CHAPTER FOURTEEN “Turn My Head” #2
For most of that night, I steered clear of Reid, while Brodi filled my ear on one side with the mechanics of rolling a good joint, and Paige sat giggling in Neil’s lap on the other.
Still, the idiot who got bolder with each shot of Cuervo managed to win out.
I looked for and found him missing from the crowded porch.
Without a single partygoer noticing, I managed to slip inside to find Reid on his phone.
“I’m sorry. I know. I’m fucking sorry. I’ll find a way to help. I swear.”
I held my breath as I passed him to make it seem like I was going to the bathroom and caught his glare as I rounded the kitchen table.
I was intruding again by simply breathing.
When I’d washed my hands and wiped the sweat-induced black streaks from underneath my eyes, I walked out of the bathroom to see Reid sitting on the couch.
His stare distant, his cast and forearm resting on his knees.
I paused, my heart racing as I bit my lip.
Everything in me told me it wasn’t the time.
I knew not to say a word.
“What’s wrong?”
Fucking tequila.
Instead of the glare I expected, I got a sarcastic laugh followed by silence. I saw the crack then. It was small, but it was there.
“Reid?”
He gripped his hair in his fist and shoved it back.
Tread carefully.
The words echoed in my head as he loosely scoured me.
“If you need to talk to someone—”
“Stella.” He was exasperated, and I knew he was holding back his wrath in respect of my sister. I resented their friendship in that moment.
“If Paige wasn’t my sister,” I said slowly before I sank down to squat in front of him. Eye level, he searched my face as if he couldn’t believe I had the nerve to ask. And without a belly full of courage, I knew I wouldn’t have. “What would you say to me right now?”
I could see the bite, and for some reason, I was a glutton for it.
Maybe I wanted to see what he truly thought about me in that moment when his wall was temporarily down and the anger was seeping through.
I was hoping for it. Because maybe then I wouldn’t be so tempted by him, so curious about him, so needful of his attention.
And I didn’t want to be. If there was one thing I knew about Reid Crowne, it was that he was fire, and it took fire to recognize it.
“We’re both victims of circumstance, aren’t we? I’m stuck with you too, for now, Reid, so just say it.”
And in the hazel mass of clouds that built as I watched him, I saw it. The slight fear in his eyes when he looked at me, the temptation, a reflection of the same flames.
I wasn’t alone.
“I’m right here,” I said, throwing another log on as I stood before him. His eyes slowly drifted up to my face. The air charged between us, and it was overwhelming. I was high on him. So high, I began to shake. I swallowed hard as I tried to find a solid voice. “What’s on your mind, Reid?”
“Stella.” Paige’s voice cut through the haze as she made her way into the living room. “What are y’all doing?” Without a reply, she looked between us and then settled her accusatory stare on Reid. “Reid, come with me to the store. We need more beer.”
I moved to grab the can I left on the table and downed it as I passed my sister to avoid eye contact.
I could feel her eyes follow me as she picked up her purse and ushered Reid out of the house.
Instead of joining the party, I bypassed the patio and walked around the side of the brick to see if I could hear their conversation down the front walk.
“What are you doing?” Paige said in a scolding hiss. Reid’s words couldn’t be deciphered as their car doors closed.
Paige saw it. We all were aware. The lines had been drawn. Reid had been careful with his footing, and I had just become aware of myself teetering on the edge Paige was going to make sure neither of us crossed.
And maybe it was for the best. But deep inside me, the fire had been lit, and though it was low lying, I knew it would only be a matter of time.
So did Reid.
And so did my sister.
Later that night, the party continued at Paige’s apartment.
A few people had come back with us, and Neil played DJ while the rest of us gathered in the kitchen, dancing while finishing the bottle of tequila.
Reid sat alone on the plastic chair on Paige’s two-person porch, chain-smoking, his black boots crossed on top of one of her terracotta pots.
I was tired but had people sitting on my bed, and the more I drank, the more I felt driven toward that porch.
When Paige and Reid rejoined the party earlier, he hadn’t so much as looked at me.
I wanted to feel relieved, but instead, I felt a restless stir.
Even in the back seat on the way home, he didn’t glance my way.
My sister had done her job. And the more I thought about it, the more resentful I became toward her rule.
After an hour of watching the black boots out of my peripheral, I walked onto the porch with the last beer and handed it to him. He took it and popped the top without a thank you as I stood against the railing, obstructing his view from the grass that we’d laid on days ago.
His face covered in shadow, he sipped the beer wordlessly until he drained it.
“Can I come to practice this week?”
Reid exhaled and grabbed another cigarette from his pack. “No practice this week.”
He was lying.
“You’re lying.”
“Even so,” he said in a whisper, a cigarette dangling from his lips, “no practice this week.” I scoffed and crossed my arms over my stomach, gripping my sides.
I was wearing a thin tank top that showed my midriff and cut off shorts.
Reid’s eyes covered me, stopping at the bronze skin of my stomach before they flicked away.
“Is this about Paige? Because I can talk to her. She thinks there’s something going on, and I can tell her there’s nothing.
” I took his silence for confirmation that statement was bullshit.
Because every beat of my restless heart told me that something was definitely going on, and on both our parts.
Reid stood and crushed his cigarette. That alone had us inches away from each other. “’Night, Stella.”
“Great. You know I’m trapped in this hell, too. Don’t leave me hanging like this.”
Reid shoved his cigarettes into his jeans and looked me over. “I’m not the answer.”
“What? What does that even mean?” I said, taking a step forward. Pushing.
“It means you need to find your own friends here,” he said thoughtfully. “This isn’t your crowd.” I’m not for you.
“Who says?” That’s my decision. I took another step forward. “I say.”
“Stella.” Stay away.
“Why?” I couldn’t if I wanted to.
It was there again, the unbelievable static. My whole body trembled in anticipation. I felt sick and alive as my hair stood on end, warmth everywhere—so much warmth. He towered over me as I looked up at him with permission and fear. “You don’t want me there?”
His voice was laced with an edge. “No.”
I pushed.
“Do you want me here?” I asked as I stood flush to him, my eyes pleading, my lips begging. “Kiss me, Reid. Once. Just kiss me. If you don’t like it, you never have to do it again.”
His head slowly bent, our eyes locked, and he leaned in. “No.”
“Yes,” I urged then licked my bottom lip. His eyes followed and his lips turned into a smug smirk.
“What about your boyfriend at the restaurant?”
“Reid,” I said on a whimper. We were so close, the lines crossed and my breathing heavy. My lungs filled, and I was dying to exhale into him. My heart thudded so hard I could swear he could hear it. I was completely immersed in his eyes, drunk on temptation, done.
Pissed at his hesitation, I took a step back with a forced and defiant grin. “I won’t offer again.” I shouldered past him, blocking the door. My breath caught when he gripped my arm and his head bent so that our lips brushed as he spoke. “This can’t happen.”
“If you say so,” I bit out before I ripped my arm away and pushed through the hot air of the apartment laced with alcohol and bodies before walking out the front door.
I needed more air. I needed to stop drinking tequila, or anything for that matter.
I’d made a fool of myself. If Paige knew, she would accuse me, as usual, of being overly dramatic.
Because I’d always been an emotional person. I cringed when I heard the words “calm down,” and got highly offended when they were directed toward me. They were like battery acid being thrown at the overly sensitive.
It was hard for me to keep them bottled, a problem for me through most of my life.
That was the thing about musicians that I envied most. They could bleed at the top of their lungs for a few hours a day on stage, pouring out their hearts, hurts, or anger into the crowd, and they were worshiped for it.
It was not such an epic affair when your emotions bleed into everyday life and have an overabundance of them bubbling to the surface.
One of the most powerful pictures in music history wasn’t on the cover of a magazine.
It was a candid snapshot of Kurt Cobain crying backstage.
I remember staring at the picture for hours.
He was sitting on the floor in ripped jeans and a flannel shirt, one elbow braced on his knee, while he fisted his hair with his other hand, his face twisted in agony, crying freely.
Even with his warranted success, his emotions ruled him.
That picture should never have been taken.
It was a moment of weakness and he deserved to have it alone.
But at the same time, that powerful snapshot made me feel like I wasn’t alone in my struggle to keep my emotions at bay.
I understood his inability to keep them in check even in the public eye, and especially when it hurt.