10. Raleigh
Raleigh
10
14 YEARS OLD
The band plays as I sit cross-legged on the couch that Axel and Ezra picked up off the side of the street. I was hesitant to sit on it for the first six months. The couch is old and falling apart, and it came with a pungent stink to it, but after Mom got sick of staring at the stains every time she walked into the garage, she finally hit it with the carpet shampooer and suddenly it was good as new. That didn’t stop me from laying a sheet over it first.
My laptop rests against my knees as I do my thing, working on the design of the guys’ first flyer for their upcoming gig. It’s nothing astronomical, just a forty-five-minute set at one of our local bars that offer live music, but it’s their first real stepping stone, and since the moment we heard the news, it’s been guns blazing around here.
Every spare moment, the guys practice. If they’re not at school, they’re right here, and I’m not going to lie, I don’t hate it. I know technically I’m not in the band, but I might as well be. I’ve been right here since day one. I know their songs just as well as they do, know all the ins and outs, know all the drama that’s going on behind the scenes, and honestly, the drama isn’t that great. They really need to work on that if they intend to be rockstars.
Axel is too focused on the band to worry about having a girlfriend. Rock and Dylan are the manwhores of the group. They tend to have random girls show up during practice who think they’re about to become the apple of the boys’ eyes. As for Ezra . . . Well, he’s somewhat focused on me.
God, just the thought of it makes my cheeks flame.
Since day one, Ezra has been at the very front of my brain. I’m so aware of him it’s ridiculous. When he walks into a room, I don’t just see it, I feel it. When he brushes past me, my skin burns from his touch. When he looks at me, my heart explodes into a million tiny Ezra-shaped pieces. Sometimes when it’s just the two of us, he will drape his arm over my shoulder and gently press a kiss to my temple, and I swear I could fly.
I’m in love.
Scratch that. I’m not just in love. I’m head over heels, unbearably falling for a boy who I’m not sure is even okay for me to want. He’s seventeen now, and no matter the age difference, I always feel like some dumb kid in comparison. Yet, when he looks at me, I swear he feels something too.
Maybe I’m insane. He’s the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever met. Girls are always falling at his feet, and that’s before they’ve heard him sing. He could have anyone he wants, yet whenever I’m in the room, it’s my stare he seeks out.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s never actually said that I’m anything more than just his best friend’s little sister. He’s never touched me or kissed me for real. He’s never done anything that warrants me believing there could be something between us, but I feel it.
When he looks at me, it’s not just a passing gaze, it’s a deep, longing stare that has a million messages passing between us, and it’s everything to me. The second our gazes collide, there’s a connection that’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and I don’t ever want to let it go. When he’s not here, I feel cold, and when his mom insists on family weekends out of town, my soul physically aches, and while I’ve never found the guts to tell him that, I think he knows.
Who am I kidding? He’s Ezra Knight, of course he knows.
Trying to keep my attention focused on the flyer, I put on the finishing details, adding the location and time of their gig before holding my laptop out and looking at it from a distance. The boys plan to print at least five hundred of these and basically throw them from the top of the stairwell at their school like a scene out of a teen movie.
Truth be told, I think it’s overkill. The bar isn’t that big. There’s no way they’re going to fit more than a hundred people in there, but if they’re able to pull a crowd, which I have no doubt they will, they’ll be invited back again. It’s a no-brainer that the guys want to go all out on this.
After deciding the flyer is as perfectly brilliant as it’s ever going to be, I rest back against the couch and wait for the boys to finish their song while getting lost in the sound of Ezra’s voice. It’s my favorite thing to do. Every day I sit right here to do my homework. It’s unofficially become my spot, plus it has the best vantage spot to watch Ezra without it being completely obvious. Yet, every time I look at him, his gaze automatically comes to mine as if he feels my stare the way I feel his.
And right now, it’s no different.
The boys play together like a well-oiled machine. They never miss.
The four of them together are a force to be reckoned with, and it’s clear to every single one of us that this is going somewhere big. Even Mom and Dad have finally come around to the idea of it. Hell, sometimes I even catch Mom singing their songs while she bakes in the afternoons.
All of the guys like to write lyrics, but Ezra is the only one who’s had the guts to turn them into songs, and so far, every song he’s ever written has been incredible. In some of the songs, he talks about a girl who’s so far away, he’ll never be able to have her, and when I first heard the lyrics, it gutted me. I thought maybe there was someone else, another girl he had his heart set on before he moved here, but now, I’m not so sure.
Deciphering Ezra’s lyrics has officially become my full-time job.
The song is just coming to a close when Ezra turns and meets my stare, and as he sings the rest of the lyrics, he doesn’t dare look away. With every passing second, my cheeks flush, heating up until they’re burning hot. His dark eyes sparkle as they soften, and for just a moment, I’m lost within the dark depths of his stare.
My heart races as I fall even more in love with this mystical man, and as the song comes to a close and the room falls silent, a cocky grin stretches across his full lips.
God, what I wouldn’t give to kiss those lips.
“Dude,” Axel grunts, breaking through the heavy silence and snapping us out of our stare. “How many times do I have to tell you to quit serenading my sister? You know she goes all stupid and loopy every time you do it.”
Ezra smirks as a laugh bubbles up his throat and catches on the microphone, letting the sound reverberate through the garage as Rock and Dylan roll their eyes. This isn’t exactly a new conversation. It’s been like this since the very beginning, and while anyone looking in would think the connection Ezra and I share is somewhat inappropriate considering he’s three years older than me, everyone in this very room . . . they get it. Even Axel.
Whatever this is between me and Ezra, there’s nothing wrong about it. There’s nothing sexual or violating. It’s simply an emotional connection that’s never been pushed. Hell, had it gone anywhere, or if Ezra had pressured me in any way, Axel would have beat the shit out of him.
“Sorry,” Ezra mutters to Ax despite every single person in this room knowing he doesn’t mean it. A moment later, he looks back at me, and his whole face lights up like Christmas morning.
My smile widens, and I beam back at him as everything inside of me clenches. I know he’s made a point not to press anything physical between us, but would it really be terrible if he did?
Letting out a breath and not wanting my traitorous thoughts to become too obvious, I grip the laptop and spin it around, showing the guys the flyer. “What do you think?” I ask, watching the four of them creep in to get a better look at my laptop.
“Fuck yeah, Rae. That’s amazing,” Ezra says with his guitar flung over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on mine opposed to the actual flyer.
“Just needs a band name, and it’ll be done.”
“Ugh,” Rock groans. “Not this again.”
“We need a fucking name,” Axel says, discreetly shoving Ezra a step away from me. “It’s been a year, and we still can’t agree on anything.”
A smirk cuts across my face. “I mean, I still think Satan’s Asshole is a clear winner.”
Axel rolls his eyes. “Our band is not being named after the devil’s forbidden backdoor.”
“I don’t know,” I tease. “I think it suits you.”
“What about Sinkhole?” Dylan suggests, waving his hands out as if imagining the name in lights, but let’s be honest, while it certainly has some kind of merit, it’s not right.
Rock shakes his head, a smirk lingering on his lips. “Nah, I’m still down for—”
“If the next words out of your mouth are Dirty Areola,” I warn, “I’m going to use your head as a bass drum.”
Rock laughs, knowing exactly how to get a rise out of me. It’s a name that came up the very first day the guys got together, and it’s been a running joke ever since.
I feel Ezra’s stare on me, and as I glance up, I find a strange look in his eyes, as if he’s thinking too hard that his brain is about to explode. “What about . . . okay, hear me out,” he says, as if somewhat nervous. He pauses, his lips pressing into a hard line as he waits for all the guys to look his way. “What about Demon’s Curse?”
“Hmm,” Axel says, his brows furrowed. “That’s actually not too bad.”
“Demon’s Curse,” Rock says, trying the words out for himself, slowly nodding. “I like it.”
“Yeah?” Ezra says, his gaze nervously flicking between me and the guys, making me wonder if there’s maybe something a little deeper there, something that clearly none of us have figured out.
“I’m in,” Dylan says. “It’s a shit load better than Rusty Trombone or Dirty Areolas.”
I roll my eyes and feel my face flush. There are some things these guys simply shouldn’t talk about when I’m around, and for the most part, they’re pretty good, but every now and then, they forget, and the most horrendous things fly out of their ridiculous mouths. Trust me, I was horrified when I sat in my room and consulted my good friend Google about what a rusty trombone and a Viennese oyster are. I couldn’t look the boys in the eyes for days.
“So, it’s settled?” I ask, turning my laptop back around and starting to type their new band name in. “You’re Demon’s Curse?”
“Settled,” Ax says as we hear the familiar sound of Dad’s car pulling into the driveway. There are a few loud noises coming from outside, sounding as though Dad might have taken a little stumble on the front porch, but just as I go to get up to see if he needs any help, I hear him walk through the front door.
“Yo,” Rock says, turning toward Ax as I start to wonder where the hell Mom is. She’s always home before Dad gets home, and more times than not, she’s home before I get home from school. “Your dad good?”
Axel shrugs his shoulders, and as he goes to respond, the internal garage door opens. Dad wobbles in the doorway, his eyes glassy and red. He’s always been a respectable, well-dressed man, but right now, he looks as though someone just scraped him off the floor of some shitty dive bar.
“Woah, Dad. Are you drunk?” Axel says as I watch my father all but fall into the garage with his shirt untucked, buttons missing, and what looks like hot sauce smeared across his chest. “Wait. Did you just drive home like this?”
“OUT,” he roars, striding to the garage fridge and pulling out a beer. “All of you little fuckers out.”
What the hell?
Ezra discreetly steps in front of me, blocking my view of my father, and I put my laptop down on the couch beside me before getting to my feet. I peer around Ezra to gaze at my father, confusion blasting through my veins. I’ve never seen him like this. “Is everything okay?” I ask, unease gripping me in a chokehold. “Where’s Mom? She hasn’t come home yet.”
Dad fumbles toward me, his lips twisting into a scowl, and I don’t miss the way Ezra grabs me and shuffles me aside. He moves toward the couch, shoving Rock out of his way as Axel barely manages to escape a nasty push. “Your mother is never coming home,” he spits, just before crashing down onto the couch and snapping my laptop in half. “She’s dead.”
“What?” I breathe, my voice barely audible as the pulse in my ears thumps so loudly that it threatens to deafen me. Surely I misheard him.
Dad cracks the lid of his beer as I feel my world closing in on me. My knees give out as I struggle to keep myself upright. Ezra clutches onto my side, and my nails dig into his forearm.
“I SAID GET OUT!”
Axel rips the beer out of Dad’s hand and launches it across the garage, making me jump as it smashes against the drywall. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you say that?”
Dad launches to his feet and stumbles into Axel. “You good for nothing piece of shit,” he roars, trying to hit Axel but missing as he falls back against the couch, his weight breaking the old springs inside.
He sits there for a moment as I simply stare at him, too afraid to push any further, too terrified to hear those words come out of his mouth again, but I have to try. I have to know if it’s true. “Dad,” I whisper, the single word like a crack of lightning striking right through my chest.
The fight leaves him, and he stares ahead, his bloodshot eyes incapable of focusing on a single thing in the garage as he silently begins to weep. “Some asshole ran her off the road,” he cried, falling to pieces right there on the couch. “She’s gone, Rae. Dead on impact.”
I crumble, and not even Ezra’s strong arms are capable of keeping me on my feet. My knees crash against the cold concrete as he holds me to his chest, but all I can do is look up at my brother, his stare just as lost as mine as he tries to process everything our father said.
Our mother is gone.
Dead on impact.
Axel stumbles back as though the weight of our father’s words physically stuck him, and Dylan reaches out for him as my world blurs behind tear-filled eyes.
Ezra murmurs something into my ear, but I don’t hear his soothing words over my father’s torturous ones—Dead on impact.
Dead on impact.
Dead. On. Impact.
They repeat over and over, sending me into a whirlpool of unbearable agony. My mom is gone. I’m never going to see her again. Never going to feel her arms wrap around me when I walk through the door after a long day at school. Never going to hear her sing the boys’ songs as she bakes cookies in the afternoon.
She won’t be here when I come in from my first date. She won’t be there for my first heartbreak or to make everything better when my world is falling apart. She won’t get to see me walk down the aisle or hold my hand through pregnancy.
She won’t ever get to grow old.
This can’t be real.
Everything around me fades from existence, and time warps as though I’m no longer living in the same universe. All I know is that one minute, I’m crumbling on the dirty garage floor, and the next, I’m silently crying in bed with my face smashed against the pillow.
I don’t know what time it is, only that there’s not a single star in the dark sky tonight.
I’ve never felt despair like this before. The grief is overwhelming, and I can’t make it stop. I don’t know how. When my world is falling apart, Mom is the one I run to. She’s the one who knows how to calm me, how to ease my pain, but without her, I’m lost—just an empty soul floating out at sea with no lighthouse to guide me home.
A soft knock sounds and my gaze shifts to the door, barely able to see it through my tears, and when I see Ezra standing awkwardly in my doorway, my brows furrow with confusion. He stays over all the time, especially nights when the guys have been working on turning his lyrics into melodies, but he’s never knocked on my door before.
I push up onto my elbow as I awkwardly watch him and try to wipe the tears from my eyes, but it’s no use, more replace them quicker than I can wipe them away. “I ummm . . . I wanted to check on you,” he murmurs, keeping his tone low. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to sleep.”
I shake my head. “I can’t make it stop hurting.”
“I know.”
I crumble back to my tear-soaked pillow as he awkwardly stands in the doorway, slowly creeping closer. “Fuck. I . . . I know I’m probably crossing some kind of invisible line by just being in here, but I can’t walk away knowing you’re hurting like this. Tell me to leave, Rae.”
I shake my head again. “Don’t go,” I whimper, terrified of being alone and falling back into the dark abyss of agony. “Please, I . . . I won’t tell Ax. I just—”
I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence before Ezra gently nudges the door closed with his foot and strides across my room. His tall frame collapses onto my bed, keeping on top of the sheets, and within seconds, I’m in his arms, my body curled against him as I rest my head on his chest.
“I’m sorry, Rae,” he whispers as his warm lips brush against my temple. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Ezra’s hands wrap around me, one against my arm and the other holding my waist as his thumb trails back and forth. He doesn’t dare move, doesn’t make a peep, just simply lays there with me as the grief tears through my chest, shredding it to pieces with its vicious talons.
I listen to the steady beat of his breaking heart—the only sound that could offer me just a scrap of solace in this cruel world—until finally, exhaustion claims me, and I fall into a broken, cold sleep, dreaming of the woman who promised to always be right by my side.
But that’s the tricky thing about promises—they give you a false sense of security. In reality, things like time can’t be promised because how long we get to walk this Earth isn’t a choice. At any given moment, all of it can be ripped away and broken, promises be damned.