Chapter 11
A note appears under my door. Swiping the wetness under my eyes away, I climb off the bed. It goes without saying that my old man laid into me again for being inside the studio.
I scoop up the paper. I can’t read the words on the page, but I recognize Peace’s handwriting. Crumpling the note in my fist, I yank open the door.
“Peace,” I call before she can duck into her room.
She turns around. “Shhh.” She puts her finger over her lips and hurries over to me. “My dad told me I can’t see you anymore except at mealtimes.”
“Fuck that.” I snarl like a rabid animal. I feel rabid after dealing with my dad’s bullshit.
She startles, her gaze dropping from my angry expression to my tight fists.
“Sorry. I’m pissed at my old man not you. I can’t read your note,” I admit grudgingly. “What does it say?”
“That I’m sorry about what happened.” She blushes. “I’m grateful for you taking all the blame earlier. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did, and I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.” I stuff the paper in my pocket and reach for her, skimming the back of my hand across the creamy soft skin of her cheek.
“I’m sorry about my dad,” she whispers, her eyes locked on mine.
“I’m sorry about mine, too.”
“Mine’s overprotective.” She wrinkles her nose.
“Mine’s just a fucking asshole.”
“I don’t like the way he treats you.” Her beautiful eyes fill.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” I say softly. Pity is the last thing I want from her.
“I don’t. It’s just that our situation with our dads is similar.” Her breath catches and a tear spills. “What I mean is, I know how bad it feels.”
“I guess you do.” I capture the tear, removing the evidence of her sadness from her skin, but wish I could do more. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone cry over me.”
“Sorry I didn’t come into your room right away.” She sniffs. “He wouldn’t let me. I guess the note was dumb.” Her chin drops. “I just get tongue-tied sometimes, and it’s easier to write down the words.”
“I get tongue-tied too.” Gently, I tip up her chin. “That’s why I love music so much. I let it speak for me.”
“I understand.” Her expression softens.
“Know you do.”
“So I guess I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Hell no. That’s too long to wait. “You can see me now.”
“But—”
“Your dad said mealtimes are okay,” I cut her off. “Right?”
“Yeah.” She nods.
“So let’s go get some food now.”
“Okay.” She slowly smiles, and just like that, my flagging spirit soars. This girl. She isn’t just any girl. She is the girl. The one I want to be mine.
Peace
After dinner, Bo and I grab some food and go into the backyard. It’s not snowing anymore, but it’s cold, so we turn on the gas firepit.
“You can get in first.” Bo gestures to the outdoor bed that’s big enough for two.
“Okay.” I climb in and lean back against the oversized cushions.
“Cover up.” He arranges the wool blanket on top of me.
“Thanks.” My cheeks warm, and it’s not because of the nearby fire.
Bo rolls the cart with the food near the bed. “This should satisfy your dad if he’s watching from the house.”
“Hopefully so.” I glance at the graham crackers and marshmallows and bite down on my lip. Our workaround is clever, but I know for a fact my dad won’t be pleased.
“Warm enough?” Bo asks while getting under the covers with me.
“Oh, yeah,” I reply. In fact, I’m overly warm with him looking at me the way he is. “I’ve never been in a bed with a boy,” I admit.
“I’ve never been in one with a girl. It’s a first for both of us.” He scoots closer. His gaze dips to my mouth as he leans in.
Is Bo Jackson going to kiss me? I lift my head and close my eyes.
“Hey, guys,” Harmony says, and I jump back, my eyes flying open. “Whatcha doing?” She glances back and forth between Bo and me.
“Nothing.” Bo scowls at her.
“Got room in that bed for one more?” She gestures.
“No,” I say, my gaze narrowing. Harmony has plenty of friends, including me. Bo is mine. “But you can sit over there.” I point to an Adirondack chair.
“Okay, I guess.” Harmony flounces over to the chair, drops into it, and shoots me a disgruntled look. Normally, I’d cave. I don’t like it when she’s mad at me. But I don’t defer to her in this instance, knowing that my time with Bo is severely limited.
“Wanna listen to music?” Bo asks, his voice low.
“Absolutely.” I shift to look at him. “But how? I thought your dad took away your new headphones.”
“He did. These are my old ones. Scoot closer.” He tucks me into his side, and I let out a satisfied sigh. With his arm around my shoulders, he squeezes me as if to say I belong where I am. Reaching for the other half of his earphones, my lips curl when he starts the song. It’s “Open Arms” by Journey.
I feel most comfortable writing my feelings. Bo expresses his by his song selection. Music is his method of communicating truth, and I’m down for that. It’s a language we both understand. I tip my face up to the sky that’s full of stars. I’m down for anything with Bo Jackson.