure of his arousal. I slide my hand into his jeans, and he groans when I touch him.
“Hadley,” he rasps.
“Julian,” I respond, my own voice strained and breathy. I remove my hand, but now my own unsatisfied need is boiling into ferocious streaks of hunger. The fact that anyone could walk in on us right now should be firing an arsenal of alarms. Instead it makes me grab the front of his shirt and force his lips to mine again. I take everything I can in these stolen seconds, magnetized to every part of him. It’s like I’m sucking that passion right out of him, consuming it, devouring it until it overflows and consumes me right back.
“I should go,” he roughs out, still kissing me.
I secure my hands behind his head and steal several more. “You totally should.”
“We’re only supposed to be taking five minutes,” he adds, making no attempt to endorse his words with action.
“So go,” I say, grinning through another kiss.
He groans, and finally pulls back. “Okay, but… gah!” I’ve never seen a person look so frustrated. I love how I can read everything he feels. Viv’s right. He’s the opposite of my guarded poise.
He’s fire. I’m water.
I spread my hand over his cheek and draw him back to me.
“Relax. I’ll come up tonight. We can talk as much as, and as deeply as, we want.”
His eyes search mine, relieved. Then darken again. “Wait, no. I can’t. I’m taking Naomi to her first session with a counselor.”
“After that then?”
He exhales a heavy sigh. “Yeah, maybe. After,” he says more firmly through one last kiss. He pulls back, and my body already feels cold and needy from the separation. I watch him the entire time he backs from the room, staring with the same unspoken lust raging through me.
Eye-fuck.
I’d smile at Viv’s rare indulgence in a naughty word if it wasn’t such a visceral reality for me in this moment. I don’t even breathe until he finally disappears from view and frees me from that scalding connection.
Yeah, not sure how I’m supposed to survive the rest of this rehearsal.
CHAPTER 17
JULIAN
“Uncle Julian?”
“What’s up?” I glance over at Naomi as we wait outside the counselor’s office. I smile when I notice her knee is bouncing to the same rhythm of my fingers tapping the armrest. We’re both nervous about this, but some therapy is long overdue. I found this psychologist who specializes in pediatric counseling as well as grief and was willing to make time for us after hours when I explained the situation.
“Would you… I mean… if you want…” She shakes her head and looks away, her foot swinging in and out beneath the chair.
“Would I what? Be your date to the Spring Fling? Sure, but it might be kinda weird.”
A grin slips over her lips as she rolls her eyes. “Ew. No. Cringey.” Her gaze settles on the closed door. “It’s just that… would you want to go in with me?”
Her teeth sink into her lip as she looks away and swings her feet in more violent arcs.
Stunned, I don’t know what to say at first. “Uh… sure. I mean, are you sure? I’m fine waiting out here if you’d rather talk to her alone.”
She shakes her head, her small hand suddenly clutching mine on the armrest. “I think I want you there. Just for the first one at least.”
“Of course.” I squeeze her fingers, and we sit in silence until the counselor opens the door. No client comes out, which seems strange, but the counselor’s smile is warm and sincere.
“Naomi?” she asks.
My niece stiffens, her hand tightening around mine. She nods and stares up at the woman with wide eyes.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says brightly, moving forward with her hand outstretched. “I’m Veronica. You want to come in and hang with me for a bit?”
Naomi shakes her hand and darts her gaze to me. I can tell she’s flustered by the unexpected greeting, but not totally hating it.
“Um, okay,” she says, rising from the chair. “Can my uncle come too?” There’s a slight plea in her voice, and I pray Veronica is up for it.
She smiles and extends her hand to me. “Julian, right? We spoke on the phone.”
I nod and force a return smile. “That’s right.”
She focuses back on Naomi. “If you’re cool with it, I’m cool with it.”
Naomi’s shoulders relax as we follow the woman into her office. She shuts the door, and it’s then that I notice the additional exit to the parking lot on the other side of her office.
“For privacy,” she says to me, then catches Naomi’s gaze. “That way no one will ever know you’re here unless you tell them.”
Naomi nods, color returning to her face for the first time since we pulled into the lot.
“Please, get comfortable,” she says to Naomi, waving toward a cluster of seating options. What looks like a kid-sized easy chair is next to a few different straight back chairs decorated with assorted cartoon characters… and is that a beanbag chair? It’s black, so of course that’s what Naomi plops into.
I smile to myself as she settles in.
“You can sit back there in the adult chair,” Veronica says to me, motioning toward a seat behind Naomi. I realize when I sit that Naomi wouldn’t be able to see me from this angle. She’ll be forced to focus on the counselor and maybe forget about me altogether once she gets more comfortable.
Veronica shocks both of us by dropping to the carpet in front of Naomi and crossing her legs. “So your uncle tells me you’re into music, Naomi. What do you play?”
“Um, nothing really yet, but I’m learning guitar.”
“Seriously? Wow! Do you have your own guitar?”
Naomi nods, twisting a look back at me. I just return her smile when Veronica shakes her head at me over Naomi’s shoulder.
Naomi turns back and faces her again. “Yeah. Uncle Julian got it for me. It’s a Martin.”
“Oh, a Martin. I’ve heard those are good guitars.”
Naomi straightens a little, e
ven leaning forward slightly. “Yeah, and he has a Taylor. It’s really expensive but he likes the action high and we had to lower it for me.”
“The action?”
Naomi nods, leaning toward her even further. “Yeah, it’s like, how close the strings are to the frets. So when you play”—she holds out her arms to demonstrate—“You don’t have to push as hard if it’s low action, but it can also buzz if it’s too low. You have to find that perfect fit for you.”
“Huh, I never knew that,” Veronica says, raising her eyebrows and nodding.
They continue like this for several minutes, Veronica prompting Naomi with questions that seem more suitable for a slumber party than a counseling session. Most are geared around music, once it becomes clear that’s Naomi’s favorite topic. She tells Veronica about the song we’re writing, how I’m a big famous rockstar (I’m not), and the time she got to hang out with my bandmate Genevieve Fox who is now Viv Hastings in case she didn’t know.
Within five minutes, Naomi is totally engaged, perching on the edge of her seat, using hand motions as much as words in their back-and-forth. Ten minutes in, I realize she hasn’t looked at me once since that initial check in the beginning.
“Wow, so it sounds like you’re really enjoying living with your uncle.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, he’s cool.”
“How’d you end up living at his place?”
Naomi glances back at me again for the first time since the beginning. I clench my fist around the armrest and force myself to do nothing but offer another encouraging nod. She twists back to the front, and I see the rise and fall of a deep breath.
“Um… it’s kind of complicated,” she says finally.
“I don’t doubt that for a second. I’m game for complicated if you are.”
Naomi studies her again, and she waits as Naomi takes a few more deep breaths.
“So… my mom died last February. Then my dad came back. But I guess he didn’t really want me, so he dropped me off with Uncle Julian one day and never came back.”
Gotta hand it to her, Veronica’s poker face is pro-level. She gives nothing away but the same patient glow she’s had since the moment she stepped into the waiting room. “Whoa. That’s a lot to deal with at once. How are you handling it?”
Naomi shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”
“Well, that’s good then. I’d be pretty sad if all those things happened to me,” Veronica says leaning back on her hands. She studies Naomi for a few seconds. “I bet you miss your mom sometimes.”
Naomi shrugs again, but I can tell by the tension in her shoulders that she’s acting. “I guess.”
“What was she like?”
Naomi shrinks more and wraps her arms around her knees. “Um. She liked to sing. All the time. It was kind of annoying.” I hear the dual eye-roll and smile I often get in her voice. “She was also really pretty. Everyone said so. Blonde like me.”
Veronica nods, her gaze flickering to Naomi’s very not-blond head. “I see you have a new hair color now. Why’d you choose this one?”
Naomi reaches up and touches her hair, tugging on the ends before offering yet another shrug. “I like black.”
“What do you like about it?”
“It’s nothing and everything.”
“I’ve never heard it described like that. What do you mean?”
She quiets for a moment. I watch her fingers tangle in the ends of her hair and pull at it… just like I do when I’m upset. Huh.
“It’s because… I don’t know… I guess it’s like, nothing, on one hand. People see it as a neutral color, you know? Kind of blank and boring like white.” Her voice is small again. I see her shoulders fold in on themselves when she continues hesitantly. “But black isn’t nothing. It’s the opposite. It’s all the colors combined.” She rests her head on her knees. “Wouldn’t you want to have all the colors at once if you could?” she whispers, almost pleading.
Oh god. That’s why she surrounds herself in black. She’s trying to fill a void with color—all the colors.
Veronica blinks at her, her poker face slipping briefly for the first time. My own fists have clenched on the armrests again. I swallow a lump in my throat. I had no idea. No fucking idea.
“Hmm. I totally get that,” Veronica says quietly. “Yeah, I guess I would want to wrap myself with all the colors if I could. When did you decide to start surrounding yourself?”
Naomi ducks her head. After a moment she mumbles something even Veronica can’t hear.
“What was that? I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to hear you.”
Naomi lifts her head slightly. “I guess after Mommy’s funeral.” Her voice quivers in the heavy silence. “They tell you to wear black to those, but I didn’t have anything. Mommy liked green and pink. I had lots of green and pink but nothing black.” Tears break into her voice, and she shakes her head, covering her face with her hands. “I was the only one,” she stutters in a broken voice.
“The only one who what?”
“Who wasn’t wearing black.”
My world breaks when she does. My heart. My soul, everything shatters on the floor next to Naomi and that beanbag chair.
I press the cuffs of my sleeves to my eyes, hot liquid soaking through the fabric as I pull in deep breaths to control my emotion. When her shoulders shake, I know she’s crying too, and I stop caring about the rules. Maybe I’m supposed to be invisible in this session, but that’s not an option right now.
“Naomi,” I say, my voice hoarse.
She jumps up with a choked cry and rushes over to me. I pull her into my arms and bury my face in her hair. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” I whisper so only she can hear.
I feel her nod against my shoulder and hold her tighter.
“You don’t need all the colors anymore,” I say softly. “I promise.”
I don’t think either of us are ready to go home after that rough, but cathartic session with the counselor. Maybe the two doors to her office make sense now. We entered as two people and left as someone entirely different.
Naomi has another session scheduled next week, and for the first time I have hope that with Veronica’s help, she’s going to be okay. We have a long way to go, but today was a massive step forward.
“You want to get ice cream, Uncle J?” she asks as we buckle into the car. Her voice is still shaky, her eyes still puffy and red from crying.
“Heck yeah. Anywhere in particular you want to go?”
“Anywhere but Cathy’s,” she mumbles.
I second that.
I take her to another shop I’d heard about where you can get all kinds of strange and gross-sounding concoctions. Seems like just the type of thing she’d like. Sure enough, she orders a lemon-meringue pancake sundae, whatever that is, and I get a small bowl of soft-serve chocolate.
“You’re so boring, Uncle J,” she says as we slide into opposite booths at a table.
I study her weird pile of goop, feeling very comfortable with my choice. “Let me know how that is,” I say, waving my hand in front of her bowl. She rolls her eyes, and I dig into my ice cream with a smirk.
We’ve gotten about halfway through our dessert when my phone rings. Weird. Who calls anymore? I’m even more concerned when I see it’s Viv.
“Hey, Viv. Everything okay?” I ask.
“Hey, Julian! Everything’s great. I’m actually calling for Naomi. Is she around?”
Surprised, I stare at my oblivious niece, who looks up when she senses my attention on her.
What? she mouths, her eyes narrowing at me.
I look around the restaurant, but we’re the only ones here except the employees behind the counter.
“Yeah, she’s right here,” I say. “Hang on. I’ll put you on speaker. It’s for you,” I say to Naomi. She looks startled as she lowers her spoon. “It’s Viv,” I add, glad we’re in public to spare my ears the inevitable shriek that would have come in a more private setting. Instead it’s a sile
nt scream followed by a mouthed O.M.G.
I shrug and jiggle the phone, encouraging her to take it.
“Um, hi. It’s Naomi,” she says finally, her voice trembling.
I shake my head with a smile.
“Hey, Naomi! It’s Viv. It’s so good to talk to you again. How are you?”
“Uh, okay—good, I mean… I’m good.”
“That’s great to hear. Listen, the reason I’m calling is I had a thought today. Your uncle said you’re becoming quite the musician. Even writing your own songs?”
Her gaze snaps to me, and I shrug with a grin. She chews on her lip and stares back at the phone. “Yeah. Kind of. I mean, I want to be. I’m learning guitar now and I want to sing too and maybe learn drums. I want to do what you guys do one day.”
“That’s so awesome, Naomi. I thought that was the case which is why I’m calling. I don’t know if you’re aware of this but before I retired as Genevieve Fox, I set up a scholarship fund to help young, dedicated kids like you to grow as people and musicians. It’s called the Genevieve Fox Young Artist Scholarship. Each year we’re going to have an invite-only showcase concert and one of the performing artists will be selected to receive a full scholarship to the music school of their choice. Does that sound like something that interests you?”
Her eyes are giant orbs when they lift to me in shock. Me, I’m grinning like an idiot. I widen my own eyes, encouraging her to respond.
“Naomi?”
“Yes! I mean, yeah, that sounds really cool.”
“Great! I was hoping you’d say that. Then I’d like to formally invite you, Naomi Hayes, to this year’s Young Artist Showcase on April twenty-eighth. I know that’s soon. The other invites went out last month, so this is a special one. Feel free to think about it, but if you’re interested, I’ll give all the info to your uncle. Sound good?”
“Um, yeah. I mean, yes! Th… thank you, Ms. Fox. I mean Viv or—”
Viv laughs. “Let me know. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. Tell your uncle to bring you by the studio sometime for another rehearsal.”
They hang up and Naomi drops the spoon she’d been gripping. Her eyes lift to mine, brimming with excitement.