Burn With Me: New Adult Romance (Take Me Home Book 1) (Take Me Home Series)

by SJ Cavaletti

  The guy next to me didn’t budge. Why wouldn’t he just leave? Leave me alone with my misery?

  “Is this your first time here?” He asked.

  Insult.

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “I just don’t feel like talking, okay?”

  He shook his head and when he did, his black curls bounced like they waved at me. He was impossibly good-looking. And his style got me warm downstairs, despite my best efforts to stay disinterested. His black vest open, baring toned pecs and a simple tattoo, heavy, metal jewelry draped around his muscular neck… He was tall, his skin was smooth and touchable like dusky suede. And when I finally dared to meet his eyes, they instantly told stories, unlike so many of the vacant ones I had seen on men in L.A..

  In any other moment of my life, I would have talked to this guy, possibly done a hell of a lot more than talk. But now? I felt ugly. And I wanted to be ugly alone.

  “You can go back to your friends now.”

  “I know.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “I actually don’t know,” then he paused, threw a thought around in his head and squinted one eye, “You’re not tripping? Are you?”

  A laugh bubbled beneath my surface. One of the involuntary kind, like when you see an old lady fall and it’s not funny, but it is.

  “No. I’m not tripping.”

  Just then, another guy walked up. He didn’t look like the kind of guy that would hang out with the rocker sitting next to me. Clean cut. Not the most outlandish Uyu outfit. Just black jeans, black t-shirt and a leather blazer. No jewelry. Maybe it was Rock Guy’s manager. I shared an inner eye roll with the demon in my head.

  “Hey!” He said, excitedly, not reading the scowl I hoped was on my face, still trying to deter conversation and any human contact.

  I knew I shouldn’t have come out tonight.

  “El, this is…” Rock Guy gestured toward me, waiting for me to introduce myself.

  I rolled my eyes. This time for all to see. “Maeve.”

  “Maeve?” Said the new guy, “That’s an awesome name.”

  Guy Two might as well have had jazz hands. He was that enthusiastic.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “I’m Drake by the way,” said Rock Guy, then he pointed to Guy Two and said, “And this is El.”

  I turned to El. Maybe he could take a hint, unlike his friend.

  “Nice to meet you. I was just telling your friend Drake here that I want to be alone.”

  El’s eyes widened because even though I felt as though my body language screamed its message, he couldn’t take a hint any more than his friend.

  He backed off, surprised but not offended.

  “Well, I was just coming to get you anyway,” he said to Drake. “The guys want to head out to the art over at January and Boardwalk. You want to come or just try to find us later?”

  “Yeah, I’ll come. Be there in a minute.”

  El walked back to a group of five.

  Drake turned to me. “Nice meeting you, Maeve. Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  He got up and walked off. But only two steps in he turned again and with the most gorgeously wicked smile he said, “Too bad it’s not me.”

  He turned around again, and I watched the finest leather clad ass walk away.

  Even though I wasn’t any worse off than I started at Magpie, something shifted when Drake left. I realized this was going to be a long, long week if I didn’t talk to anyone. And if I didn’t talk to Drake, so far that left Tristan and Isolde.

  Drake slid back into his patchwork gang. None of them looked like they belonged together. A bunch of misfits. My tummy warmed like holding a hot water bottle. My trio back home was exactly that. Me, queen of the underworld and rock. Peaches, with her blonde hair and boho so-cal tan. And Maisie, sport superstar.

  Watching Drake’s group, seeing them glow at each other, smile, laugh and talk with arms around one another. It made me miss my girls. The loneliness now ached less like a loyal friend and more like one stabbing me in the back.

  I tried to watch the band again, but my peripheral vision wouldn’t leave me alone. It poked my mind and told me that maybe I should run over and join those guys. Tack on to a crew and actually have some fun tonight. Distract myself with whimsy until the final ceremony.

  It was what my Dad would have done. If Drake had come up to us together, Dad would have engaged him. And both of us would probably be headed off on some adventure with total strangers making for a once in a lifetime experience never to be duplicated and forever remembered.

  I wondered why I resisted. It’s not like my Dad would want me to be all Queen Victoria when he died. He wouldn’t want me sulking around. Pebbles ground in my throat, thinking about him again. He truly didn’t want me to be sad when he was gone.

  I still remembered him and our conversation in that hospital bed, hardly enough energy to pick up his own glass of water, needing straws because swallowing had become difficult. He had reached over and put his hand on mine.

  “I don’t want you not having any fun just because I’m not around. Keep dancing. Not like nobody is watching. Because I am. I’ll have my eye on you, Maeve.”

  Being in the desert now. It really felt like he watched me. And he wouldn’t have liked the way I treated Drake. Hell, I didn’t like the way I treated Drake. I hadn’t shown my best side and acted like a sulking teenager. He actually seemed like a decent guy. And El, too.

  But I had relied on social crutches all my life. My Dad had introduced me to Peaches, after he started open water swimming her Dad. Peaches introduced me to Dana. Even my new job was an inside tip. Working at my Dad’s company meant I didn’t have to interview. It was as if my default has always been to say “no” to people, and if someone else wasn’t there to say “yes” on my behalf, I was paralyzed.

  After Drake and his crew left, I left as well. Truth was, I was absolutely exhausted. The day had depleted my reserves both emotionally and physically.

  Back in my tent later that night, I wiggled down into the unwashed sleeping bag that smelled of Tyran’s cologne, missing even him. Ambient light from the camp poured in through the thin nylon tent and illuminated my Dad’s urn, which I had placed next to my air mattress.

  A far tear collected in the corner of my eye and rolled down. Hot, tickling my cheek. I traced a finger along the smooth spheric surface of the hand blown crystal glass urn. Even though logical, the weight surprised me when I snuck it out of my parents’ walk-in closet (that had been turned into something of a shrine.) I couldn’t believe I had tiptoed out, carrying the fifteen pound, slippery globe-like urn without my Mom noticing.

  Then again, lately, she took sleeping pills just to get through the night.

  It was a beautiful urn, made to order by my Mom, a work of art. She told me the swirls and patterns, which looked something like the surface of Jupiter, represented air, water, fire and earth.

  My Mom.

  She loved him so much. She had never tried to make him be more like her, less “weird” and “hippie.” She had appreciated him. Supported him. Even how thoughtful this last resting place, this beautiful urn, was meant to be. She had created this piece because it was where she thought he would want to live. In the epicenter of the elements of the universe.

  Another tear burned guilt into my cheek. What was I doing to her? She must be in absolute agony at home right now. Terrified for my safety. Here in what she thought to be a jungle without my Dad looking after me. About to lose her husband for a second time.

  I was an awful daughter.

  To her.

  But my Dad had asked me to do this.

  I saw his face in my mind’s eye. Clear as day. Sunken eyes, yellow skin as thin as crepe paper. Dry lips, cracked and flecked with white as if they had dandruff.

  He had called me to his side. I sat next to his bed, in a Tibetan throne chair my Mom thought he would like. She had redone the entire room to be like a calm
temple. It had been beyond weird. Binaural beats sounded from the Sonos speakers and the lighting changed color along with the tones. A diffuser sent lavender and sage scents into the air. It was like a spa.

  Strange, not because it was uncomfortable, but because it had been so inappropriately mismatched with how I had been feeling. The room projected peace, calm, tranquility. I felt none of those things.

  “Maeve,” he had said after flopping his hand on mine, one of the beautiful sounds wrapping around us like a blanket, “You can’t let me live in the closet.”

  “What do you mean?” I had asked, even though I thought I knew what he meant.

  “Your Mom. She won’t be able to let me go. I know her. She’ll have me in that closet.”

  He let out a faint laugh that made him cough.

  I didn’t want to say it out loud for him. But he struggled to speak. To breathe. To stay awake. The pain of his cough vibrated through his body and he winced.

  “You mean, like,” I struggled to get the words out, “She’ll keep you in the closet how? Like… in an urn?”

  Tears warmed the insides of my eyelids. Lubricated, my vision became blurry.

  “Mmm,” was all he could muster.

  My chest was like a Chinese finger trap. The harder I tried to pull in some calming air, the tighter it became. My Dad talked about being dead. While he was still alive. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him to talk about what it would be like when he was gone.

  I regretted all the years of affinity with darkness. My time as a Goth. Why had I worshipped the macabre? I didn’t like death. I hated it. Now that it stared me in the face, I realized what a stupid, immature thing it was to think that death was cool. I just liked black. And the fashion.

  My Dad regained composure and said, “You need to spread my ashes at Uyu. Take me to one last party. The burn. Let me go free. I want to dance there and feel feet stomping around me. Not sit in a pot.”

  My face scrunched into itself like a crumpled tissue. And I cried. I felt ashamed of it. He was the one dying. Not me. I needed to be strong. I needed to just say yes, smile at him and tell him I’d honor him. But I just cried. I bent over onto myself, put my face into my hands and sobbed. As quietly as I could.

  I felt his hand fall down on my head.

  “It won’t be easy to pull a fast one on Dixie of Nawlins. But if anyone can do it, you can.”

  And as usual, my Dad had turned my tears into a giggle. I had looked at him, said nothing, just shook my head, letting him know I would do it.

  Now, here I was. At Uyu with my palm hugging the round urn. I sat up and took it, pulling it into the sleeping bag with me, hugging the cold, strange ball close.

  I never thought the hardest part of this would be waiting out the week.

  6

  The next morning, heat seared my skin through a crack in the motorhome curtain, sizzling the skin of my cheek. I grabbed my cell to check the time and grimaced at how late it was. Waking up at one in the afternoon should have been normal for a night owl like me, but at this place, I only felt like I was missing out if I slept in.

  I only had about a hundred and sixty hours for my soul to stretch before crushing it back into its box. I wanted to be awake for as many of them as possible.

  Lots of people slept away the day at Uyu. It was a Vegas kind of place where the real light seemed to happen at night. But I loved the daytime just as much. It was a chance to geek out and play kid again. Take in the art like I walked through the Louvre and sketch down lyrics like a French philosopher.

  A headache hit my temples like my head was in a vice. Whisky and the dry conditions made for killer dehydration. I rolled out of bed and into the common area of the caravan.

  Empty. El was already out.

  I walked to the sink, grabbed a glass and poured in some water from a giant plastic water jug.

  Just then, the door flung open and in walked El with his goggles on. Mr Safety. He wore his goggles so much he went home with tan lines.

  “Mooooor-ning!” He sang, chipper.

  “‘Sup. Everyone up?”

  “Yeah. You’re the last.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Feeling rough?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Wanna go to the smoothie place? I think everyone needs some vitamins. You know. The place where you ride the bike…”

  “…to make the blender go… yeah. Sounds like just the thing.”

  “Thought you’d say that.”

  I got dressed and when I got outside, everyone, even the Cougars, were waiting under the awning of the Hawaiian’s motorhome.

  “Eeeeeh. Sleeping beauty!” Pika said, coming over and rubbing my shoulders. “Popeye need some spinach?”

  “Yeah, green juice sounds just the thing.”

  We walked to our bikes, all parked along the backside of the Hawaiians’ motorhome. Joey came up to me.

  “What happened with that chick last night? It’s not like you to strike out, is it? You’re supposed to be our tim-tim. What happened to your swag, braddah?”

  “Ah, that girl just… dunno man. The one that gets her is a greater man than I.”

  What had happened he asked? Too bad I didn’t have a story to tell. You don’t see women like that every day. But whatever it was, she didn’t want to talk to me.

  We got on our bikes and pushed off to follow the others.

  “Never mind. But maybe I should swoop next time, eh?” Joey joked.

  As if. I loved Joe, and he was actually very good with the ladies. He was fun, unassuming, and something about him, I’m guessing his freckles, made women drop their guards.

  “Oh yeah. Too right,” I said, agreeing but not, “I’m sure you would have done much better.”

  Hours later, after giving away two lip salves and a carabiner to the smoothie camp, they generously rehydrated me with two ginger shots and a green juice that tasted like nothing but banana. I didn’t get any time alone that day, but fortunately, after visiting Center Camp and grabbing coffee, I enjoyed the day more than my morning hangover suggested I would.

  Our crew moved as one, like a motorcycle gang but not as tough, from one art piece to the next. There weren’t a lot of hours between one in the afternoon and nightfall, and our last stop before home, was a camp called Yoga Paradise.

  I had to admit, eagle and triangle pose felt fantastic. It was like when the muscles elongated, all the crap that was stuck inside escaped. The junk you knew was there, and even all the trash hiding eased out. The question was, where did it go? Did someone else catch it like a cold? Did it rise up and get eaten by the clouds? This environment, the incense, the candles and tantric music got me asking such questions.

  “Now place your right foot in front of you and fold over… Pigeon pose.”

  A very thin man with dreads and white harem pants instructed us. There was our crew of eight and about six other people taking his class in his marquee.

  I tried to push my foot forward, but my knees didn’t seem to work that way. I looked over at a woman a few mats over and she had her head fully pressed to the mat beneath her. How did people get so bendy?

  “Pssst,” El said from the other side of me. He whispered, “Joey and Pika want to make their annual pilgrimage to the kink dome. You know they always have a nice campfire at Sedna. Wanna go? We could just have a few drinks and chill there before going out tonight? I think if I go back to the motorhome, I’ll be tempted to crash. Especially after this yoga.”

  “Yeah. I’ll do whatever. I have supplies in my bag to get me to tomorrow.”

  When our yoga session finished, we headed on our bikes to Sedna. All but the Cougars decided not to head back to our camp. To stay out and enjoy the still evening.

  By the time dusk settled in at Sedna, I was three shots deep. We all were. We sat around a fire at Sedna camp, the warm, amber light glowing our faces in a hue that matched the sunset.

  Uyu was one weird place. If I was back in Seattle with theses guys, I def
initely wouldn’t sit around singing kumbaya while two of my friends went off to have an orgy in the room next door. But somehow here, it all happened and nobody batted an eyelid. The alcohol made it all impossibly funny, and I smiled to myself involuntarily.

  Koa and Jasmine sat to one side of me, possibly thinking the same thing I was. Or not. Koa’s next question told me they weren’t at all on the same page.

  “So, Dray,” Koa said, “You wanna talk about this situation with Jason? I don’t want you to think we don’t care and not ask. But if you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine, too,” Koa said.

  It was only natural my friends wanted to make sure I was okay. This was the biggest thing to happen to me since we all met. Since even before we met, but they didn’t know it.

  “Nah. It’s cool, man. Basically, he sent a text a couple days ago saying he was moving to New York and taking his songs with him. That it wasn’t working out anymore. But by his songs, he meant mine, because that guy didn’t write any of them. Except for Slushpuppie. Which was such a shit wannabe pop song I never wanted to play it.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Jasmine asked.

  “What CAN I do? It’s not like we have a contract or some written agreement or something.”

  “Really sorry about that, Braddah. You never know what the future holds though.” Koa reached out his hand and it landed sympathetically on my arm.

  “Yeah. Sucks.”

  It more than sucked. I finally got my head out of drinking and drugs enough to be in a space to try shopping around songs and making something of the band, and this happened. Figures.

  The fire stared at me, moaning lightly like a desert jinn, as if it had a message. I listened. But I just couldn’t hear it.

  In an instant, the air turned crisper. Colder. Neon lights from various camps surrounding Sedna flickered on, and I realized none of us had eaten much since our smoothies.

  It was time to head back. Pika and Joey were big boys. I needed to eat something and get off this bottle of liquor before I turned back on the road that led to smoothie camp again. If I wasn’t careful, it would be like groundhog’s day. I leaned over to El, to tell him I wanted to head back, when I saw her.