Better Than This Page 6

  Something flickered through her eyes as they bore into mine. I took a deep breath, unsure about revealing the one thing that could unravel me, then said, “Juilliard. I want to go to Juilliard and auditions are coming up. There’s no way I’ll be ready.”

  Behind me, Tad exhaled loudly. I turned and looked at him. Shaking his head, his face contorted in disgust. “You’re so negative. How are you going to get anywhere talking like that?”

  Heat rose to my face. I felt my temperature rising and the urge to stand up and scream. They had no idea how it felt to have your very dreams crushed in a single moment. To have everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve ever wanted, disappear in the blink of an eye. More than that, they didn’t understand how badly I needed out of my house. How badly I needed a new life.

  But I said nothing. I just stared at him, rolling his words around in my head.

  “I remember teaching you to roller skate. You were only seven…” June’s voice trailed off.

  I turned to the sound of it, curious of what her story possibly had to do with anything relevant.

  She stared off into the distance, as if she saw something we did not. “You kept falling. I was scared to death, convinced you were going to break a wrist or leg. I wrung my hands the entire time, forcing myself to keep encouraging you instead of letting you see my worry. But every time you fell, you got back up. Over and over. Even after scraped knees and elbows, you kept on trying. You were so determined, so confident. No one stopped you because we could see in your eyes there was no stopping until you got it right. Sure enough, by the end of the day you were skating circles around the other kids. You were always a quick learner. One of those people who is good at nearly everything they put their mind to.” June put her head down and fell silent, and by her faraway expression, I knew her mind was still in the past.

  I briefly wondered what else she remembered that she wasn’t sharing. Regardless, I knew what she was getting at. I didn’t need a lecture. She didn’t need to tell me to buck up and stop being such a crybaby. Although I doubted her statement, I got the message loud and clear. She was right. Who was the girl saying all was lost, who wanted to give up so easily? And where did she come from? I’m sure she was the result of an upbringing where you had no one by your side. No one to root for you when you succeeded, nor there to push you to bounce back when you fell. Maybe she resulted from years of inattention and a lack of guidance. But no matter the circumstances, I didn’t like her.

  I held up a stack of photos, which June promptly told me to put in a pile for her friend, Della. As I set them in the box marked with a “D,” one slipped from the bottom of the pile. Picking it up, I placed it back in the box but not before it caught my attention. The woman in the photo was unmistakably June. She looked exactly as I remembered her from my childhood. Her sandy hair lay in thick waves just above her shoulders. She smiled, her bright hazel eyes staring back at me. The only lines marring her creamy skin were the laugh lines around her mouth I always thought looked like perfect parentheses.

  But something else about the picture, her posture and the way she carried herself, caught my attention. I narrowed my eyes at the picture, studying it, before asking, “June, were you pregnant here? You were pregnant here,” I said with more certainty.

  “Ah, I don’t think that’s me,” she said, barely glancing at the photo.

  “Let me see.” Tad swiped the picture from my hands. “It does look like you, but…”

  “I don’t think it’s me, but if it is, it’s probably just one from when I was pregnant with your dad.” She waved it away and leaned back on her bed.

  Staring at June, I noticed the tension in her face. The tight line of her mouth and the way her back went ramrod straight. There was no doubt in my mind the woman in the picture was June. Had it been taken when June was pregnant with Tad’s father, it would have been nearly forty years ago. But the woman in the photo was not that young. Her face held the maturity and lines of a woman nearing middle age. The woman I remembered from not so many years ago.

  Tad handed me the picture and started to say something, but I stopped him with the shake of my head. I put the photo back in the pile. No matter the story behind the image, I would let the topic drop. June’s discomfort was obvious.

  “You know what you need?” Tad said, staring at me. “We should go to The Clover tonight.”

  Not a good idea. The band was booked there tonight. “Aren’t you a little young for The Clover? How do they even let you in?”

  The Clover was a hotspot for older teens and college students. A hangout for musicians during the day and a place for live entertainment at night. Dancing and alcohol were typical as well. Everything was kept low key enough the local police had yet to intervene. Most of the drinking was done discreetly in the bathrooms. Only a few times had the owners needed to break up the crowd. Still though, if I were a parent, the atmosphere was not one I’d want my twelve-year-old hanging out in.

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “I have my ways.”

  I suppressed a laugh. “My band is supposed to play tonight, so I don’t know…” Thoughts of the last conversation I had with them came back to me. The last thing I wanted was more attention brought to my injured hand. “Besides, won’t your parents care?”

  Tad dropped his gaze to the floor. “My dad died. My mom doesn’t care what I do. She probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”

  Join the club.

  I frowned as I took in his downturned mouth and slumped shoulders. Glancing at June, I raised my brow in question.

  “I would trust him with you,” she said, her voice steady.

  Great. That backfired.

  “Come on. It’ll be fun and a form of inspiration,” Tad pleaded. “It can get you all pumped to get back to your guitar and rock it.” His grin stretched ear to ear.

  I hesitated. Ugh. Why did he have to look at me like I hung the moon?

  His eyes gleamed, and I imagined his crushed expression if I said no. I sighed and said, “Fine. But if I say it’s time to go, we go.”

  “Suh-weet,” he said, pumping a fist in the air.

  I rolled my eyes, fighting the tug on the corner of my lips. As much as I hated to admit it, for the first time in over a week, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

  7

  The dingy, smoke-filled room at The Clover pumped with music and laughter. Roving, multi-colored light bounced off the cream walls, gray floors, and bobbing heads in the crowd. Some danced, some sang and cheered, while others sat in the booths and tables that lined the walls, talking with their friends.

  Every Thursday evening My Reality, our band, played as the entertainment. Typically, the night both started and ended with a few drinks. And as I walked amidst the crowd, the urge for something to ease my nerves gnawed on me. Pulling the pinstriped fedora down further on my head, I avoided making eye contact with anyone in the crowd. But of course, my efforts to avoid recognition were futile.

  “Hey, it’s Sam!”

  Crap. I squeezed my eyes shut before opening them and looking up. The owner stood several feet from us—Carl Logan. And with him was one of his buddies I recognized as a regular, Laird Brian. Carl waved me forward.

  I put my injured hand behind my back and glanced over my shoulder to check on Tad. When he met my gaze, I nodded in the direction of Carl. Turning, I moved across the floor toward the men.

  “Hey, Sam. Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight. Derek never mentioned you stopping by,” Carl said.

  I forced a smile. “Yeah. You know me. I can’t stay away from this place.” Reaching my hand up, I began to play with my ponytail—a nervous habit. And a big mistake.

  My hand froze, fisting a handful of my hair just as Laird’s ocean-blue eyes zoned in on my finger. His full lips turned up slightly at the corners, but his narrowed eyes softened. “How’s the hand?”

  “It’s okay.” I turned, needing a distraction and a moment to cool the flush rising to my face. “Hey guys, this is
Tad,” I said, yanking him forward.

  Carl frowned. “A little young to be in here, aren’t you?”

  Somehow Tad took his question and twisted it in his head until it was a compliment. He smiled and pushed his glasses up, looking way too pleased with himself. “Actually, I’m twel—”

  “He’s here with me,” I said. “I’ll take good care of him.” I shot Tad a look that said, shut up! then went to find a corner to hide in.

  Once I shrunk into the shadows, I turned on Tad, but before I could take my anger out on him, he said, “You know the owner? That’s so cool.”

  I took one look at the worship in his eyes and huffed out the hot air rising in my chest. “Of course, I know him. We’ve played here every week for years. He’s always tried to convince me to come and play solo on the weekends.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want trouble with the band. They would never have been okay with me playing here on my own. Unity and all. Not ruffling feathers felt easier.”

  Tad screwed up his face. “But they’re here playing without you?”

  The boy had a point…

  I turned to the stage. Lauren belted out the vocals of her favorite song, “Free,” while Ron played lead guitar in my absence, and Derek beat away at the drums behind them.

  We listened to a couple songs before the band took a break and dispersed amongst the crowd. Within seconds, Derek spotted us and came over. His arms encircled me, and when he leaned back and kissed me, I noted the taste of smoke and beer, and my stomach lurched.

  Feeling someone’s eyes on us, I glanced behind me and caught Laird’s gaze. I cleared my throat and turned back around. Trying to shrug off his steel-blue stare, I waved an arm toward Tad. “This is Tad.” I nodded toward him. “Tad, meet Derek, Ron, and Lauren. Where’s Faith?”

  Derek shrugged. “She got sick or somethin’.”

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only disposable one.

  “So, you babysitting or something?” Derek’s brows rose as he nodded in Tad’s direction. At his words, Lauren peered down at Tad like she would an insect.

  I felt the stab in my stomach, knowing Derek meant the question as a slight. And when I glanced down at Tad and took in his scrawny frame, black hair, and glasses, something pulled at my insides. “No, he’s a new friend.”

  Derek barely acknowledged my response, his focus already shifting away from me. “Hey, I need to get a drink before we start again,” he said. “Oh, and we’re going to announce your comeback and big debut in another week or two. Not tonight. We want to wait until we can give people an update on your progress. You being here is good though. Gives people a chance to see the rumors are true.”

  Bile rose at the back of my throat. I turned my gaze to the table and tried my best to ignore the heat of embarrassment rushing to my cheeks. I didn’t bother explaining how I hadn’t even begun to make progress, let alone have enough accomplished to make any sort of announcement to a crowd of fans, of which was the least messed up part of what he had just said to me.

  Instead, I took a deep breath and collected myself, and when Lauren complained about wanting a drink, I encouraged them to go. It didn’t take much convincing. They were gone in seconds.

  “Oh, my beating heart!” Tad brought his palm up to his chest, watching them walk away. “I can’t believe I just met Lauren Winslow. She is so hot.”

  I shook my head and laughed. “You too, huh? Who isn’t in love with Lauren? Let me just tell you… her personality counteracts her good looks. I guess its nature’s way of keeping balance.” Despite my efforts to hide the bitter edge in my voice, it seeped through.

  Tad pursed his lips. “Nature didn’t do that with you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You. Most guys are in love with you, too. My friends all are. But you’re not mean.”

  I laughed. “Um, thanks, I guess. You’re not in love with me too, are you?”

  “No. Liking you would be weird.” He wrinkled his nose and I tried not to take offense. “I just want to be like you. Or play like you, anyway.”

  I elbowed him. “Good. That would mess up our friendship.”

  Tad’s face lit up and I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged him. He launched into a monologue on his favorite bands, chatting with more exuberance than before. After a few minutes, my friends mounted the stage once again and began to play, shifting his focus to the stage.

  I leaned back against the hard wall of the club. My eyes zoned in on Ron’s hands as they moved over the fretboard. Following every note, I anticipated each move in my head. Watching him and imaging my own hands moving over the strings of a guitar were the only things I could do to satisfy my urge to play. I caught him when he missed a couple notes, and I wrinkled my brow in concentration, studying his fingers. On the start of a new song, I imagined him playing without his ring finger. How would he do it? I visualized him stretching his pinky, making the adjustment of the other fingers over the bar. I was so deep in thought, zoned out in the same way I often did when playing myself, I didn’t notice the presence of someone beside me until they tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Laird Brian.” He reached a hand out and clasped mine in his before I had a chance to react.

  Rolled at the sleeves, his blue shirt revealed tanned, muscled forearms and strong hands. The feel of his warm skin over mine shot a jolt to my bones. When he smiled, revealing straight, perfectly white teeth I nearly bolted. But before I could, he pulled away and ran a hand through his sandy brown hair, ruffling it.

  “I know who you are,” I said, my heart banging against my ribs.

  “Did you come for moral support?” He nodded toward the band.

  I smirked, and something about the way he smiled back at me told me he understood why I was there. Clasping my hands behind my back, I focused on the stage. The crowd was packed, most of them dancing to the music. From the looks of things, the local college kids had arrived.

  “So what is it going to take to get you to really talk to me?” Laird asked.

  I glanced back to him. His dark blues latched onto mine while he reached out and tugged lightly on the pony tail over my shoulder. Goosebumps crept over my skin.

  “Whoa,” Tad said from in front of us.

  I shot him a frosty glare, then turned my attention back to the stage.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” Laird brought my attention back to him. He reached around me and grabbed my bad hand.

  I shrugged, hating the flames I felt in my cheeks and the moisture pooling in my eyes, even more. Since the day my father severed my finger, I had formed a subconscious habit of hiding my hand. I was embarrassed enough, but him noticing how I tried to discreetly—or maybe not so discreetly, after all—hide it, was just plain mortifying.

  “Don’t hide,” he murmured, and the way he spoke so softly made me want to listen.

  He held my hand another moment, then placed it carefully back on the table in front of us, as if I were made of glass.

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat. My heart pounded in my chest and a part of me wished he’d leave. “I came because I needed to hear music. Any music. I needed to remember…” My voice trailed off and I bit my lip.

  Why was I telling him anything? I didn’t even know this guy.

  “Remember what?” he prodded.

  We played at The Clover nearly every week for the past couple years, and every week I noted Laird’s presence, yet he had never approached me before. I had never spoken to him, so why now? It seemed odd considering I had buddied up to Carl for years. He was the owner of the club, after all, and he was constantly trying to convince me to play a night a week solo. Yet through all the times I had seen Laird by his friend’s side, he hadn’t spoken to me. Okay, if I was being honest, I would admit I may or may not have shied away from Carl when Laird was around. And I also might have on occasion fled the moment he approached when Carl and I were talking
. But who could blame me? He was older and movie star gorgeous while I was… well, Sam Becker. Nothing special. And now… I certainly wasn’t anything special now with my injury, at least not anything good.

  The silence stretched between us as his eyes continued to probe mine, and I read in them a sort of understanding. Like he knew I was trying to decide whether to trust him.

  “I needed to remember what I’m playing for,” I murmured. “Why I’m going to even bother to try.”

  He nodded as though he understood, and I felt the tension in my spine I hadn’t realized was there lessen.

  “Have you tried yet?”

  “Yeah. It didn’t go so well.” I grinned, thinking how much of an understatement that was.

  “You may have to come up with your own way of playing. Do what feels the best. It’ll take time and hard work, but you’ll readjust.”

  My smile faded. “You make it sound easy.”

  “It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard you play a million times. There’s no sound more beautiful. Watching you play is like watching the rain. Your fingers and hands move like liquid over the strings, like they were made for making music. If you’re not meant to play the guitar, Samantha Becker, then what are you meant to do?”

  My question exactly.

  My stomach twisted, and when I opened my mouth to speak, I found I couldn’t.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I’d love to play with you sometime. Or be your private audience, whichever. Give me a call.” He pressed the paper into the palm of my injured hand, letting his fingers linger a moment, before standing.

  As he left, I noticed his lazy gait. The way he seemed unhurried, as if he had time on tap, some limited supply of it the rest of us didn’t. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he said something to Carl before clapping him on the shoulder and walking out.

  When I turned my attention back to the stage, I noticed Tad’s barely restrained smile and his wide eyes, which seemed to tease in their silence.