I had a simple life.
I worked two jobs, made
ends meet, and hung out with my mom and twin brother. The other part of my life
was about avoiding him, but when SWAT raided my boyfriend’s home, that was the
last straw. The boyfriend got tossed and to help me keep busy, my brother
talked me into joining their old band again, but I had to be honest. It wasn’t
a hard sell. Playing drums was in my blood. I used to be addicted and that
craving hadn’t been satisfied in three long years. The only problem was their
lead singer.
It was him.
The drums might not
have been the only thing I was addicted to. I think I was still addicted to him
too.
Excerpt:
Luke hit a jarring note on his guitar below, drawing me
from the past and back to reality. Seriously. I’d been ready to take on two
thugs beside a dumpster for my stupid-ass cousin, but this had ice filling my
veins.
I rolled my eyes upward. What was wrong with me?
The melody was addictive. I felt it reach deep inside me
and take root. My breathing wavered as he kept playing. He moved down a chord,
and the sound of it seeped into me, smoothing out the haunted memories. Then he
began singing. His voice was soft and low, but I could hear it as if I were in
the room. He was weaving a spell. It was like he threw a spear that had a rope
attached to it at me from a hundred yards away, and it embedded deep into my
stomach. Then he began pulling on it. I couldn’t fight because it would yank
out my insides, but damn, I didn’t want to go with it. This whole thing with
Luke was both painful and exhilarating at the same time. I had two urges going
through me at once. One was to crap my pants, and the other was to start doing
cartwheels.
I was just messed up, which is why I started down the
stairs. I still had no clue what to say, but I had to do something.
He was hunched over the guitar in his lap with a beer at
his feet. His eyes were closed, and his head hung over the guitar as he hit
another chord, his thumb beating out the base. Since he was only wearing jeans,
I saw some of the scars on his back. A storm of regret, shame, and longing all
swirled inside me. I wanted to go to him, run my hands over those scars, and
make them disappear. I couldn’t, though. We weren’t close anymore.
So many ghosts within you
So many haunts to pull you
away
You look, I reach out and
there’s nothing to do
They take you from me
again, far away
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t
take your hand
He kept singing, and my heart felt like it was splitting
into two, but then he faltered. His eyes opened, and he looked up. He didn’t
stop playing, but he stopped singing.
I felt like he was strumming me. I couldn’t look away from
his gaze. His thumb stopped hitting the bass, and his fingers slowed on the
guitar. “What are you doing here?”
Right. I was pretty sure I was seeing lust in his eyes.
With that thought, a fever took over my blood, heating me up. “I,” my tongue
wet my lips, “um, I’m here to talk about you and me.”
His gaze clouded over, and his eyelids lowered. He bent
his head back over his guitar, but he didn’t start strumming again. “There is
no ‘you and me.’ You’re in the band. That’s it.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Luke,” I started.
“No.” He stood up abruptly, setting his guitar to the
side. He advanced toward me, his eyes were smoldering.
When my back hit the wall, I realized I had nowhere else
to go and could only watch as he closed in on me. A part of me wanted him to
keep getting closer; the other part of me was still thinking about crapping my
pants.
He leaned a hand against the wall beside my head, keeping
a few inches between us. His eyes were hard as he said, “There is no you and
me. That died long ago, remember?”
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