Strum Your Heart Out (29 page)

There goes any chance of slumber.

I make my way downstairs. I’m going to open the door and ask him to leave. I’m not going to give in to how badly I want to wipe the misery from his expression with my lips.

Here goes nothing.

I open the door. He stands, turns to me. He’s standing on the bottom step. For once, he’s shorter.

Drew looks up at me. “I’m not leaving until I talk to you.”

“What good could that possibly accomplish?”

“I...” He runs his hand through his hair. Shakes his head like he’s shaking away his thoughts. “Fine. Don’t talk to me. I’m a fucking asshole for bailing last night, and I know I can’t ever apologize enough. But I have to make sure you get through telling your mom okay.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“Kara.”

I step back inside. I can’t be in here, not knowing he’s on the other side with that look of unspeakable agony on his face. I find my purse, sling it over my shoulder, and step onto the stoop.

He’s close enough that my body perks. It wants to feel good and it knows he can deliver. Not today, no matter how much better I’d feel if we were using our mouths for something besides conversation.

I lock the door and slide my key into my purse. I stare at him, at all the pain in his eyes. Is he really that desperate to talk to me? Do I really mean that much to him?

It’s hard to believe, given how quickly he ran away last night.

He stares back. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t feel that way about you. I panicked.”

“Go home, Drew. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk to you.” I push past him, onto the sidewalk, and I don’t look back.

***

I walk around the neighborhood until I’m hungry enough for dinner. My phone buzzes a dozen times. I ignore it.

The sun sets with a streak of orange. The temperature cools. Clouds form, bringing that on and off drizzle I know all too well.

Figures the city waits until I’m wearing canvas sneakers and a cotton sweater to rain.

The rain isn’t too bad. By the time I’m at my block, I’m wet but not drenched.

Drew’s still here, sitting on the porch.

He’s soaking wet.

“You found a way to get your shower in.” I push past him to go for the door. “Congrats.”

He grabs my wrist. “Tell me how to make this up to you.”

“I’m done begging you to love me.” I unlock the door and push it open. “Go home.”

“You are my home, Kara. Wherever you are, that’s home.”

Fuck him and his sweet voice and the pain in his eyes and how pathetic he looks dripping wet. I’m too empathetic.

Drew deserves to wait, but I can't put myself through that.

"Fine. Come in." I unlock the door.

Drew follows me inside.

I keep myself busy in the kitchen. The house is clean but not overly so. There are dishes in the sink. The pantry and fridge are stocked. Mom is eating. Cooking even.

Drew's footsteps are behind me. They still make my heart race. I turn back to him. Suddenly, I see the house in a whole new light. A wall he can press me against. A table just the right height. A couch I can use to mount him.

His eyes meet mine. "You want me to do it?"

God yes. I clear my throat. "Do what?"

"Make coffee." He motions to the coffee maker then to the couch. "Sit down. I'll fix yours with extra cream and sugar."

I take a seat at the far end of the couch and play with the fabric of my jeans to keep my thoughts from drifting to the gutter. How can my body be so utterly against me? It doesn't help that my heart is so fucking devoted to him.

He stays in the kitchen until the coffee's done. Then he fixes two cups and hands one to me.

It's decent even if coffee isn't my favorite. Plenty sweet. Exactly the way I like it.

He makes eye contact. "I'm sorry. I know I fucked up. I don't have an excuse." He moves closer. "I wish I could explain it. There was so much attention and I kept thinking about the way everyone treated me when I was with Vivian. And after. Like I was caustic. Like I was about to explode. I panicked. And then Tom kissed you and I lost it. I knew he was making a point, but I still wanted to kill him." His voice gets serious. "I had to get out of there so I wouldn't."

I hold his gaze. I want to call out his bullshit, but I can't. It's awful when everyone looks at you like you're going to break. "Okay."

He moves closer, sets his cup on the table, and offers me his hand. I want to hold it. I want it on my body. But that's only going to make this more difficult.

I down half my cup of coffee. I won't tell him until I finish my drink. A girl can't deal with heartbreak and caffeine deprivation at the same time.

He pushes a stray hair behind my ear. "Remember that game, truth or truth?"

Right. That super fun game where we ask each other questions we don't want to answer.

But we did answer them.

And honestly.

That has to count for something. I nod, okay, turning so we're eye to eye. Those are some gorgeous eyes. Deep and brown and full of life.

He stares back. "Is there any chance you'll back down to your mom and skip out on your teaching credential?"

I run through the options. There was a chance, a good chance, but now I'm too determined to do anything else. "No. I don't think I would have gotten here without you, but no. No chance I'll back down."

His smile breaks up the misery in his expression. His eyes light up. His cheeks crinkle. It's sweet and smug at once.

He cocks his eyebrow. "Say that part about how you couldn't do it without me again."

His voice wavers. Not his usual playful self.

"No. Your ego is already the size of the Golden Gate Bridge."

"My ego, huh?"

"Yes."

Drew brushes his hands over my wrist, tracing the outline of my watch. "Guess it's your turn."

My gaze goes to the floor. I swallow the last drop of my drink. Okay. No more excuses.

I make eye contact with Drew. I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue is sticky. Words aren't cooperating with me.

His expression is utter fascination. No concern, no apprehension, no clue what I'm about to say.

It's like pulling off a Band-Aid. It only hurts for a minute.

"Are you in love with me?" I ask.

His jaw drops. Confusion forms in his eyes. "Fuck. Didn't think you'd start with that."

"You don't have to tattoo it on your body or something."

His eyes go to the ceiling. His lips rub together. "I'm not sure. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to feel like."

I shift to my feet. The door is that way. It's harder to ask him to leave than to storm off, but Drew knows when he really needs to back off.

I can do this.

I gaze into those deep, brown eyes. "Here's the thing, Drew. I've been running away from my feelings, but I can't anymore. I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I don't want to love you—you drive me out of my freaking mind—but I do. I love you like I love dancing, like I love chocolate, like I love breathing. Hell, I'd gladly give up breathing for you. I've already said 'fuck it' to sleeping and thinking and walking around with a settled stomach."

His expression is so damn intense. I have to look away to maintain my composure.

Like a Band-Aid.

It hurts for a minute and it's over.

Only this is going to hurt a lot longer than a minute.

"I love you too much to not be your everything."

"I do—"

I interrupt him. "I know you have
feelings
for me. You've been my best friend for a long time, and for a long time that was enough. But not anymore. I need to know you love me enough to hire someone to write 'Drew and Kara forever' in the sky. That you love me enough to give up breathing."

His eyes are wide, like he's hanging on every word.

Almost done. The pain is almost over. "And if you're not sure yet, or you're not ready to deal with it yet, fine. But that means you need to leave, because I have things to do."

"Let me hold your hand while you tell your mom."

I shake my head. "That's a boyfriend task."

His eyes turn down. He frowns. "I do... I just haven't worked this out yet."

"And it's nice you want to, but it's a bunch of bullshit. You either love me or you don't. You either want me or you don't. There's no middle ground." I walk to the door. It takes all my strength, but I pull it open. "Think about it. Figure it out. I'll be at that show Wednesday. But that's all you get, Drew. After Wednesday, I'm done."

He's silent. Still. Staring at me like I'm from another planet.

Seems a lot like a no, but there's still a chance of a yes.

He runs his fingertips over my wrist. "Do me a favor."

"Yeah?"

"Come here." He brings his hand to my cheek and pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.

My heartbeat picks up. Drew releases me. His eyes find mine. There's something in them, something deep and powerful.

But he doesn't say anything.

I fight a sigh, but it still comes.

He stares at me for a moment. Then he makes his way to the street.

Then he's gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I wait on the couch, blanket up to my shoulders, eyes glued to the TV. Band-Aid number one still stings. I'm not so sure I'm ready for Band-Aid number two.

I flip through the channels unmoved. Eventually, I settle on a
Friends
rerun. My phone buzzes with a text but I can't bring myself to look at it. What if it's Drew, telling me he doesn't love me, and that he'll never love me? I can only take that much rejection in one twenty-four hour period.

The next rerun is
Seinfeld
. Then
How I Met Your Mother
. The laugh tracks are more grating with every minute. Fuck it. I find something dark and depressing on a cable channel—an independent film about miserable people who hate each other.

That's better.

Twenty minutes later, keys jangle in the door. My mom steps inside with a smile. She looks good. Her hair is fixed. Her makeup is neat. Her clothes fit perfectly.

She's taking care of herself.

She's okay.

It's possible she can handle this news.

"Sweetie." Mom steps into the main room. "When did you get in?"

"A few hours ago."

"Did you eat dinner?"

"I had a snack. I'm not that hungry."

She checks the time on her watch. "Too late for a cup of tea?"

"That sounds great."

She retreats to the kitchen and fiddles with the kettle. My tech-savvy, business-running mother still hasn't adopted an electric kettle.

I study my mom's posture. She's standing up straight. Not hunched or curled into herself the way she sometimes is. There are no hints of pain or sadness on her face.

I sit at the coffee table and play with my hands. My phone buzzes. A text from Drew, no doubt, but I'm not ready to hear whatever it is he's saying. Not until I deal with this.

I shove my phone into my purse and drop it on the ground.

Mom brings out a pot of tea, two cups, and a little plate of cookies. Double chocolate chip. My favorite.

Only the smell of chocolate brings me right back to that day in the kitchen with Drew. To his hands, his lips, his—

Not the time. I shake off my lust and pour myself a cup of tea.

Mom smiles. "I'm so glad you're here. I missed you over New Year's."

"Me too."

She fixes her cup and takes a sip. A satisfied look spreads across her face. She's enjoying something.

Another good sign.

"How is work?" I take a sip.

"Busy. Always busy."

"And you're good?"

"Yeah, sweetie. I am."

"Really? Really good and not like you were after Dad died?"

She frowns. Her posture stays the same. Shoulders back, head straight. Confident. "Your father was everything to me. There's always going to be something missing."

"I miss him too."

Mom pats my hand. "I don't know how I got so lucky to raise such a sweet daughter, but it wasn't okay what happened after your father died. You did more than your share."

That stiff feeling in my neck softens. "Thank you."

Mom takes a deep breath. "I'll never be the same person I was before Dad died, but I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sweetie. I'm sure.

Deep breath. Here goes nothing. "I don't want to work at your company."

Mom is looking at me with confusion. She presses her hands into her cup and takes a sip. Her eyes go to her drink.

I exhale slowly. Band-Aid, off. The sting lessens. The tension in my back and shoulders lessens. The tightness in my chest lessens.

It's okay.

It's going to be okay.

"It's not because of you," I say. "It's just that I hate finance. I hate business. I hate that internship, and I know I shouldn't because it's such a great opportunity. But I hate it so much." I play with my jeans. "I got into UCLA's teaching program. To start in the fall."

"Sweetie, that's great."

"It is?"

"Of course." She presses her hands together. "What you love comes first."

"Really?"

"Really."

I relax into the couch. "I've been so worried you'd hate me for going against your plan."

"I wish you'd told me sooner. I would have taken the week off."

"It's okay. I have a lot of thinking to do."

"Something you want to talk about?"

This conversation is going okay. No reason why I can't continue that.

"It's this guy," I say. "Drew."

"That boy from down the street? His family must have moved in about ten years ago."

"Yeah. I'm in love with him."

"Let's talk about it."

We spend the whole night poring over all the messy details. In the end, I don't have the answers, but I feel better.

Like it's not so bad trusting someone.

Even someone who hurt me once upon a time.

***

Before I go to bed, I check my phone. I have new messages from Tom, Meg, and even Pete and old messages from my mom updating me on her ETA.

Nothing from Drew.

I send an "I'm fine" text to the potentially concerned parties.