Chapter 1
Age 14
“ H ey,” I say softly as I approach War’s pretty daughter carefully. She glances up at me from her book. Her gaze meeting mine jolts me like it did in the entryway. There’s something about her, something different that makes my adrenaline hum like it does when I hear a new favorite song for the first time.
“Name’s Bo,” I tell her.
“I’m Peace,” she says and drops her gaze.
“Perfect name.” I will her to look up at me again.
“Thanks.” She glances up. My body feels like it’s suddenly on fire. Her voice is melodic, and her eyes are incredible. The light brown and swirl of gold are magical and mesmerizing, reminding me of the sand surrounding English Bay. When the sun hits it just right, it sparkles like her eyes do. “Can I sit here?” I gesture to the spot beside her on the cushioned window seat.
“Sure.” She nods and doesn’t shift away when I sit beside her, but her pale cheeks turn bright pink when my leg brushes against hers.
“Whatcha reading?” Even though I hate books, I’m interested in hers because she obviously is. Plus, I want to hear her sweet and soothing voice again.
“ The Boxcar Children ,” she replies, her gaze returning to the pages.
“What’s it about?” I glance at where her fingers are holding her place, but the words are a jumbled mess. They don’t make any sense to me.
“Four siblings searching for a home.” She tucks a strand of her long blond hair behind her ear and lifts her head to peer up at me through her rose-gold lashes.
“Why don’t they have a home?”
“After their parents die, they’re orphaned and afraid to live with their grandfather. So they run away and make a home for themselves in an abandoned boxcar in the woods.”
“Is it a sad story?” My eyes narrow. I don’t like sad stories. They’re too much like my own life.
“Not really.” She shakes her head. “It’s kind of inspiring reading about how they learn to survive on their own.”
“I’d love to be on my own,” I grumble and glance at my parents. My dad isn’t paying any attention to me, which is typical unless I’ve pissed him off. But my mom is watching me closely with that familiar shimmer of worry in her amber eyes that I hate.
“Why would you want to do that?” Peace asks, following my gaze to my mother.
“So I wouldn’t have to worry about any stupid rules.” I roll my shoulders as if to dislodge the heavy weight from them. “I’d be free to do my own thing.”
“I’d like to be free to do my own thing too.” She leans closer. “If you could do whatever you want, what would you do?”
“Listen to my music. Play my guitar.” My eyes fall to her lips. If I could really do anything, I’d kiss a girl like her, one who seems to accept and understand me, one who makes my heart feel open not closed, one who makes me feel more alive than dead. I don’t tell her that, but I do tell her about my dream. “I’d start my own band.”
“That’s cool.” She seems to believe what I want is possible, unlike my dad, who tries to discourage me anytime I bring it up. Tilting her head, those beautiful golden strands cascade over her slender shoulder. “What kind of music do you like?”
“l like all of it.” I long for my guitar, my fingers twitching where my hand rests on my jean-clad thigh. “Folk. Jazz. Anything that makes me feel something. But rock music is my absolute favorite.” It expresses my anger perfectly.
“I love the stories behind the songs. How the artists come up with the music. What inspires the lyrics. I think touring the country, seeing lots of places, and connecting to people with your music like my dad and yours do must be wonderful.”
“Yeah, I totally agree.”
“But I like rock best too. Bob Dylan. Elton John.” Peace’s voice rises with her enthusiasm. She prefers a softer version of rock than I do, but it’s a total rush that she’s obsessed with music like I am. “Pink Floyd. The Rolling Stones, U2. Tempest. Brutal Strength.”
“I like those too.” I give her another long, searching side-glance. I like looking at her. I like talking to her too, which with girls is totally unusual for me. But this girl isn’t any girl. I felt it the moment I first saw her. “What do you like best about those artists?”
“The lyrics,” she replies without hesitation.
“I like the guitars.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You can’t have a rock band without them.” The guitars supply the rage.
“Lyrics are more important,” Peace says, defending her choice. “They tell a story.”
“A guitar solo can do that,” I point out.
“It can add to the mood,” she allows. “But it can’t tell the story like words do.”
“I disagree.” I hope someday I’ll be able to prove to her what a guitar can do. “Any other current bands besides Brutal Strength and Tempest that you like?”
“I really like the last acoustic album Avery Jones did with her twin brother.” She purses her lips. “I don’t know if I could get into classical or jazz.”
“I’ll send you links to the kind of stuff I like.” I shift to pull my cell out of the front pocket of my jeans. Sharing with her, I just want to share more. I don’t feel alone or agitated like I usually do. “Type your number in.” I hand her my phone. Our fingers touch. My body jolts again, my skin buzzing with warmth where hers brushed mine. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I wonder if she’s feeling what I am and study her with burning intensity as she types her information into my phone.
“Here.” She raises her head as she pins her full bottom lip with her teeth. Our hands touch again when she returns my phone. More warmth washes over me as our gazes lock. With her eyes on mine, it’s like she can see straight through me to every secret thought in my heart, but I don’t feel like throwing a wall up to keep her out like I do with everyone else. I don’t quite understand it, but I know she’s different, the kind of different I need.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly and brushes her thumb across the back of my hand.
“No. Yes. Damn it.” This is the difference. Peace is gentle and sweet. I haven’t had much of either in my life, especially lately. She’s also distractingly pretty with the backdrop of winter white behind her. I wet my dry lips. Her gaze drops to my mouth. It shimmers like a perfectly plucked chord from her regard. Longing rises within me. Not to kiss any girl, but to kiss this one most of all.
I lean in.
“Robert!” my father shouts.
The wave of warmth instantly freezes over, and I back away from Peace. “No need to shout, old man.” I shoot him an icy look. “I’m right here.”
His eyes narrow with familiar displeasure. “I need your help getting the luggage upstairs.”
“Okay.” I stand. I’m ever my father’s obedient son, though I don’t know why I should bother. No matter what I do, I’ll never gain his approval.
As I approach him, I feel the gazes of everyone else inside the room: Peace’s twin, her mother, my uncle Dizzy, his wife, Sager and King and their wives, as well as King’s teenage daughter. There’s a ton of people in the gathering space, but I didn’t really notice them before. All my attention was on Peace. As if spotlighted, she was all I saw. Everyone and everything else faded away. Even my failings seemed diminished when I was talking to her. I want more time with her. I’ll have more time with her. No matter what. No matter who I might have to bring down if they get in my way.