Tangled Up In You (Rogue #1)

Chapter 8

8

SOPHIE

B ecause Sophie’s host family kept long work hours, she was free to do what she wanted for the most part. And what she wanted was to be with Gavin, whether it was stolen moments in between classes, watching him at band rehearsals, or seemingly endless kissing sessions.

Their simple make-out sessions went on for weeks before Gavin pushed for more by slipping his hand up her shirt. She was so startled that she moved away from him and sat up on the side of bed. They were in her room once again. He’d never asked her to go to his house.

He sighed and fell onto his back. “Do you want me to go?”

She looked back at him. “What? No. Why would you say that?”

“I dunno. That was a dramatic reaction, I guess.”

“I just didn’t expect it.”

“Don’t you want more? Don’t you ache for me, darlin’?”

She didn’t know what she wanted. Part of her was desperate for more. But another part was still unsure about going there. Not because she didn’t trust him or want him, but because it was a big thing to do all of this for the first time. It was so unknown.

He turned on his side and reached for her hand, pulling it over his crotch where she felt his hardness. “I ache for you. I want you.”

Using the excuse of lying down again, she removed her hand from him. They were side by side, facing each other, and she could see the frustration and disappointment on his face.

“Just talk to me for a bit,” she said.

He closed his eyes briefly. “Okay, let’s talk. Let’s talk about how sexy you are. About how these pretty underthings you wear,” he said and fingered the upper edge of the camisole she wore beneath her school uniform, “tantalize me every day. How your school skirt shows off your incredibly fit legs.” He trailed his fingers over her thigh, pushing her skirt up in the process.

Smiling, she put her hand over his, stopping his upward movement. He dropped his head in defeat, nuzzling into her neck.

“Why do you have to smell so good,” he moaned before kissing the side of her throat, darting his tongue out onto her skin as he went. “And taste so sweet. I love everything about you, darlin’.”

“I love you, Gavin.”

He froze in mid-kiss for a moment before pulling away to look at her. Stroking her cheek, he said, “You mean it, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” She pushed her hand through his hair. “You’re romantic. You write songs for me and slip me lovely little notes. When you sing to me my whole body tingles. I can talk to you about anything. Also, you’re the sexiest guy I’ve ever known. But also so patient, which I really appreciate.”

He smiled. “I love you, sweet girl.”

Now she slid down so she could bury her face into his neck. “You’re the first boy I’ve ever loved. And you’ll be my first for everything else. It will happen.”

“Okay, darlin’. I’ll wait. I’d do anything for you.”

She squeezed him around his waist and pressed her body even closer to his.

Sophie realized they’d fallen asleep when Gavin’s mumbling and twitching woke her. He was agitated but dreaming.

“Gavin,” she said softly, stroking his cheek. But he didn’t react to her touch. Instead his breathing quickened. “Baby, wake up. Wake up.”

He opened his eyes and stared at her for a long moment, still not quite awake.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing. “You were dreaming. But you’re okay. You’re here in my room.”

“Oh, fuck,” he said and put his hands over his closed eyes.

“What was the dream about?”

“What?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Oh. Em, it was about my ma.”

“Do you want to tell me about it? Maybe it’ll help?”

He dropped his hands, took a deep breath, and looked at her. “No, there’s nothing to be done.”

“Well, I mean, sometimes it’s better to share. To sort of get it out of your head.”

“That won’t ever happen.”

“I didn’t mean you’d forget her. Of course, you won’t Gavin. She’s your mother and losing her will never get easier. I understand that. I just thought if you could talk about it?—”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. It was just a dream, Sophie.”

She nodded and silence fell heavily between them.

“Can I ask how it happened?”

“Car accident,” he said quickly.

“I’m so sorry. I get that you don’t want to talk about it. But if you ever do?—”

“She’s not dead, though.”

She felt the color drain from her face with this revelation. “What?”

He glanced at her and then turned his eyes up to the ceiling. “I tell everyone I lost her. If they ask more, like you just did, I say it was a car accident. But that’s not the whole truth. The truth is that my mother abandoned me. She abandoned our family. I haven’t seen her since I was seven. But as far as I know, she’s alive. She’s living her life somewhere without us.”

“I … I don’t know what to say.” How could she respond to this confession? To know that he’d suffered such a traumatic episode when he was just a boy made her immeasurably sad.

He smiled weakly. “Yeah, it’s fucked up. The accident part is true. Her car was hit by a lorry on a rainy day. She had my baby sister with her. My sister died,” he said and Sophie gasped. He didn’t react and continued speaking as if on autopilot.

“My ma was a bit banged up but nothing too serious. But I guess when she was in hospital recovering she couldn’t accept that Nora was gone. She worked herself up until one of the nurses took pity and let her see the body. But that sent her over the edge. She left against medical advice, and we haven’t seen her since.”

“Gavin,” she said softly but he kept his eyes on the ceiling. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for your loss. The loss of your sister. The loss of your mother.”

“She’s getting herself right. I’m sure of it. She just needs time to sort herself, then she’ll be back.”

Sophie was struck by this. He was saying that he hadn’t given up hope for her return even though she’d left nine years ago, when he was seven. It was an odd, enduring, kind of denial. But it wasn’t her place to argue against it, especially when he continued.

“Yeah, she’s doing her own bit of grieving. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child. It seems like the least I can offer is some grace for her to get through it and find her way back. Ian and my da, they don’t even talk about her. They can’t conceive of giving her the space she needs. But I can. I do.”

“That’s really generous,” she said, opting to support him with his rationalization since it seemed to be what he needed.

He turned on his side to face her again. “Thing is I’m in great fucking company with this.”

“What does that mean?”

“I realized early on that I had something in common with some of the very best musicians because they’ve also lost their mothers or been rejected by them.”

“Really?”

“Aye.”

He explained that the history of music was littered with the “absence of the mother,” as he called it, either by death or some sort of neglect and how it served as the catalyst for artistic ambitions among so many. He told her about how Paul McCartney, Bob Geldof, and Bono all lost their mothers unexpectedly when they were young. He went on to say that both Jimi Hendrix’s and Louis Armstrong’s mothers were neglectful and absent, leaving them in the care of family or friends.

John Lennon’s mother, he told her, had been removed from caring for him when he was five years old. Though she’d been the one to buy him his first guitar, she died in an automobile accident before they could fully repair their relationship. He had been seventeen at the time.

“Then there’s Eric Clapton,” he continued. Clapton’s grandparents acted as his parents and his mother acted as an older sister for a good part of his life.

“Every one of those artists funneled their pain, their trauma, into music,” he said finally. “And they each created something phenomenal. Something that likely never would have come to be without having suffered through the loss they had.” He paused and took a deep breath. “It’s almost like a cruel destiny that I’ve become a musician, too.”

She watched him for a long moment, not wanting to say the wrong thing. It seemed to her that he was taking comfort in this “destiny,” and she wouldn’t take that away from him.

“Who else knows all of this?” she asked, gently steering him in a different direction.

“Conor knows the most. Shay and Marty know enough. But if you’re wondering if I make a habit of telling my girlfriends this kind of thing, I don’t.”

“No, I didn’t mean?—”

He sat up. “I’ve never told a girl any of this.”

She sat up, too, and put her arm around his shoulders. “Gavin, I’m so honored that you told me. I promise I’ll only ever take care of your heart. You can trust me.”

He was slow to look at her but when he did she saw relief in his eyes. And then his mouth crashed against hers. He kissed her hard, as if he wanted to cement her promise. Or maybe it was the easiest way to stop talking about things that were hard to share. Either way, she kissed him back with the same urgency, needing him to know how much she loved him.