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

by SJ Cavaletti

  She said nothing, just crossed her legs and looked down at folded hands.

  “I wanted you to know I don’t go around every day writing songs and offering to be a bard. It’s special for me. There is something about you, Maeve. I wanted to… be there for you? Does that sound weird? Like I just couldn’t walk away.”

  Her brown eyes met mine. “I must have seemed pretty pathetic.”

  “Pathetic? Don’t talk crazy. I think you must be one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. Being willing to do such an emotional thing all alone. Where’s your Mom in all this?”

  “I actually wondered myself. I’m kind of surprised she didn’t set the troopers out looking for me. Maybe she has.” She took her thumb and dug it into her palm, as if massaging it. “She doesn’t want me to do this. She knows I’m here but, yeah, she’s completely against what I’m doing.”

  “I guess it will be pretty tense when you get home?”

  “To say the least. My Mom might disown me.”

  “Would she?”

  Maeve’s head rocked back and forth, weighing the yes and the no.

  “No. She’s too proud to have a broken family.”

  “Well, for whatever reason, this is a bit of security for you at least.”

  “Pzzzt. Yeah. I won’t be homeless. That’s a bonus.” She scraped her thumb nail along the inside of her palm, thinking. “Drake?”

  She looked up. Man, I loved those eyes.

  “Do you think I’m doing the wrong thing? I know my Dad asked me to do this. But he’s gone. And my Mom is here. She’s alive to live with the aftermath. I can’t help but think that my choice is between breaking my promise or breaking her heart.”

  I shuffled closer to her and put my arm around her. She continued.

  “My parents were so in love. Like, honestly, I actually hope to have a love like theirs. The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s why I could never settle with anyone I’ve met before. Their love was so good. I mean, practically perfect. And all the guys I’d met were so needy. They never gave back to me. My parents worked in perfect synergy. Like two halves of a magnet where you felt their strength most if you tried to tear them apart.”

  Maeve grew emotional and agitated, a tornado of memories swirled around inside her.

  “It must have been amazing growing up around that.”I said.

  “Yeah. Made me a bit idealistic, though….” She rubbed her palm again, this time harder, to where I hoped it didn’t go raw. She continued.

  “I can still see the look, in my memory. On my Dad’s face… when he made me promise…”

  She broke. A single tear rolled down her cheek and fell into her palm. She wiped it away as if some annoying fly, “But my Mom? It’s probably true that as much as I loved my Dad…”

  Maeve sniffled, she sucked air in quick and fast, holding back. Her body resisted the sorrow, tensing to stop her from crying. But in looking to resolve this enigma, only tears answered. Sharp breaths of air stabbed in and out of her lungs, almost like a child crying. I could see she wanted to hold it all together. Her cheeks were wet with sadness.

  “Honestly, Drake. It’s really hard to say this. I adored my Dad but my God. My Mom loved him more than anyone. They had something seriously special. But what will happen? What will happen in my mind if I don’t do this? Will I go mad? Wishing I didn’t break my promise? Is the wrath of my Mom better than my guilt?”

  She looked back down at her hands and wiped viciously at the tears. “Sorry…”

  I took her chin in my hand and lifted it. Then I moved myself in front of her, took her head in both my hands and kissed her salty cheeks. The taste of her pain.

  “Don’t be sorry, Maeve. For fuck’s sake. Nobody could bear to do this without crying.”

  She shook her head.

  “Weirdly,” she said, taking a huge sniff in through her nose that finally regulated her breath, “There’s been a part of me this week that made me wonder. Wonder if he made me promise to do this not for him, but for me. He… my Dad really knew me. He knew how closed I was. Really find it hard to open up. Even after this happened. You know I haven’t even cried in front of my two best friends?”

  “You haven’t?”

  “Nope. Being here. It’s… I don’t have to tell you how transformative it is to be around a bunch of people living their best lives. It sucks you in.”

  “It does. It really does. It hardly compares, but this thing with Jason. I was so glad I was coming here. For the same reason. Something inside shifts at Uyu.”

  An understanding glance.

  “You don’t have to put all his ashes out. Why not take a small amount? Take the rest home to your Mom? She probably wouldn’t notice.”

  Maeve’s sadness gave way to bemusement. “You really don’t know Dixie. She would know if a grain went missing.”

  I spread my legs, faced her, and placed them on either side of her hips. I pushed myself as close as I could. “Even so. This she could move on from. If you brought some of him home. Tell her you only put his feet out. Never met a woman who likes her husband’s feet.”

  A laugh. That smile again.

  “That’s kinda gross.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. You can cry more if you want to. I don’t mean to hurry over this with a joke.”

  “No. I like that about you. I’m way too serious. You’re… so much more balanced than I am. It seems like you can sit with it all. Laugh in the face of pain but not ignore it. That’s a talent,” she took my hand in hers, “And maybe that’s what makes you good at writing lyrics. Somewhere to put all that junk. I can’t thank you enough. Letting me be the one to pop your cherry. Writing a song for a girl for the first time? Should be more about getting in her pants.”

  “Oh, I want that, too. Maybe there will have to be a part deux.”

  17

  Jesus. I cried. I actually cried like a normal person. In front of another normal person. Not an “oops I let a tear go, let me catch that” cry. More of a “put up your umbrella” cry. And with Drake.

  It felt good. Better than good. It felt like I was more human that ever. More myself than ever, which was strange because everything about the way I acted around Drake was out of character.

  A character. Maybe that’s all I’ve ever been before. Performing in a play. Saying the lines and going through the motions of this persona I had built up to be the best kind of person I thought I could be. Wearing a mask. Part of the defensive strategy my Dad had said I deployed.

  Drake broke through the fourth wall.

  This man was gorgeously open.

  Beautifully deep.

  Soft with an open heart, but hard enough to catch my fall.

  Damn, his mama raised him right.

  It was hard not to wish I could bring him home with me. I kept telling myself not to get too close. I really didn’t need two heartbreaks in the same year. Hell, I didn’t need two in the same decade.

  But Drake…

  I wasn’t going to come across a man like this again anytime soon. If ever.

  Shit. Thinking that way made it sting even more.

  And also, I had never been any good at making the first move. Like I said. I kept my cards close to my chest. To tell Drake I’d like to see him when Uyu was over would be a first for me.

  I was a serial boyfriend kind of girl. Maybe three months. Once, three years. But I didn’t really date. Never been on Tinder or anything of the sort. My men came to me. Not that I was the most beautiful woman on the planet, but I could be elusive, and that always appealed to a certain kind of man. The bad kind. The kind that liked the chase. And I would let them chase, catch me and then stay with them until I decided it was more fun to be alone.

  Funny, I had no trouble telling people to fuck off and the hardest time asking them to stay. More proof of my Dad’s wise words I needed to be less protective of myself.

  Why couldn’t I tell Drake how I felt? Or just ask him how he felt? Just ask if he would like to get together
after all of this? This Gummi Bear Pyramid Palace made a yes feel inevitable. But it didn’t ease the question out of me.

  Maybe Drake would ask me?

  We sat in a few beats of silence before I finally broke free my mind chatter. “Maybe we should get going?”

  “Yeah, good idea. Tonight, there’s the beehive where there should be some DJs spinning. Joey and El said it would be decent music. Don’t know how they know this though, so no promises.”

  “Clubbing. Nice. Look at us selling out,” I joked.

  His dimple winked.

  “When in Rome…” he stood and offered me his hand, pulling me to standing position.

  “I don’t want to pretend to be too cool,” I admitted, “If I’m honest, I actually had a lot of fun dancing last night. It appears I don’t totally hate jazzy house.”

  “It’s the sax. Real instruments redeem the failings of a synthesizer.”

  Suddenly, he pulled me in. Hard. He hugged me. Almost like he had been the one who had been crying.

  My face smothered on his chest. His body so comforting. This affection felt great. A sympathetic hug. In the past, I would have refused it. Not wanting pity. But Drake’s sharp, fresh deodorant awakened me to the fact that I’d be a fool not to stand here for as long as he’d have me, cheek on his chest, my hand trying to stay still on his sex abs.

  I wondered what he was thinking. This hug wasn’t mindless. Instead of asking, I said, “You’re a good hugger.”

  He swayed my body from side to side, still close and connected to his, “Maeve… what am I going to do with you?”

  And that was it. That was where he was supposed to ask. Or tell me. Tell me to visit Seattle.

  He stroked his short nails along my back, as it was mostly bare, only in my bikini top; his fingers tickled and satisfied at the same time. I tilted my face upward, craning my neck to see his face and not let go of his body.

  And I did it. I let myself make a move. Not checkmate, but a move that might just bring me closer to my objective.

  “Just kiss me. You could do that with me?”

  He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs, just barely around his waist, his rock hard torso wrapped in my thighs.

  And we kissed. It couldn’t have been better if we were in the glow of the Eiffel Tower or a Caribbean sunset. The colorful pyramid radiated a light that so ideally matched what I felt in my heart at that moment. All the colors of a fire, warm enough to thaw but not to burn.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on. His soft lips nibbled at mine. His lips, full and chewy like marshmallows; he tasted just as sweet. It was a delirious experience. It was hot and sweaty under the heat of the desert sun, with no breeze to cool our skin in this strange teepee. My mind and body raced forward and I couldn’t help it. My clit tingled, wishing he would throw me on the desert floor and slip it in. If I couldn’t have his heart I’d sure as hell take everything else.

  He stopped kissing me, but his hands that held me up by the butt and he gave me it pinch.

  “Is it wrong that I want to do naughty things to you in a house of Gummi Bears?” He asked, “I’m not sure what the artist had in mind here but it’s giving me a hard on.”

  I kissed him again, then pulled back and smiled. “We can always come back later. I doubt many people visit this place by night.”

  “Oh, you dirty girl.”

  “Yeah. The vibe at Sedna is contagious. Or maybe it’s just you.”

  Drake set me down and watched me. His eyes searching every contour of my face.

  “I wish we didn’t have to leave.”

  Did he mean now? Or ever? My heart said ever.

  Out there we had to face separating again. Out there, I had to get one minute closer to the ceremony. And driving back to L.A..

  “Me neither,” was all I said.

  “But I guess we should,” he said, putting his hands through his hair, something I wanted to do myself every time I saw it, “We need to change and get some supplies for tonight.”

  “That we do. Not that I have much to offer toward the evening,” I said, noticing the shift inside me that allowed me to say this and not feel guilty about it.

  He put his arm around me as we walked out of the pyramid.

  “Don’t worry, girl. We got you.”

  “You guys have given me so much already.”

  “I’m pretty sure we can spare the thimble-full it takes to sort you out for an evening.”

  His arm around me, we reached the exit. The sun blinded my eyes, whiting out the day, as if waking up in the morning. From a dream. A very good, and very unlikely dream.

  I went back to my tent alone and told Drake I would meet up with him in an hour-ish. It was now so late in the afternoon the sun faded in the sky, cueing neon to flicker on in the desert. Through the nylon tent fabric, I noticed the Sedna camp lights switch on and my dim tent turned a sensual shade of pink.

  Sitting down on my blowup mattress, which thankfully still had air in it, I pulled my plastic box of costumes closer. I knew exactly what I had hoped to be in it. My feather body cage. It was like a deconstructed bra, with only straps left that criss-crossed along my collar bones, around my neck, descending my ribcage to just under the bra line. Lace lined the open areas and also formed some shoulder pads onto which were attached flirty feathers. If there was one reason alone to love Uyu fashion, it was permission to wear feathers.

  On the bottom, I wore high-waisted lacy hot pants. I was going to be cold. Maybe Drake would let me climb inside his coat. Suddenly, this outfit seemed like less of a statement and more of a plan.

  I smirked to myself while grabbing a compact from my toiletry bag and setting up my cell phone with the light on my face the best I could, trying to get my lipstick right. No matter what. Get your lipstick on. One wise lesson that stuck with me from my teenage years with Dixie of Nawlins.

  And since this was my go to makeup item, I could probably put it on without a mirror. Which was lucky because the light faded quickly, casting shadows all around me. I took one last look at my lipstick, smoothing with my finger nail an imperfection on the edge. When out of the corner of my eye, I saw my Dad’s lunchbox.

  Sigh.

  Dad.

  What was left in that thing? What could I bring to these beautiful people who had adopted me? And was there anything that could ever thank Drake?

  I dug through the lunchbox had become increasingly empty over the week. I had given the two remaining Pandora pendants to Tristan and Isolde. The booze was gone apart from one bottle of Absinthe, which I stuffed into my satchel. If not tonight, then when? I had saved it as a special thing to share, glowing green like it would cast a spell.

  I looked around at a few more things, rummaging my fingers through all that was left. A few bits of card and some pieces of paper. I wanted to pick them up. Read them. See what writing they could contain that made them special enough to be in my Dad’s lunchbox. But as I lifted one up in my fingers, glimpsing my Dad’s handwriting poking out the edge of a folded piece of paper, I knew seeing my Dad’s penmanship was like tearing off the scab. Well, bandage. A scab had hardly formed yet.

  I threw the piece of paper back in the lunchbox, closed it and ran my hand over the smooth surface. I closed my eyes and wished for some spiritual moment, or maybe even a real one, where I’d feel the energy from the fingerprints he surely left behind.

  When I opened them, it felt darker than it had seconds ago. And in the aloneness of my tent in the middle of a desert in one of the most unusual social experiments I ever heard of, I swear I felt him. Even heard him. Like vapor that could talk. He told me to have fun.

  Maybe it was just my selfish, subconscious mind. Maybe it was the bittersweet reality that with my Dad still here I would never have met Drake. It scared me that I thought that way, even though my Dad had worked hard to hammer that very way of thinking into me.

  The butterfly effect.

  My finger ran the length of his cold, metallic lunchbox ag
ain. And I spoke to it. Like I was tripping in the goddamned desert, I spoke to that lunchbox.

  “Dad. I’m scared. I’m scared to be without you. I’m scared by how much I like Drake and that in so little time, the way he fixes me will be gone. I don’t want to like him. I have to accept that you’re gone. I know the laws of physics won’t ever give you back to me in the same shape you left. But I’m scared I’m falling for this guy and this whole thing will destroy me.”

  Maybe I had selective hearing. I’m not into paranormal shit. You think I would be. Having pretended to be a goth. But I swear. I swear I heard my Dad’s voice.

  “Feel the fear. Do it anyway.”

  Feel the fear. Do it anyway. Whether it was my Dad’s actual voice from the beyond, or the desert wind kicking up and playing a trick on me, I’ll never know. But what I did know was that my Dad, unlike a lot of them, thought that loving and losing was something we all had to experience as part of being a human.

  I remember the first time I had broken up with a guy. Jonas. We had been together as Juniors in high school. He was hot like a fifties movie star. A real James Dean. He smoked cigarettes and his parents were even stupid enough to buy him a motorcycle. I didn’t want to be with Jonas because he was all sorts of wrong. But when I broke it off, it still crumpled my heart. Because I gave him my virginity. There was something special about that then. There still is now.

  When I had gotten home after school that day, I slammed the front door, pounded up the marble staircase to my room (sadly, marble didn’t make the noise I had hoped it would), banged my bedroom door and put a pillow over my face. I refused to cry but still wished the world to go dark and for everything to disappear.

  My Dad had knocked. Came in. I felt the end of my bed dip down. I didn’t dare move the pillow.

  “Maeve?”

  I knew he wouldn’t leave until I had told him what was wrong, so I did it swiftly. “I broke up with Jonas. You can go now.”