I just wanted to…shit, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I only knew that I didn’t want to be alone and I didn’t know where else to go.
“Come on,” I said again, and this time when I grabbed her hand, I didn’t let go.
We started forward, and I nodded at a few guys tapping the keg over by an old tree stump. They shoved their red cups in the air and started to chug. There were a few more guys from the football team gathered around, and though they seemed happy to see me, none of them came over. I was used to that these days. No one seemed to know what to say.
Though I caught a few looks that landed on Monroe and didn’t leave. Bill Ferris gave a long, low wolf whistle which Monroe ignored.
We reached the fire, and Monroe tugged her hand from mine. It was the right call. I mean, already a couple of girls who ran in Rachel’s crowd were staring her down, but still, it felt good holding her hand.
She felt good. Steady. Real.
And that was pretty screwed up, considering I didn’t think she liked me all that much, and technically, I still had a girlfriend.
I decided not to think about it too much. I decided that tonight I was gonna push all the crap out of my head and maybe have a good time. Or at least try to.
I’d been closed off from everyone for so long that it felt weird to see some of the old crowd hanging out near the fire, including Brent, the bassist in my band.
I thought he’d gone up to the cottage with Link and Rachel and the others, so it was a surprise to see him here.
He was shirtless, with his beige cargos hung so low I hoped he’d at least taken the time to pull on a pair of boxers. You see, Brent had a trigger. An old Def Leppard song, “Foolin’,” was his dad’s favorite song, and whenever he heard it, if he was drunk enough, off came his clothes.
The girls didn’t seem to mind too much, and us guys just thought he was crazy as shit. Brent was also one hell of a wide receiver and, as quarterback, my go-to when we played. He had nimble fingers for catching my passes and made the bass sound melodic in a way that not many players could.
His face made me think of things I wanted to forget, but I couldn’t lie.
It was good to see him.
“Dude,” he said with a slow grin, grabbing my shoulders tightly as he shook me. “Where you been hiding yourself?”
We hadn’t jammed once since the accident. Hell, I hadn’t picked up my guitar since our last gig. And it wasn’t that we couldn’t or didn’t want to. It’s just…without Trevor, the band was dead. It was like the soul, the groove, and the life were gone, sleeping beside him in that hospital bed.
“I’ve been working for my uncle.”
“Every damn day? That sucks.”
For a moment, his bright blue eyes shadowed and he stood back, rubbing the day-old stubble along his jaw. It wasn’t stubble so much as peach fuzz, and it was something I used to razz him about a lot.
Except I didn’t feel much like razzing.
“You seen Trev?” he asked carefully.
I nodded but didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t about to tell him that Mike Lewis had just threatened to kick my ass all over the hospital. It was a small town. I’m sure he’d hear it soon enough.
“I stopped in a few weeks back but he just…” Brent’s voice was subdued.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
“Yeah, I know.”
Brent’s eyes quickly slid from me to Monroe and the moment passed. He winked at her. “New blood? What’s your name, gorgeous?”
“Monroe,” she answered.
Brent’s grin widened even more and he bent over at the waist. “Nice to meet you, Monroe. Y’all don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
“I’m not.”
“So where’re you from, sugar?” His eyes moved over her from head to toe, and something inside me tightened. I nearly stepped forward but caught myself in time. I wanted to shove him the hell away from her, and that was wrong. Monroe didn’t belong to me. Shit, I barely knew the girl.
“I’m from New York City, and my name’s not Sugar.”
He snorted. “Your name might not be Sugar, but I bet you taste real sweet.”
Monroe made a weird noise in the back of her throat, and I was surprised to see a hint of a smile on her face. “That’s lame.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” Brent chuckled, his eyes moving from Monroe back to me, and I saw the question there. Brent was a player. Big-time. I narrowed my eyes in warning. There was no way he was going there with this girl. Mrs. Blackwell would have my butt in a sling.
Brent was all about getting laid, which was pretty much the one thing most guys I knew thought about every single day. But him? Girls had been throwing themselves at him since he was twelve, and the ones who fell for his lame-ass lines deserved what they got.
But Monroe was different. And she didn’t know him like I did.
“So, Monroe,” Brent said carefully, cocking his head. “You want something to drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m driving.”
“Right.” Brent looked at me. “That means you’re not.” He grabbed a can from his back pocket and tossed it my way. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of guitars.”
I popped the can open and took a long swig. The beer was lukewarm and not my favorite brand, but whatever, it was something to drink. Something to hold onto. Something to keep my hands busy.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Monroe said carefully, cocking her head to the side in a way that made a chunk of that dark tangled hair fall over her face.
I took another long drink and then wiped my mouth. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”
For a moment, I thought I saw a small smile lift the corners of her mouth. I blinked and it was gone.
“Are you going to play for me?” she asked. Her eyes glistened; little sparks from the fire reflected in their depths.
“Yo, Nate.”
The three of us turned as Chuck McDaniel strolled over with his girlfriend, Gina. I’d seen them earlier, at the festival, and wasn’t surprised they had ended up out here. It’s not like there was much else to do on Saturday night in Twin Oaks.
Gina’s eyes narrowed on Monroe, her glossy lips pulled tight in a fake smile as she flexed her claws.
“Where’s Rach?” she asked, though her eyes never quite made it to my face.
“Not here,” I answered.
“I can see that.” She snapped her gum and smiled. “And who are you exactly?” That was for Monroe.
“No one,” Monroe answered, before tugging on my arm. “Are you going to play for me?”
“Come on, Everets. What’s a party without some tunes?” Brent said.
“I don’t know, man. I haven’t picked up in forever.” I took another long swig of beer and then crushed the can before shoving my hands into my front pockets. “I’ve probably lost my calluses, and knowing the way you’ve got your action rigged, my fingers will kill tomorrow.”
“Pussy,” Brent laughed. “Get your ass over here.”
He was near the fire, and Monroe was two steps behind him. For a second, my eyes rested on her perfect round ass. On the way her hair swung down her back and how cute her feet looked with her green toes.
She turned, ignoring all the curious stares, and looked directly at me. For that one moment, it felt as if she was looking into my soul and she knew how badly I wanted to play.
“I want to hear you, Nate.” Her voice was soft, so soft, like a whisper inside my head.
“Sugar, if you sweet-talked me up like that, I’d do anything you wanted,” Brent said with a laugh as he bent closer to her. “Anything.”
He turned to me and held out a beat-up Epiphone. Trevor’s beat-up Epiphone.