The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7) (14 page)

That caught my attention. “Really?
Your
mom?”

With a nod, he mumbled, “Yeah, she uh...she was pretty heavy into drugs for a while there when I was younger.”

I understood immediately. “Ceilings” was a depressing song. The lyrics followed the journey of a girl who spent her life looking up at ceilings during her most pivotal moments. She fell in love while staring up at the ceiling of the backseat of her boyfriend’s car. Then she gazed up at the ceiling of an auto repair shop where she was hiding when a drive-by shooting took his life. The ceiling of the hospital was what she watched as she gave birth to her dead lover’s baby at sixteen. And she cried up at that very same ceiling as she made the decision to sneak out of the hospital and abandon him. When her family refused to have anything to do with her, she hooked up with a drug dealer who turned her into a nasty addict. And she stared up at the ceiling of her bathroom as she tried to abort the baby that drug dealer had knocked her up with. And finally, she gazed up at the ceiling of his living room while the drug dealer took her life.

“It’s such a poignant, way-too realistic story that always sends shivers up my arms.” Sticks rubbed them now as goose flesh pebbled the skin. “And every time I hear it, I don’t know...I automatically think of my mom.”

I stared silently at Sticks, experiencing a weird connection with him I’d never experienced with anyone else before. Because what he said...it rang exactly true for me too. I always thought of my mom when I sang it. Probably because it was about her, but whatever.

Remy gave a sudden, self-conscious shrug. “I mean, if her family hadn’t kept such a tight leash on her, I could’ve so easily seen my mom falling into that very kind of life, hooking up with some guy who beat her to death and everything. Hell, if it hadn’t been for my uncle and grandma, she probably would’ve either left me at the hospital or tried to abort me, too.”

My heart thudded in my chest, because I totally got what he meant. “That sucks,” I murmured. “What ended up happening to her?” But I already knew it couldn’t be a happy ending. I didn’t know anyone who’d gotten into drugs and then met a good ending.

Sticks glanced down at his hands. “She fried her brain and ended up in a mental institution.”

“Jesus.” I shook my head, sympathy filling me. “I’m sorry, man.”

But he only shrugged. “Not your fault. I’m the one who’s the shittiest kid ever, because I can’t even stand to visit her. It hurts too much. She never remembers who I am. Last time, she thought I was her sister.”

I frowned. Then I said, “You mean, she thought she was
your
sister?”

The expression on Sticks’s face froze before he shook his head. “Uh...yeah. What did I say?”

“You said she thought you were
her
sister.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry. Anyway, if it weren’t for Abuela and Tío Alonso, it’s hard to know where I would’ve ended up, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been anywhere good.”

When he began to play with the necklace he wore, I lifted an eyebrow. “Abuela?”

“Yeah. That’s Spanish for grandmother. She, along with my mom’s older brother Alonso, plus a couple more of her younger brothers, and all their families came to America two years before I was born. They’re a huge, overly religious group that’s always in everyone else’s business, but...I still kind of respect them for that. It keeps us together, you know, taken care of, which is a hell of a lot better off than I know I’d be on my own.”

I continued to watch as he toyed with the necklace’s medallion before my curiosity got the better of me. “Is that a family heirloom?”

“Hmm? Oh, this? No. Well... I guess, yeah. Abuela told me it was her mother’s but it’s actually just a pendant of la Virgen de Guadalupe.”

I shook my head. “Who?”

Sticks grinned. “The saint...Guadalupe. She’s famous in México. If you see someone wearing this, they’re probably Mexican. Personally, I’m not super religious, but...I don’t know. I like to wear it anyway. It reminds me of my roots, my family. It brings me a level of comfort, as if I’m home again. My family... It’s strange, but no one can drive me as crazy as they do. They’re all, like, complete opposites of me, but...there’s just something about them I adore. I love their culture, and Latin pride, and just everything that makes them
them
. They’re my heritage. My foundation.”

“That’s cool.” I watched the gold of Guadalupe’s image glint in the light and suddenly wished I had some family heirloom too. But, nope. “I don’t have anything like that.” I glanced down at my feet where I was idly winding a guitar cord around the toe of my shoe. “My mom...she’s the girl in the song. So my roots, a family foundation, just sort of got yanked out of the ground with her.”

I have no idea why I told him that. It was just...he’d told me about his mom. It only felt right to say something about my own, especially since both of ours had fallen into similar addictions.

He frowned at me a second before his eyes bugged. “You mean in ‘Ceilings’? You wrote that about your mom? It’s all...factual?”

I nodded. “Every single word.”

“But...” He shook his head, and I could tell he was trying to figure out which kid I was; the one she’d left at the hospital or the one she’d tried to kill in the womb.

So, I said, “I was her failed abortion attempt, the mistake she had with the drug dealer.”

Remy’s mouth dropped open. “Whoa. So, wait... Then, your dad...?”

“Is in jail. Statesburg,” I added stupidly.

“Holy shit. Where were you when he, you know...?”

“Killed her? I was sitting on the couch.” I have no idea why I answered his question. I didn’t want to talk about it. But then I just kept...talking. “Eating a bowl of cereal and watching Power Rangers on TV.”

That old familiar weight of crushing guilt swept over me. Not sure how to combat it, I swiped a hand through my hair. “He came in one morning from being out somewhere, probably at some other woman’s place, and asked where she was. I just said she was in her room, didn’t bother to mention she wasn’t there alone. And I didn’t bother to run and warn her that he was home. It only got me into trouble whenever I involved myself in the shit those two stirred with each other. But, Jesus, I can’t help but wonder...if I’d only done something that morning instead of eating my breakfast and watching TV, things would’ve turned out a lot different.”

“How old were you?” Sticks asked quietly.

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I’d been old enough to know they’d fight when he found her in bed with one of his drug-dealing partners. But I said, “Seven.”

“Jesus. What the hell were you supposed to do
at seven
?”

“I don’t know.” I stared at the wall, seeing nothing. “
Something
. When he finally went back there and found them together, I still did nothing. My dad started shouting and the other dude came running out of the room, pulling on his pants. Then Mom started shouting. I guess she packed a bag and threatened to leave because she came storming into the front room with a suitcase, clothes sticking out each end. When she tried to open the front door—”

“Wait. Did she just plan on leaving you there?” The shock in Remy’s eyes made me sniff in amusement.

“It wasn’t the first time. But she always came back for more shit to stuff up her nose, so I wasn’t too concerned about never seeing her again. When my dad slammed the front door to keep her from leaving and then hit her, I still wasn’t surprised. They pounded on each other all the time. And if I tried to help either of them, the other would turn on me and pound on me, so I just continued to sit there like an idiot...as he killed her.”

“Fuck, Asher. What he did wasn’t your fault. You don’t really think you could’ve stopped him and saved her, do you? He would’ve just turned on you and killed
you
too.”

“I could’ve run and gotten help,” I argued. “But I just sat there and watched as he shoved her into the television and broke it. When it landed on top of her and shot sparks everywhere, she fucking screamed in pain and I just...I just watched. It wasn’t until she was already gone and her lifeless glassy eyes were staring up at the ceiling that I did anything. My dad looked at me with shock and panic, and I knew...I was next. I’d seen too much. So...
finally
, that’s when I ran.”

“¡Dios mío!” Sticks set his hand over his mouth. “Where did you go? Did he catch you?”

I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable for sharing so much. “Just to a neighbor’s place. The old guy who lived there let me stick around until the police showed up, so no...my dad never caught me. I didn’t see either of them again that day. The next place I saw him was in the courtroom when I had to give my testimony.”

“Damn, that’s...intense.”

I cleared my throat and glanced at the papers he’d stopped sorting and was still holding fisted in his hand. “If you want, you can just take the box home with you. Bring it back later.”

I didn’t want to hang around here much longer, not after opening up the way I had.

“Huh?” Sticks glanced down at his hand and then jumped. “Oh, shit. Sorry. But yeah, sure. I’ll do that.” He started to stuff the sheets back into the box, but froze when he saw something already in there. “What...what is
this
?”

He pulled the single page closer to read it, his eyes growing bigger with each second. “Oh...fuck,” he whispered.

“What?” I asked, curious...but also relieved for a complete subject change.

Looking up with a dazed expression, he waved what looked like my hand-printed sheet music for one of our songs. “This isn’t...we don’t play this song. Where did this come from?”

I took it from his hand and immediately groaned. “Oh, Jesus. I need to burn this damn thing.”

“No!” Sticks hopped to his feet and snagged it from me, only to hold it protectively against his chest, gaping at me in horror. “You can’t. Just...what
is
it?”

I sighed, my shoulders slumping in defeat. Talking about this was almost as bad as telling him about what had happened between my parents. “It’s just a stupid song I wrote after seeing some girl sing on karaoke night at the bar.”

“Uh...this is more than just
seeing
a girl.” His gaze scanned the page. “You wanted to know everything about her, marry her and give her babies. Make her your one and only—”

“Okay,
thank you
!” I slapped the song out of his hand with a scowl. “You don’t have to read the lyrics back to me. I
wrote
them. I remember what I said...unfortunately.” When he gaped at me as if I was insane, I waved out my fingers, implying it was no big deal. “Look, it’s just a song some stranger I’d never met before or seen again inspired; doesn’t mean anything.”

Sticks squinted, letting me know he totally didn’t buy that. “Then why’re you being so touchy about it now?”

“
Because
.” I ground my teeth. “We happened to play it at Forbidden once. Once. One fucking time, and all these women went crazy, trying to convince me they were her. And you want to know the really crazy part? I don’t think I’d even recognize her if I ever
did
see her again. I saw her once, all the way across a room months ago for a total of like three minutes. And she had a boyfriend anyway, so I don’t know why everyone blew it out of proportion the way they did. It wasn’t love at first sight as all my friends tease me. I know that. It was just—”

“Lust?” Sticks guessed quietly.

I winced at the word, immediately repulsed by it. “No. I mean, yeah, there was that too. But this was like...more. Like...I don’t even know. A wish. A hope. A...” The right word failed me until I blurted, “A possibility. Like I suddenly wanted to try something I’d never had before.”

“A pretty little Latino girl?” he whispered, looking almost hurt.

I blinked, confused. “Huh?”

He picked the sheet up off the floor and pointed to the lyrics. “That’s what you called her...in the song.”

“I did? Oh yeah, right. But, no, that’s not what I’m talking about at all. It had nothing to do with looks, though she
was
gorgeous. This was more like...a feeling. A warmth. Like right there, watching her sing, was where I belonged in the universe. Like I’d just found my place. Everything...fit.”

Remy’s mouth had fallen open. Realizing I’d once again shared more than I wanted to, I cleared my throat and scrubbed at the back of my head. “Anyway, like I said, it was stupid. Just a momentary blip on my crazy radar. I’ll never cross paths with her again, and she’ll probably be better off for it.”

When I laughed at the joke against myself, Sticks didn’t join in. Instead, he became a sudden flurry of motion, stuffing documents back into the box as he blurted, “I have to go.”

“Uh...” I glanced around, startled by his abrupt announcement. “Okay.” Now I really felt awkward for telling him so much. Shit. Had I scared him out of the band because I’d unloaded a ton of my personal drama on him?

“You sure it’s okay if I take this whole box?” He didn’t make eye contact as he asked. It was as if he were suddenly too afraid to look me in the eye, which made me feel incredibly self-conscious.