Chapter 15
Fawnie
After we left the bathroom, he wanted to stay back in the darkened hall for a bit, and I said that was okay, since I had to get into the crush of people to get a few bottles of water. I got a big bag of them, some for everyone, but I offered to drop them off and leave with Shadow if he wanted.
He seemed resolute that he didn’t.
He even found something of a smile to greet Rita and my dad with when they arrived, the kids too, although calling a sixteen-year-old and a twelve-year-old kids just feels wrong.
I thought it might be more than slightly awkward having Rita and my mom in the same place at the same time, but it hasn’t been.
The boys are at the end of the row, while Rita is sitting on the other side of my dad, who is by my mom, and then it’s me and Shadow.
The first thing Rita did was offer my mom a handshake that turned into a hug, and tell her how glad she was that we could all be here.
She told me I looked beautiful and let Shadow know how sincerely happy everyone was that we were doing this.
It’s not one of Rita’s strong suits to be early, and I totally get it because… teenage boys, but they did make it about two minutes before the music started.
The second the lights dimmed fully, casting the entire theater in flickering candlelight, Shadow seemed to relax a bit. He’s clutching a bottle of water tightly between his hands, trying to focus on the music, and while it’s beautiful and soothing, I know that he’s still uncomfortable.
Honestly, I should have listened to my dad.
He tried to talk us out of this, but I wouldn’t listen.
I was too stubborn, so certain that this is what Shadow needed.
I had no idea he was going to make himself sick.
He’s not staying because he wants to enjoy the music.
He’s staying for me, and while I appreciate that so much, that wasn’t the intent of the gift.
I can’t take his hand in mine without someone seeing and noticing. It would make him even more uncomfortable than he is already. I can’t set my hand on his knee or slip my arm around him or do any of the things I want to do to let him know that I’m here.
The first few pieces start and end, applause ringing through the theater with every single finish. After the third time, I get a little braver.
I slip my hand between my armrest and Shadow’s, finding the hem of his shirt sticking out from under his leather jacket.
He’s already tense, but he goes absolutely rigid when my fingertips meet his warm skin.
He’s hunched over, and he could fold in half all the way and leave me nowhere to go, forcing me out, but he doesn’t.
He straightens ever so slightly, leaving me the smallest gap.
I press forward until my palm is flat against his abs.
I’ve felt them over his clothing before, but holy shit.
Carved or washboard doesn’t even begin to describe the hard muscle.
He’s so hot, his skin smooth.
I remember the night I saw him with no shirt on, covered in his blood and literally steaming. He was tall and streamlined then, but his body is so different now. He’s forged and honed it into a sculpture.
Amazingly, I can actually feel his muscles expand and contract with his breath. It seems to come easier, not harder, and eventually, the tension bleeds out of him. He relaxes just enough that our shoulders brush together.
Most of this time, I’ve been watching him out of the corner of my eye and not the stage at all. His lashes flutter downwards to rest against his cheeks as he closes his eyes. He keeps them closed. I glance down and see his hands moving, as if his fingers are finding invisible piano keys.
My throat aches with tears I don’t want to let fall as a look of serenity erases the lines from his face. All those burdens he’s been carrying, all that pain, all the memories, the fears, the turmoil and grief, seem to lose their hold on him, unspooling and leaving him in peace.
I watch him, rapt, my chest so tight and my heart aching so badly that it might all explode at any minute.
This. This is what I wanted for him, even for just a moment.
Even if the starlight above us is only a field of blue smudged with lights and we can’t see any stars at all.
Even though we’re surrounded by other people—it’s like a moment created just for us.
I wanted to give something back to him, literally just one of the many things he lost, because of his selflessness in saving me.
He’s said over and over that he doesn’t need saving in return, but I don’t know. I just don’t know.
It makes this moment all that much more glorious. Bittersweet too. it’s not perfect. It’s not pain free. It was hard earned getting here. I know it won’t last forever.
It’s over all too soon.
When the lights come back on, dim, but still far more than darkness, and the musicians set aside their instruments after the applause dies down, and people start milling around for the intermission.
I withdraw my hand slowly, letting Shadow know how much I wish I could let it linger, but I know Dad will get up for a stretch, and probably Rita and the boys too.
I can’t risk any of them seeing my hand under Shadow’s clothing.
That would be a big what the fuck when what I want most is for Shadow to enjoy the rest of the evening the same way he just was.
“Hey, asshole, do you have a problem?”
My head snaps around to see Justice, sixteen-years-old and fueled by far too many hormones, shoot to his feet.
He glares at a man two rows down from us.
The guy is cranked all the way around in his seat, and by the way his eyes are locked on Shadow’s face, I know that this isn’t the first time he’s been staring.
Shadow clears his throat roughly, standing up and giving the old man his back. He pretends he doesn’t notice, but Justice isn’t going to let this go.
His brother shoots to his feet, not nearly as tall as Justice, but already getting broad and filling out at almost thirteen. If anything, the brothers always stick together. I remember Dad telling me all the wild stories that they’ve found themselves involved in.
“Bro, you’re like one of those asshole troll guys that comments a bunch of stuff online about other people, but in reality, they’re a hundred times uglier, older, and fatter,” Justice yells.
Rita rockets out of her seat, trying to situate herself between her sons and the guy down there who is still just staring at Shadow.
I stand too, at the same time Shadow tries to get past me to get to the boys, probably to tell them it’s all good.
I slam into Shadow, nearly knocking him over the seat in front of me.
My arms shoot out on instinct, wrapping around his shoulders and waist, my hands clenching tight to his leather jacket and tugging hard so he doesn’t pitch over.
He grunts in pain as my body jolts against him, but I don’t let him go.
My dad is standing up now, opening his mouth to say something, and I’m frozen, my hands buried in Shadow’s jacket, inhaling the oil and gas fumes that still linger from his bike. I can’t make myself let go.
“Justice, please,” Dad groans, but it does zero good.
“Mister, if you don’t turn around right now, I’m going to tear your eyes out and stuff them up your ass.”
“That would be constant pink eye,” Stone points out somewhat sympathetically, but he has a wicked grin on his face to match his brother’s.
Rita’s shoulders rise and fall on a sigh. Dad’s hand shoots out, steadying her.
I glance at my mom. She gives me a sympathetic look and squeezes my hand.
This is her last night in Hart. She’s leaving tomorrow morning.
We got lucky that we were able to book this before she had to go home.
I thought we were lucky, but this whole thing is turning into more of a disaster than I ever thought it could be.
The old creeper immediately gets out of his seat and goes running for one of the ushers buzzing around. No doubt to complain about the biker trash in the audience. I think every single one of us freezes. All but Shadow, who looks like he’s used to being the object of interest.
When the usher comes back with a manager a few minutes later, Dad seems resigned, Rita’s prepared, and the boys are already discussing how they’d rather go for a burger and fries anyway.
My mom sits silently, her head bowed, but I think she’s just trying to stay out of things.
I’ve dropped my arms from Shadow, but I haven’t stepped away.
There’s an unspoken agreement between all of us that we’ll go without a fight, but we sure as hell won’t apologize to a man who was the height of rudeness and cowardice.
Luckily, Dad gets past the boys and talks to the manager—a middle-aged man dressed in a black suit. He gestures with his hands and shakes his head. I know my dad and he knows people. He’s good with them.
After a tense conversation, Dad steps back into our row. “Burgers and fries, it is.”
He puts on a good face of it, but I can tell that he’s seriously pissed that we’re the ones getting kicked out. It’s even worse when we’re halfway up the stairs and I notice the jerk who started all of this slinking back to his seat.
Rita keeps the boys under careful supervision until we make it out into the parking lot. She keeps a hand on each one of their shoulders even then. Dad walks behind them, and Mom walks beside me and Shadow.
I don’t dare look at his face.
I’m afraid of the devastation I’ll see there, or worse, the misplaced guilt. I know that he’ll blame himself for getting us kicked out.
We reach Rita’s car first. It’s an ancient green Volvo that she calls Pickle Pete. I think the boys have had enough time to realize that their parents are less than impressed and they move to stand beside the car, half defiant, but half with guilty looks of their own.