The Singles (78 page)

Of course she’d say that. “You’re not going to say anything about what you saw, are you?”

She scrunches her features into an offended look. “Why would I? You’re both consenting adults. It’s none of my business what you’re doing behind closed doors.” She steals a few more of my fries. “Your sexy love affair is safe with me.”

After she finishes polishing off the rest of my fries, she walks with me on my way out of the D-hall. The sun has already started to go down, and it’s chilly out. I stare longingly at Mac’s thick hoodie, wishing I’d left my dorm wearing something more than a thin t-shirt and jeans.

“Alright,” she says, “I have to go home and start writing this Behemoth of a paper I’ve got due tomorrow. If you see me tomorrow and I seem all cracked out, rest assured that it’s all the 5-Hour Energy I’m about to consume.”

“Good luck, and please,
please
don’t start texting me when you can’t sleep tonight.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it. I promise you’ll be the first person I text when I’m all jacked up on energy drinks.” Flashing me a parting grin, she turns in the opposite direction to leave, but then something hits me—I haven’t even considered the guy who walked in on us yesterday. I call out her name, and she turns slowly. “
Yes
?”

“That guy you were with yesterday?”

She sucks in her cheeks. “Adam. We’re planning on giving “Make Our Garden Grow” a whack for Cameron. So far it’s not sounding so good.”

Because the song is from
Candide
, which is my favorite operetta, it takes a lot of effort for me to not ask her a million questions about how the piece is coming along. I know she’s in a hurry to leave. Plus, there’s the big question burning on my mind.

“He’s not going to say anything either, is he?”

Giving her blond head a quick jerk to each side, she scrunches her nose. “I don’t think he can manage more than a few words when he’s not singing, but I’ll give him a call and make sure he knows how badly I’ll crush his balls if he opens his mouth.” Waving goodbye to me, she turns on the heels of her boots. “I’ll text you after I get in touch with him.”

Of course, when Mac actually does follow through on her promise of sending me a late night text, she tells me that she hasn’t been able to get in touch with Adam. I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep because I’m suddenly worried that he’s going to out my practice room romp to anyone who’ll listen. Even though Rhys assures me that Adam is a good guy—Professor Cameron is his advisor, too—it still doesn’t stop the gnawing fear deep in the pit of my stomach.

And after classes are over and I’ve practiced with Rhys only to go back to my room to find an email from Professor Cameron, I start to freak out. 

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Thu, Nov 7, 2013 at 9:55AM

Subject: Meeting

Evelyn,

I hope this message finds you well. I would very much like to meet with you to discuss a few concerns. Will this afternoon at five PM be possible? Please let me know soonest.

Best Wishes,

H. Cameron

When I release a curse, Corinne glances up hesitantly from her homework. “Are you al—” She scrunches the tip of her nose. “Wow, you look like you’re about to puke.”

“I’m not,” I snap. Taking a deep breath to calm my racing thoughts, I shoot Corinne an apologetic look before checking the time on my phone. Damn. I only have eight minutes to make it across campus to the music department. “Meeting with my advisor. Be back soon.”

“I’m going to dinner with Ella, so I might not be here when you get back,” she calls after me as I sprint out the door. I run like a woman possessed to get to Cameron’s office on time, but she doesn’t even mention that I’m a couple minutes late as she closes the door behind us.

With a deep frown creasing her face, my advisor sits down across from me in her yellow and brown chair. She taps a pen against her lips for a few moments, which only makes my palms sweat even more. I keep my gaze off hers, focusing instead on the top of her graying pixie cut. 

Finally, she drops the pen and splays her hands down flat on her desk. “I’m very concerned, Ms. Miller. I’ve already spoken to Rhys about those concerns, but I wanted to approach you as well.”

Oh. God.

“I can explain,” I blurt out, even though there really isn’t an explanation for Rhys and me besides the truth. Professor Cameron isn’t having it though, because she shakes her head.

“I honestly meant to pull you aside yesterday during our lesson, but you left before I had an opportunity.” She takes a breath, like she’s about to come down on me hard. I glare down at the corner of her desk, waiting for the shit storm to begin, but then she says, “As you are aware from your midterms in my class, you’re struggling with dictation. I just want to make certain that you have all the tools you need to finish this semester successfully.”

“What?” I ask breathlessly, and she shoots me an exasperated look.

“Dictation.” She emphasizes each syllable slowly. “Believe me, I’m also surprised given how much you struggled with sight singing at first. While you’ve improved significantly in that regard, you really need to focus on your ear training. I would like to see you bring your grade up during finals next month.”

I feel numb all over. She doesn’t know about Rhys and me. For the first time ever, I’m actually ecstatic to be getting a lecture about school. “Sure,” I say, pushing past the nervous lump in my throat. “Do you have any suggestions?”

After Professor Cameron gives me a few pointers that she’s convinced will help me, she dismisses me from her office. Despite the sudden drop in temperature, I practically dance back to my dorm because I’m so relieved she hadn’t called me out about messing around with Rhys. Just before I go into the building, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I can’t keep the stupid grin from my face when I see a text from Rhys.

5:48 PM:
No lesson tomorrow. Pack a bag.

Ducking into my dorm’s lobby, which is nice and warm, I take a seat outside the resident advisor station and type my response.
I JUST left a meeting with Cameron about focusing harder on music and you’re cancelling practice?

5:50 PM:
Yes. Yes I am.

I glide the tip of my tongue over my teeth, wondering if he was joking or being serious when he asked me to pack a bag.
Where are we going?
I message him. Getting up, I start to head to the elevator to go upstairs to my room, but then someone falls into step beside me. When I glance over to see Daniel, I roll my eyes. Judging by his Under Armour t-shirt and gym shorts—and the fact there’s sweat dripping from his short blond hair—he looks like he just finished a hard work out.

“I can’t say I’m not slightly happy to say this—but long time, no see,” I say as we pace toward the elevator. Since we’re the only two who go inside, we stand on opposite sides. I press the seventh floor button and lift my eyebrow at him.

“Ten,” he says and doesn’t take a breath before adding, “How’s Corinne.”

I punch the button for his floor and lean my back against the elevator wall. “I think she’s handling things pretty well.” Jabbing my tongue in my cheek, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you came by and asked her yourself.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he looks down at the space between us. “I tried, but she’s never there when I show up. She doesn’t even come to Baseball House anymore.”

Since I’m sure my roommate’s lack of partying lately has a little to do with her current relationship status, which I fully approve of, I shrug. “She doesn’t have to get drunk with you for you to tell her you’re sorry about her dad.” The elevator comes to a stop, and I walk off, turning around to face Daniel. My phone vibrates in my pocket again, but I ignore it for a moment to say, “I’ll let her know you asked about her.”

Once I’m inside my room, I check my final text from Rhys.

5:53 PM:
Just pack the bag, Evelyn. I’ll pick you up at four tomorrow.

––––––––

I
t’s a few minutes after seven PM when Rhys enters Roanoke and five minutes after that when he slows his silver Impreza to a crawl right in front of a red brick, ranch-style home. He backs into the driveway, parking his silver Impreza directly behind an older model Kia SUV.

I pull in a deep breath through my nose.

Maybe it’s just the fact that I’m a bad driver, but I never back into someone’s driveway unless they’re close family. Since he’s been mum about our destination since we left Richmond three hours ago, a sudden burst of nervousness takes over me, sending waves of panic through me. That old, selfish part of me is screaming in the back of my head how much she hopes he hasn’t brought me here to meet his family.

When he comes around the car to open my door, I gaze up at him, whispering in a small voice, “Where are we?” He holds his hand out to me. I take it, and he pulls me out the car, his big hands gripping my hips. Bending his head, he kisses me once, twice, before sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. Since I still have no clue where we are, I resist the urge to dig my fingers into his black hair.

Surely he wouldn’t be kissing me like
this
right in front of his mother’s home,
right
?

But then he reluctantly pulls his beautiful mouth away from mine and immediately confirms all my suspicions. “My niece’s birthday is on Monday. Since I’ll be working at the bar most of the week, I wanted to take her out to do something special tonight.” I squeeze my eyes together, and he cups my cheek, stroking his thumb along my smooth skin. “Get that worried look off your face, Evelyn. I promise I’m not gonna try to talk you out of your panties while we’re here.”

“Thanks for the reassurance,” I say between my teeth, causing him to chuckle. After he grabs our bags, he guides me up the narrow walkway to the front door and rings the bell. While we wait for someone to answer, I turn to him and ask in an even voice, “Why did you—why didn’t you tell me you were bringing me here? To meet your family?”

“Would you have come if I told you I was taking you to see my family?”

Although the answer to that question is a firm
hell no
, I swallow hard and say, “I’m not sure.”

My heartbeat races as he leans his face close to mine, examining my expression. “I can take you home.” It is not a threat but a question, but I shake my head. At last, the front door swings open. The woman I recognize from the photo on his dresser is staring back at us and beaming. In person, Rhys’ mother is stunning—tall with black hair streaked with strands of gray and the same startling eyes that haunt me even when he and I aren’t together.

Her blue green eyes move cautiously from me to him, and then she smiles and motions us inside. “I thought you said you couldn’t make it!” she exclaims once we’re standing in the small living room. She jerks Rhys to her, and I look away. Focus on a wall full of photos in front of me. I can easily recognize a younger Rhys in several pictures thanks to his striking sea blue eyes, and I can only guess that the boy is Owen.

Unlike my parents, I never went to any of the hearings following Lily’s death. The only image I have in my head of Owen Delane is the tiny mug shot that appeared in the newspaper when he was charged with hit and run and manslaughter.

The ache in the back of my throat that comes from looking at these photos, from being here in this house, makes it difficult for me to swallow. To breathe.

“Evelyn.” Rhys’ breath warms my ear, and I untangle myself from my thoughts and face him with a hesitant smile. He gestures to his mom who gives me a friendly nod. “This is my mother. Mom, this is Evelyn Miller.”

She holds out her hand to me and gives my fingers a strong squeeze. “I’m Sarah Delane, it’s so nice to meet a friend of Rhys’.”

“Thanks, I—”

But I’m cut off when a shrieking child cuts between us in a flash of purple clothes and black hair. She propels herself at Rhys. “You said you weren’t coming for my birthday!” she accuses, and he leans away, giving her a mock-aggrieved look.

“Jesus, Stace, you didn’t really think I’d blow off your birthday, did you?”

She rolls her dark eyes dramatically before turning to Rhys’ mother to say something. When she notices me, she pulls her bottom lip between her small teeth. “You brought your girlfriend?”

Since I’m not sure what he’s told his family about me, I quickly shake my head. “I’m Evie, your uncle’s friend.” Before I realize what I’m doing, I kneel down so that we’re at eye level. “How old are you going to be on Monday?”

“Seven,” she whispers.

Twisting my head slightly, I look up at Rhys. His hands are stuffed in his pocket and his expression is unreadable, but a tiny smile cracks the corners of his lips when I scrunch my nose and say, “I hope you got her seven
really
amazing gifts then.”

***

A
lthough Rhys doesn’t actually give Stacey seven gifts, I have to give him credit for his selection a few hours later after he tucks her into sleep and his mother heads to bed. As we lay in each other’s arms in the den with reruns of some HBO show playing in the background, I turn to him and say, “I begged for a karaoke machine when I was a kid.” I glance longingly at the giant machine he gave Stacey immediately after we celebrated her early birthday with pizza and cake.

“Did you get it?”

“My mom refused. She said I’d make too much noise.”

“You do make a lot of noise,” he admits and nudges his knee between my legs, rubbing it against my sex. Sliding my hand between us, I block his advances and give him a warning glare.

“I’ve already been caught giving you a blow job once this month,” I whisper. “I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if your mom walks in on us.” But I’m still breathless when he takes his touch from me, and I crave that dizzying satisfaction.

“You know,” he says, a serious expression on his face, “that’s the first time you’ve ever mentioned either of your parents to me.”

“Because there’s not much to tell about them.”