In Place of Never (11 page)

Pru straightened at my side. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Mouse’s gaze traveled along the sidewalk and as high as Pru’s knees before falling again.

I extended a palm in her direction. “We’ve met.”

Mouse raised her gaze to mine. Fear and curiosity burned in her small, dark eyes.

Anton looked from me to Mouse in confusion. Microphone feedback screeched through the night. An announcer’s voice recapped the showcase so far and listed the names of songwriters still to come. Cross’s name wasn’t on the list.

Anton looked over his shoulder. “We’d better get inside. Cross is looking for you guys. He didn’t think you’d come. I guess he owes me a drink.”

I lifted my palm. “Here I am.” Never mind the fact Cross was almost right.

“Well, get in there before you miss him.” Anton rubbed his palms together. “He’s up soon. If he finishes in the top three this time, he gets a thousand dollars and an invitation to perform again next week for a five-thousand-dollar prize. Third week winners get ten grand and a trip to Memphis. He’d get some one-on-one time with a record executive too. He probably told you all that already, huh?”

Pru raised an eyebrow.

“He told me about the trip to Memphis.” Not the money. Holy cats. He could leave here with sixteen thousand dollars if he won every week. I could pay half my freshman tuition with that much money.

Anton rocked on his heels, looking proud. “This competition’s been to two dozen honky-tonks this year. I’ve tried to get Cross in at every event, but we’re always too far away to make it, or we get there and the docket’s full. This is the kid’s big chance to get his stuff heard. It wasn’t easy getting here, but I did it. Nadya fought us when she learned the River Festival was moved a month out.”

The River Festival had moved to the end of July a year after Faith’s death. No one thought it was right to celebrate the river on such an awful anniversary. The change stuck.

Pru edged forward, craning her neck for a peek over the crowd in front of Red’s big window. “Is he any good?”

“Yes.” Mouse’s small voice sent chills over my arms. Where was her weird little smile and blank stare tonight? Her name was fitting. She made it easy to forget she was there until she spoke and I remembered she was a vindictive jerk.

Pru didn’t respond. She pushed away from us until she was enveloped in the crowd.

“I’d better follow her.” I excused myself and slid between packed bodies at the door. “Pru. Wait.”

I stumbled behind. As she wound through knots and clusters of people with ease, I bumped my hips and toes into everything in sight and a few things I didn’t see. “Pru.”

Her hair bounced over her shoulders in the corner where stools lined the bar. A few moments later, I claimed the last little red seat beside her. “Finally!” She spun to face the stage, leaning back on her stool, elbows wedged on the mahogany bar behind her. “That girl didn’t look insane.”

“She is.”

Cross waved at me across Pru’s lackadaisical pose. His dimple sank in, dragging down a couple days’ worth of stubble. “You came.”

I bobbed my head, speechless. His fitted gray shirt looked soft enough to run my fingers over. The ink on his neck drew my attention. I fisted my hands in my lap. The lighting cues over the stage several feet away threw shadows across his cheeks and easy smile. He looked at home perched on a bar stool beside Pru. The frustration normally etched on his brow and carried in the tension of his jaw and shoulders was gone.

He tugged one of Pru’s blue streaks. “Blue, huh?”

She froze under his touch. “Yeah. Dad hates it.”

He laughed.

“Will Morris!” A voice echoed through speakers everywhere. Arms and drinks rose into the air along with wild applause.

Cross slid from his stool and hooked a guitar strap over his head.

Anton passed me and sat in Cross’s empty seat on the other side of Pru. His giant palms beat together. “Whoo-hoo!”

Pru snapped into action, whistling and fist pumping.

Cross sauntered forward as if he’d made the trip a hundred times and took a seat on stage, stuffing the ragged bar stool beneath him. “Thank you.” He adjusted the mic stand and spoke to the band behind him in musician code. The heels of his boots locked behind the rungs of the stool. The material of his jeans pulled tight across his thighs, accommodating the new position as he settled the guitar on his lap. His fingers splayed over the strings and he looked across the sea of faces before him.

I leaned over Pru and tapped Anton’s massive biceps. “Will Morris?”

“You didn’t think his real name was Cross, did you?”

No. Pru had already asked. I glanced at the stage. “Why do you call him Cross?”

“Nicolae named him Cross when he came on the road with us because he never smiled. He always looked cross.” Anton barked a laugh and called the bartender for a round of drinks.

The bartender winked and pushed two glasses of dark liquid to Pru and me.

“On this guy.” Anton pointed a thumb to his chest.

Pru beamed. “Coke?”

The bartender laughed and moved away. “Yes. Unless you have proper ID, soda’s the best I can do.”

“Sweet.” She jammed a little red straw into ice cubes and spun on her stool.

I’d opened my mouth to warn her about accepting drinks from strangers when a voice like none I’d ever heard broke through the hoopla. People stilled around me until only the guitar and an intoxicating voice of molasses and honey remained.

Pru released her straw. “Holy hell. That’s hot.” She stared openmouthed at the stage.

His voice was a low lament. His words a heartbreaking tale of pain and loss. The guitar swaddled each note, lifting the words until the refrain ended and a second verse began. Slowly, the song shed its darkness, morphing into something celestial. Into prayers of hope and redemption.

Wow.

Pealing laughter and applause exploded around me. Too soon, he sauntered off stage looking sad and strong. The glint in his eye said much more.

The crowd parted for Cross as he landed palms on the bar beside me. “What’d you think?”

Words rambled out before I thought them through. “I think you’re remarkable.”

He nodded and somehow his crazy smile widened. “I accept.”

Laughter bubbled up from my chest and I was seventeen again. Alive. Happy. Not tormented and consumed by things I couldn’t change. Music was like that. Comforting. Energizing. Understanding. Cross’s song made me want to climb a mountain or at least out of the abyss.

A sharp chirp of sirens roared down the street outside. Red and white lights carouseled over the windows as cruisers barreled past.

Pru leaned around Cross, whose too-thick body was wedged between our stools. “What do you think that was about?”

I didn’t care.

Cross tipped his head back, draining the remains of his drink. The sweat-dampened material of his shirt clung to the planes and angles of his chest and torso. Images of what lay beneath the thin material swam before my eyes. Irrationally, I longed to see it again. I shook my head, rejecting the idea I could sympathize with groupies. A few slow blinks later, I regained my sensibility.

“Hey.” He dropped his face closer to mine, covered in the guarded expression I’d come to respect. “I don’t suppose you’d care to share what’s on your mind right now.”

I lifted my chin, guilty for staring at him, but unembarrassed. “Nope.”

“If I guessed, would you admit I was right?”

“You’re quick to assume you’d be right.”

“Maybe.” His eyes searched mine before their focus slid to my mouth and lingered. The thin silver ring at the corner of his bottom lip fascinated me. Stage lighting reflected in the shiny surface. I longed to touch the ring, to test the reality of it. The small silver jewelry seemed out of place on Cross’s unshaven face. His lips were wide and wet with whatever he’d drained from the glass moments before. I’d botched my first kiss years ago. I’d blamed Mark’s braces. Kissing a guy with a lip ring required a skillset I didn’t possess. Not that I’d ever kiss anyone with a lip ring.

I licked my lips, overcome with a sudden case of nerves and a butterfly infestation. “And if you’re wrong?”

He leaned forward an inch. His warm breath was sweet on my skin. “If I’m wrong, I’ll never try this again.”

I uttered a ridiculous sound and he moved back an inch.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume anything.” His features darkened. “Really. I would never.”

The dumb strangled sound came out again. What did I intend to say? Oh my Lord, I was a walking tragedy.

Cross jumped free of my personal space when a giant hand landed on his shoulder. Anton loomed over him, hand clenched on his shoulder. “There was a fire. Let’s go.”

“What?” I followed them through the parting crowd. Pru wound her fingers into the material of my shirt, calling out questions as we moved.

We were on the corner before Anton stopped and recapped a series of text messages from Mouse.

“Someone started a fire at the river. There’s damage to my trailer and the acrobats’ camper. We lost the prop van and most of the supplies in Nicolae’s truck.”

“Oh no.” I pressed shaky fingers to my lips, still tingling from the rush of fire Cross breathed over them.

Pru moved closer to Anton. “So Mouse went home?”

I thought of the scars on her face and Cross’s comment, “
If she didn’t enjoy my music, she’d probably burn my guitar.
”

Anton sighed. “She goes to bed before eleven most nights. She’s not much of a partier. You two better get home too. I don’t know what’s happening, but we need to get back and you don’t need to be involved.”

Cross stepped into my space, so near that our shoes bumped. His fingertips grazed my hips. “I’ll text you when I know something. Sorry about earlier.”

I nodded and he was gone. The guys jogged into the shadows, cutting through yards, heading in a straight path for the campgrounds.

Pru dragged me toward home. She hissed into my ear as we moved. “Do you think Dad and the old-man crew did this?”

It made more sense than Mouse ruining her family’s things or damaging her boyfriend’s trailer.

I shook my head hard, needing my words to be true. “No. He wouldn’t. Dad wouldn’t.”

Would he?

How many times had I uttered the same thing about Faith and our mother? They wouldn’t do what they did, but they were gone. There wasn’t much my family could do to surprise me anymore.

Sister Kisser

Despite the texts from Mouse to Anton, I sent up silent prayers for everyone’s safety. My idea of safety was probably different from hers. Personal experience dictated I should assume the worst until evidence confirmed otherwise. Emergency vehicles were an anomaly outside the Fourth of July parade. Seeing them tear through town at midnight sent a shiver down my spine. We stopped at the end of our driveway. Shadows trickled from our neighbors’ homes, tying robes around their middles and shuffling toward the commotion at the campgrounds. Families blended into a mob on the corner, appearing and disappearing as they passed through cones of lamplight.

Darkness engulfed our house. “I’m texting Dad.”

Pru gasped. “Why? He’s not home.”

I ran my thumbs across the screen. “I’m testing him. Maybe we have time to check on the Lovells.”

Pru edged closer, watching my screen as I typed.

“What’s going on? We heard sirens.”

“Now we wait.”

Pru chewed the polish off her nails. “Cross’s voice is major sexy. Did you see the girls’ faces in there? Did you know he could sing like that? How old is he?”

I clenched my phone to my chest. “He’s nineteen.”

My phone vibrated. “It’s Dad.”

“Nothing to worry about. Go to sleep. I’ll be home soon. Check on your sister.”

My heart raced in relief. “What do you think? Can we make it to the campground and back before Dad gets home?”

Pru dropped her hands to her sides. “What’s he mean? Check on your sister? For what? He took my door! What does he think I can do without a door?”

“Pft. Oh, I don’t know. Sneak out?”

I formed a quick response text.

“Pru’s with me. Was anyone hurt?”

“No. Lock the doors. Stay inside. See you at breakfast.”

Pru read the texts and huffed. “Wow. Blown off by Dad. How’s that feel?”

Like every day of my life.

She grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s go.” Pru darted through the night toward the river, cutting across lawns and leaping over flower beds.

I stayed on her heels, fizzing with nerves and energy as our footfalls beat a rhythm in the night. What would we find when we reached the campground? Would Dad be there?

What were we thinking?

Pru was fast, and my lungs burned with the effort of matching her pace, a sensation I’d all but forgotten. My muscles stretched and flexed in familiar lopes, the way they had when I ran with Faith and trained with the color guard. The unthinkable occurred to me as I jumped a fallen bicycle in the Murphy’s backyard. I missed running.

Two men with cell phones dithered outside a ranch home on Sycamore. Prickles of paranoia coursed through me, and I hunched my shoulders, hoping Dad wouldn’t pop up and drag us home in front of half the town.

Even as exhilaration wound through me, the liar in my head did her best to change my mind, carry me home, and cover me in bed. The stubborn new ember of hope in my gut pushed me onward, across moonlit fields and toward the river where Faith died. The same place my friends’ loved ones were endangered tonight. I wasn’t there for Faith when she’d needed me. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The moment I was safe in bed, I’d think about all the unearthed feelings accosting me these past two days. It had taken three years to settle into an easy numb. Then a few Lovell trucks rolled into town and my life changed. Again. Personal experience had proven changes in my life to be dangerous and wholly unpleasant. I should be running toward home instead of the river.

Silent red and blue flashes washed over the grass beyond the St. Mary’s Campground sign. Pru crept beneath the reaching fingers of a massive willow, and I ducked in behind her. Dad and his breakfast posse stood near the sheriff’s cruiser twenty yards away. I could hit Cross’s camper with a rock from our hiding place. My cheeks burned with the knowledge Dad could find us in the one place he’d forbidden us from going.