Strum Your Heart Out (28 page)

"I'm not a monster."

She gets up, pours a bowl of cereal, and hands it to me.

"I sent Miles to your place," she says. "To get your stuff, tell Drew he's an asshole. That kind of thing."

"I doubt he's there." I crunch my cereal loudly. "Probably driving around trying to think because it's just so hard for him." I focus my attention on my snack. "Are Miles and Drew close?"

"As far as I can tell." She steals a flake. "But I don't have any intel. I don’t think Drew talks to anyone except you."

"It doesn't matter." I make eye contact with Meg. "Drew and I are supposed to drive to the bay tomorrow."

"Not on my watch, sweet pea. I'll drive you before I let you do that."

"I'll manage."

"Screw that. If our roles were reversed, you'd drive me to the airport and watch while I went through security. You're such a good friend, Kara. Way better than what Drew deserves. I don't care how awful his ex was. I don't care how massive his cock is or how good he is with his hands. You deserve better than the shit he pulled tonight."

She's right. But it doesn't do anything to change the way I feel about him.

"I know that look."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Only thing you want is for him to realize he's an asshole and try to make it up to you."

I nod.

Her phone buzzes. She looks at the screen, her brow furrowing.

"What?"

"Tom bought you a ticket from LAX to SFO. For tomorrow afternoon. It's first class."

"What's the catch?"

"He wants to take you to the airport." She stares at her phone like she's looking for some hidden meaning. "He didn't phrase it like an offer."

There goes any potential that this won't be hanging over my head all week. A first-class ticket is a decent way to travel. If things weren't all fucked, I'd prefer being in the car with Drew, even for eight hours.

But they are fucked.

First class is worth thirty minutes in Tom's car.

"Okay," I say. "What time?"

"Two. He'll pick you up at noon and buy you lunch. There's nothing to eat here and Miles and I are leaving first thing for Hawaii." She presses her fingers into her phone. "Unless... we can go in a few days."

"No way. You're not delaying your trip for me. I'll feel a million times worse."

"You sure? You'd probably do it for me."

"Not if Drew looked at me the way Miles looks at you."

"He does. He's just stupid. Miles is stupid too. It takes guys time to pull their heads out of their asses. Especially when they're used to being idolized."

"I want to leave tomorrow." I leave the cereal on Meg's desk. Then it's back to the bed that's not quite as soft as it looks. "I need to see my mom and get this whole telling her I'm not working for her company thing over with."

She looks down at her phone. "You want anything specific in your suitcase?"

"A coat, I guess. It's probably fifty degrees in San Francisco."

"Condoms?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Miles asked." She squints. "Why did he ask?" She taps a reply. A moment later she's laughing and shaking her head. "That's how you know an ex-player."

"Yeah?"

"He says the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

"He's probably right."

"I’ll tell him you’d rather be on top." She taps a reply. "He says Pete could use the rebound fuck. But you need to be
really
into dirty talk."

"Is he serious?"

She looks closely at the phone. "I'm ninety percent sure he's not. Pete's pretty cute. Has that dark hair. Also good with his hands—"

"Are
you
serious?"

She shakes her head. "Do you want the condoms?"

"I want Drew."

She taps a reply and tosses her phone on her desk. "How about an action movie to drown your thoughts?"

"One with really loud explosions, please."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I wake up to the sound of my cell phone alarm. According to the clock, it's eleven thirty. There's a key on the desk and a note under it.

Kara,

Feel free to stay as long as you want if you decide to bail on the flight. Lock up when you leave.

Call me if you need to talk. Anytime. I'll keep my phone on all night every night.

Love you,

Meg

My suitcase is sitting next to the door. I find a change of clothes in it. I shower, brush my teeth, get dressed.

I gather my stuff together and wait for Tom on the curb. There are fifteen minutes until noon. I occupy the time by making a playlist of breakup songs angry enough to fit my mood. "You Oughta Know," "These Boots Were Made for Walking," "I Hate Myself For Loving You." I'm up to thirty-five songs when a loud voice grabs my attention.

"You're gonna get mugged staring at your phone like that." Tom is leaning against the door of a red sports car convertible, sunglasses covering his black eye.

It's a nice car. A few years old. Flashy but well built. Very Tom.

He's holding two Starbucks cups. He offers one to me. "Earl Grey, right?"

I nod and take the drink. It's a little oversteeped but still better than anything else I've felt all day.

He pops the trunk of the car and tosses my suitcase inside. "I brought you a sandwich. In case you're not willing to sit down for lunch."

"What kind of sandwich?"

"Caprese."

"I'll take it."

He examines my expression. "All right. Get it." He opens the passenger door for me then slides into the driver's seat.

I buckle my seatbelt and focus my attention on my tea. I need the energy.

Tom turns on the car. "Shoulda started with 'I'm sorry about all this.'"

"Thanks." I find the paper bag-wrapped sandwich sitting in a cup holder. It smells good. "Can we put the top up?"

"Yeah.

He pushes a button. With a whir, the convertible roof slides over us, blocking out the rest of the world.

Now, I'm only one person's pity project. It's almost tolerable.

Tom slips his drink into the cup holder. "Drew asked me to make sure you got to San Francisco okay."

"You already bought me a ticket. You don’t have to act as my chaperone."

"Yeah, but what if you suddenly realize you're over him and you're desperate for rebound sex? I'd hate to miss that chance."

"Tom, are you flirting with me?"

"A little." He winks. "It could be our secret."

"Really?"

He shakes his head. "No. I respect you too much to rebound-fuck you."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"A compliment."

I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. It's good. Fresh, thick tomatoes, crisp basil, soft mozzarella. "I guess it's not good for the band if Drew is in jail."

"Fuck Drew." He shrugs. "You probably want to fuck Drew. He must be pretty good for you to put up with so much shit."

My cheeks flush. "He is. But that's not why I like him."

"Why do you like him? He's an asshole."

"Not as much as you are."

He pulls onto the freeway. "About as much."

"He makes me laugh. He's sweet. Pushy but sweet. I can be myself with him. Or I could... I thought I could trust him with anything. I thought a lot of things."

"Don't talk like that. He’s mad for you. Not that he deserves you. Or anyone with such great tits."

"Uh... thanks?"

"He's happy when he's around you."

"How is the black eye doing? The one Drew gave you because he was so
happy
around me."

"Good." He takes off the sunglasses and turns to me. "Makes me look tough."

It does. I turn my attention back to the sandwich. I haven't eaten any real food since last night.

"He's in love with you, Kara. It's obvious to everyone but him. And maybe you."

I examine Tom's expression. He can't believe that. If Drew was in love with me, he wouldn't run away.

Tom makes eye contact. "Drew's a fucking idiot. But that move we pulled, I pulled, that wasn't gonna help shit. Drew hates attention. And after everything with Vivian—"

"Was it really that bad?"

"Worse. You should have seen the shit Pete gave him after that. Fucker is such a romantic. Couldn't deal with Drew pinning the whole thing on relationships sucking ass. They got into these stupid fights. And everybody on that tour—not just me—everybody kept one eye on Drew. It drove him batshit."

"He drives himself batshit."

"I'm not making excuses for him. If you don't think he deserves a chance to apologize, then fuck him. I'll find you a nice boy toy to help you get over it."

"No thanks."

"But there's no doubt in my mind that he loves you."

"What the fuck do you know about love?"

"Everybody can see it. The way he looks at you. He's fucking crazy about you. And you love him too, right?"

I finish my sandwich.

"Okay. Not my business." Tom's voice softens. "I know you asked me to stop helping, but I lined up a show in San Francisco. It's Wednesday night. We have a stand-in for Miles—"

"Don't you have a manager to do this stuff for you?"

"Aidan? I tried to get him fired when he wouldn't stop offering Miles coke, but he's some VIP's nephew. I only let him do any actual managing if it's strictly necessary."

"You did that for Miles?"

"I did it 'cause I fucking hate Aidan."

"You did it for Miles."

Tom runs his hand through his hair like he's embarrassed.

"Drew was right. You care more than you let on."

"Drew said that?"

"Yeah."

Tom crushes his empty cup and shoves it into his seat-back pocket. "Come to the show. If he doesn't make this up to you, I'll buy you a trip anywhere you want. All expenses paid. Eat, drink, and fuck strange men until you're over it. You can leave the second the show ends. Go to Japan or Ireland or the Bahamas on my dime."

"Maybe."

"Just do me one favor."

"Yeah?"

"Make him earn it."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

First class is nice—big seats, soft blankets, overly friendly flight attendants who constantly push the free champagne. I say no every time. I need my head clear and staring at the puffy white clouds outside the window is helping.

After we land, I kill time at the airport. Damn San Francisco. My salad and smoothie snack sets me back twenty dollars. When there's no excuse left to stay at the terminal, I take the BART into the city and take a bus into Richmond.

My mom's place is a few blocks off the line. My suitcase hits every crack in the sidewalk, every pebble, every curb. She's working late tonight. After all, I'm supposed to arrive by car at some time well into the evening.

That leaves a solid three or four hours to work up the courage to tell my mom I'm not joining her company.

One more block. The sky is blue and bright. It's warm. It's like the city is mocking me. The second I feel like shit, the weather is nice. Where's the grey, cloudy, rainy place that had my feet wet every other day in high school?

There's someone sitting on the stoop we share with our next-door neighbor. Tall. Dark hair. Jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. Black Converse.

No.

One more step and it's clear.

That's Drew sitting on my stoop. He has bags under his eyes and an overgrown five o'clock shadow. His skin is pale. His posture is hunched.

I come closer until I'm about three feet away.

He looks up at me. There's so much in his eyes. It makes my knees weak.

I dig my fingers into my suitcase handle. "Have you slept?"

"No." His voice is steady. "I have to talk to you."

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"Driving. Thought it would help me think. Once I hit San Luis Obispo, figured I might as well keep going. Tom get you here okay?"

"First class."

"Good."

I stare at him, trying to figure out what I can possibly say. The rubber soles of my shoes squeak against the concrete as I shift my weight. He looks like he's about to break and the only thing I want to do is wrap my arms around him and promise it will be okay.

Maybe it's better to do it quickly, like a Band-Aid. It hurts for a moment, then it's over.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?" He pushes himself to his feet. "I have some stuff I want to say to you."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Kara."

My eyes go to the concrete. I can't leave things like this. At the very least, I need to get my feelings off my chest.

"Want to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks.

I meet his gaze. "That there's no way the 'stuff' you have to say is enough." I walk past him to climb the steps.

He grabs my suitcase from my hands and carries it for me.

God, the look on his face is so desperate. He feels as shitty as I do. That's something.

"If you need time, I'll come back." His fingertips brush my shoulder. "I have nowhere else I want to be."

I shake my head.

"I can bring an acoustic guitar."

My neck tightens. There's too much swirling around my brain.

“I can’t talk to you right now.” I find my keys in my purse. “You embarrassed me in front of your friends. Our friends. You made me into the band’s pity project.”

I unlock the door and step inside.

He’s still standing there, his eyes filled with pain. “I’m sorry.”

“Go home, Drew.”

My hands are shaking as I close and lock the door. I want so badly to open it. I want to talk to him. I want to drag him onto that couch and fuck him until I finally feel something good.

But I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’ve made sense of my thoughts.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I spend thirty minutes in the shower with the water as loud, hot, and heavy as possible. My body is achy and exhausted.

After, I change into an outfit from my dresser drawer and bury myself under the covers. Sleep doesn’t come. It’s late afternoon, still light out.

I go to the window to shut the blinds.

He’s still there, sitting on the stoop with slumped posture.