Strum Your Heart Out (25 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

We spend half of the day in the pool, naked. The rest we spend in the living room, curled up on the couch or making food in the kitchen.

I have to devote Sunday to studying. Drew promises to give me the day for my schoolwork, and he sticks to it. He's still not home when it's time for bed. I get ready and curl up with my current reading-for-fun novel.

My eyes drift closed. Just a few minutes...

I wake up to the feeling of weight shifting on the mattress. I turn to see Drew, sitting next to me in his boxers, hands curled around a glass of water.

"Hey." He takes a long sip then hands the glass to me. "You finish?"

I nod, down half the glass, and set it on the bedside table.

"I'll give you room to study for the next two weeks." He shifts closer. "But I'm here if you need a break."

"A break?"

He smirks and lies next to me. His arm curls around my waist. He lifts himself up, so he's looking down at me.

His fingertips go to my wrist and he traces the faint scars. "These really weigh on you, huh?"

"Yeah."

His voice is low. "I know I freaked when you first told me. I wanted to protect you—"

"But there was no one to punch in the face?"

"Kendrick, don't be rude to people who are trying to open up to you." He moves closer. "I don't ever want you to hurt like that again. Not alone."

"You can't stop me from experiencing pain."

"But this—it's so much to hide. How do you manage that?"

"I'm used to it."

"You sure you're okay living like that?"

"Not forever." I shift onto my elbow. "But I'm not ready to face the kind of scrutiny I'll get when people see."

He nods like he understands. "If there's any way I can help—"

"Let me handle it. Please."

Drew turns off the lights and slides next to me. He turns me around so we're face to face. "Let's play a game. Truth or truth."

It's dark, but I can just make out his eyes.

"One question each," he says. "You can start."

I nod. I'm awake enough for one question. There's one burning a hole in my brain.

"You never want me to hurt again," I say.

"Yeah. But that's not a question."

I meet his gaze. "You're human. There must be times you hurt. Not someone you loved hurt, but you hurt."

"I hurt when the people I love hurt." He squeezes my hand. "I hurt when you hurt."

"When did you hurt because
you
hurt?"

"When Willow ran off with that asshole." His eyes turn down. "I didn't hear from her for days. I thought she was gone, forever, dead or ran away. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't even play my guitar. I only went looking for her boyfriend so I could make sure he hurt as bad as I did."

I close my eyes to picture teenage Drew in a fit of rage and agony. I never saw him feel anything like that, but I can still picture it so easily.

"When else?" I ask.

"When I got my first C."

"You got a C?"

"Yeah." He shifts away like he's embarrassed. "This algorithms class in college. I studied my ass off, but it did me no good."

"But you're a rock star."

"Back then, I was just a guy who killed it on the guitar." He turns back. Makes eye contact. "Still cared what my parents thought of me. Still had this idea I'd end up some Silicon Valley programmer who only played as a hobby."

"I can't picture that."

"Me either. That's why I've been so pushy about this teaching thing. Because I know how it feels to try to fit into a life someone else made for you."

"Do you ever doubt your ability to play?"

"You already had your question. But no. Not since I was a teenager." His gaze drifts to the pillows. "That hurt. When my mom stopped talking to me."

"What happened?"

"She said that if I took a year off from school to pursue the band, that she couldn't support me. For my own good supposedly. Of course, I dared her to follow through. Dared her to stop talking to me. I figured I'd give it a couple weeks and she'd realize how wrong she was. But she never did. Six months went by and nothing. Wasn't until my sister called to tell me I wasn't invited home for Christmas that I realized there was no turning back. I fucking lost it. Cried even."

"Really?"

"Really."

"But you always act so tough not being in touch with your parents," I say.

"It's better not to think about it. I can't change her mind. Dropping out officially sealed it. She's never talking to me again."

"But you're... you make a lot of money. Don't you?"

He laughs. "I have six figures in my bank account and seven invested in mutual funds. That's rock and roll, huh, mutual funds?"

God, he says it so effortlessly. I have seven figures. I'm a millionaire. No big deal.

"Did you ever tell your mom that?"

"Nah. She wouldn't care. Willow tried for a while to change her mind, but only thing she decided was that she'd kick Willow out if the subject stayed in the conversation." He pulls me closer. "Maybe she'll forgive me one day. Maybe not. Either way, I'm not apologizing for doing what I love."

"You could see her while we're in San Francisco."

"I'm not sure that I want to," Drew says.

I nestle into his body. "I'm sorry you went through that."

"Thanks." He runs his fingertips over my shoulders.

We're quiet for a long time.

Drew shifts. He runs his fingers through my hair. "Why didn't you tell me about your cutting sooner?"

"Same reason you didn't talk to me about your ex or your family."

He tilts me so our gaze meets. He's staring at me like he's demanding an explanation.

"Because it's ugly." My gaze goes to the ceiling. "Because I was tired of people worrying about me, or looking at me like I was damaged. Because my ex-boyfriend dumped me the day after he saw those scars. But mostly because I wasn't ready to tell anyone."

It's hard to breathe.

I pull the blanket over my head. I can't think those words. Not yet.

"Let's go to bed. I'm exhausted." I shift into my pillow.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Goodnight."

"You sure?"

"Just tired." I turn and press my eyelids together.

"I'm gonna play for a while." He shifts off the bed. "Sweet dreams."

He stands in the doorway, eyes on me, for a few moments. Then he turns and he's gone.

And I'm stuck alone with the words I still can't admit.

***

We fall into a comfortable rhythm.

We have breakfast together. I go to school, study for hours in the library, come home and collapse on the couch. Drew holds me and strokes my hair and teases me mercilessly about how cute I look when I'm tired. He puts me to bed, forcing me to shower and dress and brush my teeth and making it very worth my while.

I push away my anxiety about the trip. I'm going to tell my mom and I'm going to survive it.

I'm going to let Drew help me.

I'm going to be okay.

The days of my tests are a blur. I'm in class or in the library or asleep in my bed. I walk out of my last final at two p.m. utterly exhausted. I'm about to crash on a concrete bench when I see a crowd forming on campus.

A dozen girls are milling around something. Or someone. I move closer. There's nervous shrieking laughter from the girls.

"Thank you, but I'm taken."

That's Drew.

He spots me through the girls and motions
come here
. I push past them to rush into his arms. He squeezes me tightly.

"What are you doing here?" I squeeze him back. He's warm and he smells fucking good.

"I have a surprise for you." He kisses me like he's oblivious to the crowd we're drawing. "We don't have long. We're meeting the band for karaoke tonight."

"You sing karaoke?"

"No, but for you, I might make an exception."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I follow Drew to his car. Thank goodness for my love of walking. If I had to deal with taking my car home before I get my arms around him, I think I'd go insane.

He opens the passenger door for me, bowing gentlemanly.

"Thank you." I offer him my hand in a ladylike gesture.

He plants a kiss on the back of my hand then turns my arm and plants a kiss on the inside of my wrist. It tickles. I giggle, kicking my feet against the seat so I won't squeal.

He catches the skin of my inner wrist between his teeth. "You're distracting me, Kendrick. It's not time for that yet."

"Then get in. I want my surprise."

He smiles as he slides into the driver's seat. "You trust me?"

I nod. I do.

He pulls out of the parking garage, rolls the windows down, blasts The Beach Boys. The song fits the weather. The sky is blue. The sun is shining. It's hot, especially for this time of year.

We take the curves of Sunset all the way to Pacific Coast Highway. Drew has one hand intertwined with mine, the other on the wheel. Mostly, he looks at the road. There's something about his expression when he looks at me.

Almost like he's nervous.

But that can't be possible. I've never seen him nervous.

The ocean sparkles under the bright sun. If it was a poster it would be called
Freedom
or
Serenity
or even
Paradise
.

We drive for an hour. Until we're way into Malibu, way past where Miles lives. We turn left, toward a side street. There are mansions here. All of them open onto the sand. Lucky owners live on the beach in Malibu. They probably spend two hours a day commuting but they live on the fucking sand.

Drew parks into the driveway of a two-story white-and-blue house. He pulls a keychain from the pocket of his jeans and nods to the house. "It's ours for the day."

"What?"

"I rented it." He gets out of the car and pulls an overnight back from the backseat. "Technically, it's ours until tomorrow afternoon, though we'll probably be halfway to San Francisco by then."

"But why?"

He motions for me to follow him. We go straight to the backyard. It's enclosed by a tall gate on two sides. The last, the one that looks out on the ocean, is glass.

It's on the sand. The backyard is on the sand. There are lounge chairs and umbrellas. There's even a cabana.

He drops the overnight bag inside the cabana and pulls the curtain closed. We're as good as alone.

The air smells like salt. The waves are crashing in the distance. There's no mistaking that we're at the beach.

Drew's eyes find mine. "I brought both your swimsuits. I brought half your clothes. Enough that you can pick out what you wear." He pulls the curtain to peek out at the ocean. "There are no private beaches in Southern California. This is as close as it gets."

The beach
is
quiet. There are surfers about half a mile south, but there's no one close enough to see us in detail.

In theory, I can wear whatever the fuck I want without worrying about anyone seeing my scars.

In theory.

He kneels down to unzip the bag. "This is for you, Kara. You don't want to swim, we won't swim. You only want to swim in your clothes, then I'm going to be next to you getting my fucking jeans drenched. You want to stay right here and come on my face..." He unzips my jeans. "More than happy to oblige."

"The water must be freezing."

"Probably." He shifts back to his feet. "I got you something. Technically, it's for me, but I think you'll like it."

He pulls off his t-shirt, kicks off his shoes, and slides out of his jeans.

He's wearing a low-rise Speedo.

I fucking love it.

His eyes find mine. "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure. I can't see your ass."

He smiles and spins as if modeling for me. "Guess fair is fair. I got my show, now it's your turn."

"You call this a show?"

"I have a strip tease planned to "Hot For Teacher but that's not until you get your credential."

My cheeks flush. That's quite the motivation.

"You brought the polka dot bikini?"

His tongue slides over his lips. In a flash he grabs it from the bag. "Yes, Ma'am."

His eyes stay on me as I strip out of my clothes. T-shirt, shoes, socks, jeans, underwear, bra. It's just me, standing in a cabana in Malibu, naked in front of him.

He looks at me like it's the first time he's seen me naked.

I take the bikini from his hands and slide it on.

"You look fucking amazing." He groans.

"You have sunscreen?"

He grabs a tube and takes his sweet, sweet time applying it to my chest, stomach, quads. Study has kept me busy. It's been days since he's touched me properly.

I turn so he can get my back. His hands graze the top of my bikini bottoms them dip inside them. God yes.

His fingers trail up my back. "Your turn."

I take the sunscreen from Drew and apply it to every inch of exposed skin on his body—his muscular thighs, his ripped torso, his strong shoulders. I finish at his face, rubbing lotion into his cheeks and nose.

He leans down and kisses me hard. "You as desperate as I am?"

I nod. It's a good distraction.

I pull open the curtain and step into the backyard. The sun beats down on the concrete. It's bright. I look down at my thighs and trace my scars. No one is here right now. What if that changes? What if an MTV tour bus shows up the second we get in the water?

Drew's expression is soft, caring. "You ready?"

I nod. Ready as I'll ever be.

We leave the security of the backyard.

The sand is warm and rough between my toes. It's been years since I've been on a beach. I've lived in Los Angeles four years and I've avoided the beach for every one of them.

It's about five hundred feet to the water. Still just us. We're still alone. I focus on the dark blue hue of the ocean. The way the salt and sunscreen mix into a familiar smell. The feel of the sun and the breeze on my bare skin.

Wet sand smooshes under my feet. A wave crashes and breaks. Water splashes my feet. It's cold.

I didn't come this far to back out now. I wade to my waist.