Chapter 16
Derek
We come back from the studio and order a bunch of takeout. We’ve been hitting our recording sessions hard this week and I’m simultaneously exhausted and restless. Drained and antsy. Desperate to kick back and stay in yet desiring a crowded pub and a cold beer.
“Fuck.” I scrape my hand along my face, the sound of my palm grazing over my stubble loud in my eardrums.
Next to me, Mav shrugs. “I thought today went well.”
“Wasn’t terrible,” Jameson agrees, opening the Styrofoam containers and arranging them on the kitchen island. “Nice call on jalapeno poppers.”
“Right?” Levi says, swiping a popper and tossing it into his mouth.
I narrow my eyes at him, mentally counting down from five, before his face turns red and he starts to cough, spit dotting his shirtsleeve when he raises his wrist in front of his mouth. “Fucking amateur.”
Mav passes Levi a beer.
Levi clears his throat and shakes his head, opting for a nacho instead of another popper. “A working tonight?”
It’s pathetic that he directs his question to Mav.
Levi is one of my best friends. We’ve been through a lot together, started out at the same time, in the same circuit, and rose through the ranks before teaming up to kick off The Burnt Clovers.
He’s like a brother to me, different from Dre, and I trust him.
But fuck if I don’t like the way he treats his sister. He doesn’t look out for Allegra the way he should; from where I’m sitting, he never has.
Mav checks his watch. “She was. She finished around five.”
“It’s nine,” I point out.
Mav snorts. “Exactly.” He shakes his head. “She probably went out with some friends.”
“The Hawks girls,” Levi agrees, nodding.
“Don’t you think you should message her?” I ask Levi. “You know, check in.”
“Why’re you so worried about A all the time?” he counters.
“Why aren’t you?” I spit back.
Mav points at me. “He’s got a point,” he tells Levi. “She’s a Boston newb, who spends her days in a rough part of town and her nights with a professional hockey team.” I sneer at the mention of the Hawks and Mav grins. “You should make up and play nice with Easton and Austin. They’re good guys.”
“We’re not in a fight,” I mutter before swearing. I fucking hate playing Mav’s stupid childish games.
But he just beams at me like the little nuisance he is.
Jameson chuckles and pops the top on a beer, passing me the bottle. “Take the edge off, man.”
I take a deep pull. The bitterness of the hops does absolutely nothing to redirect my thoughts. Who is Allegra out with tonight? Where is she and what is she doing?
I saw her this morning during my music lesson with the kids and she didn’t mention she had plans tonight. She didn’t mention anything although she stayed the entire time and participated in the lesson.
My frustration soars. Since I confided my shit in her, I can’t get a read on her.
When she looks at me, it’s not with anger or hurt, but acceptance.
A few times, we kicked back to watch a movie together.
One night, while watching a drama, our hands inched closer underneath the blanket.
My pinky grazed hers and she pulled in an inhale, her eyes darting to mine.
I linked my pinky and ring fingers over hers and squeezed, half holding her hand.
“What are you doing?” she murmured, a blush washing over her cheeks.
“Watching a movie,” I replied.
She gave me half a smirk. “Why are you touching me?”
“Because,” I sighed, then gave her the truth. “Because I can’t not when you’re sitting this close.”
She studied me for a long beat. Then, she shifted closer, until our thighs pressed up against each other’s.
Allegra flipped her hand, palm up, and allowed me to lace our fingers together.
I shifted our joined hands into her lap, and we sat like that, holding hands, with her head resting against my shoulder, for the remainder of the film.
It was simple and easy. Innocent and genuine.
It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I wish it didn’t make me crave more.
Not just Allegra’s mouth and curves but her thoughts and hopes.
Her reasoning and her chatter. I want to know more about her friends and her life in LA, about her goals and her plans for after this summer.
Twice in the week that followed our exchange, I peeked in on her while she slept, just to hear her even breathing.
Just to check that she’s okay. I prepared her coffee in the French press on the mornings she ran late.
I looked for her poetry book or her headphones on the kitchen island when I walked through the front door.
I like seeing little pieces of Allegra, of her life, in the brownstone, as part of my space.
But her schedule is busy and while she’s always friendly toward me, that passivity remains.
It’s as if she’s embraced our truce. She’s okay with the budding friendship between us.
She’s okay that it’s not more than that.
Maybe she doesn’t need me the way I’m starting to need, want, her.
As a more permanent fixture in my life. As a relationship deeper than a fleeting connection or a temporary acquaintance.
It’s messing with my head, how much I care for her.
How normal we can act around each other, even with the longing that roots in my gut and the confusion that swirls in my mind.
A type of understanding has emerged between us and although it should reassure me, her acknowledging my limitations, it doesn’t.
Instead, I want her to push me to be better. To be more.
It’s sadistic because I’ll never rise to the challenge and yet…part of me wants to try.
My fingertips drum along the butcher block and I drain the beer. My eyelids feel heavy, my body slow. Fuck, I’m tired.
But my mind races.
It always does during songwriting. When I’m focused, I’m locked in. But now that recording is done for the day, my mind has turned to Allegra, and I hate that she’s at the forefront of every thought.
I hate that I worry about her, wonder about her, as much as I do.
I move toward the refrigerator to grab a second beer when Levi’s phone beeps.
He glances at the screen, his eyebrows pulling low as a sneer curls his lips.
“Fuck,” he sighs.
“What?” I snap.
“Cyn and my sister.” He waves his phone.
“She’s out with Cynthia?” I growl, incredulous. Cynthia’s a fun girl but as far as friends go, she’s a shitty one. Look up an antonym for loyal and you’ll find an image of Cynthia.
Mav grabs Levi’s phone and chuckles at the photo on screen. His thumb swipes over the screen and he gives an impressed nod. “Okay, A. I see you, girl.”
“Give me it.” I grab the phone from him.
My growing annoyance flares into full-blown anger as I stare at the image on screen.
Allegra’s perched on the knee of some dude I don’t recognize—a Hawks player? Worse, a fucking random?—laughing at whatever dumb fuck thing he’s saying. He’s got his arm banded around her waist, and his other palm splayed on her upper thigh.
He’s touching her like he wants her. Like he knows her.
Like she’s his.
“Fuck this,” I murmur, tossing down Levi’s phone.
Mav snatches it up. “But you missed the cute selfie of A and Cyn being—”
“Let’s go,” I bark at Levi.
“Cyn will have her doing body shots within the hour,” Levi agrees, looking worried for the first time in weeks.
Is he high all the time now? Does he remember what it’s like to be a sober, rational, caring big brother? Or friend?
Mav chuckles again as Jameson looks on, grinning.
“Good luck.” Jameson lifts a beer in farewell.
“Yeah, we’ll try not to polish this off.” Mav gestures to the takeout containers.
“Whatever.” I shake my head, shoving my feet into sandals by the front door.
Levi exchanges some words with Drew and Alfred and then, we’re off.
“They’re at Taps?” Alfred meets my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah,” I mutter, recalling the well-worn interior of the bar from the photo.
“Cynthia’s gotta cut this shit out,” Levi murmurs beside me.
I turn and give him an incredulous look. “Seriously? You’re more upset about Cynthia than your sister?”
He looks chagrined and turns away. “No, I’m furious with A, but Cyn…”
“What?”
“She pulls this shit to piss me off.” His words are quiet.
Understanding dawns and I close my eyes, tapping the back of my head against the headrest. “You fucked Cynthia? Jesus, Levi, what’s wrong with you?”
“Every now and then.” His tone is harder now. Defensive.
“You’re a shitty brother.”
“What?” He shoves me in the ribs, and I open my eyes.
Glaring right at my best friend, I repeat, “You’re a shitty brother. And Cynthia’s a shitty friend.”
Levi stares at me, hard eyes and an expressionless face. A mask. “We usually just screw when we’re high.”
I squint back. When has he gotten so good at shutting his shit down? “Levi, don’t you see how manipulative and messed up Cynthia is? Hell, she hooked up with the guy Allegra crushed on at Allegra’s seventeenth birthday party!”
Levi squints at me like he’s having a hard time keeping up with our conversation.
“That’s messed up, man. That’s breaking girl code or whatever the hell it is. And then, you get with her? That’s breaking sibling code! I don’t even have a sibling and I know that. Jesus.” I shove Levi for good measure. “Allegra deserves better than your bullshit.”
He sighs and scrubs his hands over his eyes. “Allegra and Cyn go way back; you’re overreacting. We only screw when we’re lit anyway, man. Doesn’t mean jack shit.”
I shake my head at him, disgusted. Why the hell does Allegra keep trying so hard for his approval, for his affection, when he would go and get with a girl who repeatedly hurt her in high school?
When I met Levi, years ago, he was the life of the party. The charismatic, fun, engaging guy that could charm a grandma as easily as a toddler. Everyone wanted a piece of him, everyone wanted some of his energy. His light.
And now…
“So, what? You’re lit all the time now?” I ask, wondering if he’s ever straight.