Chapter 62
I tip my face into the shower spray. My eyes close, and I see Peace, how she looked and sounded as I made her mine. My body hums and hardens again. She felt so good. We were so good together. She gave me her virginity. I was her first. I shake my head in disbelief. I can hardly believe she chose me.
Peace is amazing, every bit as sweet as she ever was. Sexy as hell. Being with her last night exceeded every fantasy, and there have been a lot of them featuring her.
Peace isn’t like anyone else. She fits me as if tailor-made and not just physically. My need for her is embedded in my skin. She’s the music inside me. No amount of water, scrubbing, or force of will on my part can ever remove her.
I don’t want to remove her, but I know I must. For her sake.
I’m not strong enough to resist her; last night is a case in point. There’s only one thing left to do, create distance between us. Because as much as I want to, I can’t keep her. But, man, I didn’t expect sex with her to be like it was. It felt like our souls connected. Sex has never been more than a release. After her…well, I don’t even want to consider it.
I switch off the water and get out of the shower. Twisting the towel around my waist, I lean forward. I look at myself in the mirror and rake my wet hair back. I feel sad for the guy staring back at me. He’s well and truly fucked. I used to scoff at my dad when he told people he knew my mother was it for him, that one night with her changed everything for him. Well, I’m no longer skeptical.
I grab a clean pair of boxers and return to the other room. Peace is sprawled across the bed. She’s out cold. Her hands tucked under her chin, she’s wearing my shirt, the cutoff tee, the one I wore on the night everything seemed to come together for us at her house and then disastrously fell apart. Looking at her, so beautiful and relaxed in her sleep, something fierce grips my heart. I like her wearing my shirt. I like her in my bed. I love that she trusts me and chose me to be her first. But I don’t want to settle for only one time with her. I want her again. Badly.
Just for a moment, I indulge a fantasy. I imagine her being completely mine. I know I’m hers. I knew it back when I was a boy, and as a man, I’m even more certain. Seeing that photo of her with the football player crushed me. Well, having her tonight and letting her go will be just as bad.
One night, what a fucking idiot. And now it’s over.
But not quite yet.
I move to her as if I really am her moon and she is my tide.
“Peace, sweetheart.” She shifts closer to me as I kneel beside the bed, but she doesn’t wake.
It’s for the best, I tell myself. Best for her.
“It’s okay. You need your rest. It’s been a tough couple of days.” I take her hand. Pressing my lips to the center of her palm, I place her hand on her chest over her heart. How I feel about her has always been more than simple friendship. But then again, what do I know about love and all those other things she deserves. And what use would any of it be coming from a man like me?
I rise. I don’t look back at her, though I want to. I don’t need confirmation that I’m leaving the best thing that will ever happen to me behind.
Peace
Warmth kissing the back of my closed eyelids, I tip my face toward it. But it doesn’t have substance. It isn’t the warmth I need.
“Bo,” I call. Opening my eyes, the sun from the window blasts me in the eyes. I flip over in the bed, reaching for him, but his side is empty.
I sit up. The sheet falls off me. I cock my head, but I know even as the silence meets my ears that he’s gone. The pleasurable afterglow washing away, I’m suddenly chillingly cold.
One night.
He said it and he meant it. Having me didn’t change anything for him. I shouldn’t have expected it to. But I know deep down I hoped it would.
Never enough. I wasn’t for him and I’m not for anybody else either. I squeeze my eyes shut, but a tear escapes. Taking a chance last night, I got everything I ever dreamed of, but not for long enough.
He’s gone, Peace. You gambled and you lost. It’s over.
I close my eyes. Throwing my arm over them, I flop back on my pillow and stay too long in the bed where his woodsy and citrusy scent lingers. But eventually, somehow, I manage to get myself up. I shower. I put on the clothes I wore last night. I bury my heart, tucking it way down deep, and imagine a taller wall around it. When my cell rings, I’ve almost convinced myself I’m ready to walk out the door.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Peace. It’s Melinda. You’re late. Everyone is already here at the studio. Where are you?” she asks.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.” My cheeks burn. I’m not really ready to face the world or the consequences of my decision. To face Bo, most importantly. He left me without a single word. He’ll be distant. Imagining his eyes being cold not warm, pain swift and sharp doubles me over. He didn’t just leave after sex. He left without saying goodbye. Obviously, the experience wasn’t something he wants to repeat. Tears pooling, the salt burns my eyes.
“You still there?” Melinda inquires.
Barely. “Yes.” I straighten, managing to reply.
“Good. There’s a car waiting for you outside.”
“But I’m not at my house,” I admit. “I’m?—”
“I know where you are,” she cuts me off. “Harmony told me. Boss to intern now, I’m ordering you to get to the studio as quickly as you can.”
“Right. I will. You can count on it.” I inject confidence into my tone, though confidence is the last thing I feel.
“I’ll see you soon.” She ends the call.
I leave the hotel room in a daze. After trudging down a dark corridor that reminds me of the nightmare where Bo runs away from me, I take the elevator to the lobby. My ride is a sedan with my name propped on the dash.
Getting into the back seat, I lay my head back and close my eyes. The drive through the dew-dampened downtown streets to the studio is a blur. But everything comes into sudden and sharp focus when I step inside the building, enter the studio, and almost immediately see Bo. My heart stumbles. My lungs collapse. I gasp for air while blinking back a new wave of tears. He looks too handsome this morning, wearing a white shirt that’s unbuttoned almost to his waist. His sleeves are rolled back to reveal his muscular forearms. His dark jeans are molded to his narrow hips and long legs. His wallet chain and his Dr. Martens complete his outfit. He looks like what he is, a jaded and untouchable rock star. There’s no trace of my understanding friend or the tender lover from last night.
He seems to sense me. His superstar platinum and emerald gaze shifts my way. It’s cold and sharp, slicing through me.
No, Bo. I plead. I’m not the enemy. Protect me like you once did. Remember what we were, consider what we could be. It’s you and me against the world who doesn’t understand us.
For a moment, there’s a glimmer of something soft and familiar in his expression, something I lost and thought I briefly rediscovered, but then, it’s gone. Reeling and alone in the aftermath, I sway.
“Peace.”
I startle. Glancing down at the hand on my arm, I look up. I’m surprised to see Bryan. I feel even more off balance seeing the concern etched on his face.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks.
“Sure,” I reply dully, my voice sounding like the rumble of a storm in the distance.
“We can have some privacy over there.” He gestures to a nearby office encased in glass. “It’s the set director’s office. I have permission to use it.” He turns the knob and holds the door open for me.
“Okay.” I shuffle into a space that’s about the size of Harmony’s closet at the house. “Thanks.”
“About my son.” He rounds the desk. I go completely tense as he drops down into a chair behind it. “Sit.”
I nod. My legs are wobbly as I drop into the chair he indicated. A warning prickles in my skin and I turn my head. Through the glass, my eyes find and clash with Bo’s again. He’s standing on a set riser about ten feet away. Melinda, Carson, and a man I don’t recognize are with him. A flashing red filming light attached to the wall is on. But Bo isn’t paying attention to his companions. He’s staring at me. Seeing me with his dad, his silver and forest green eyes narrow.
“What about Bo?” I tear my gaze away. I do it quickly, but it still stings like ripping a Band-Aid from a tender wound.
“Are you dating my son?” Bryan asks.
“No.” I shake my head.
“But you’re still close friends?”
“I’m not really sure.” I swallow hard, my eyes swimming. “Actually, I’d guess probably not.”
“That’s too bad.” He leans forward. With his elbows on the desk, he clasps his hands together.
“Why do you say that?” Isn’t he dead set against Bo and me being close like my father is?
“I think Bo needs a good friend.” His voice drops to a confidential level. “Someone to talk to. Someone who’ll keep him out of trouble. I believe that someone is you.”
“No, you’re mistaken.” A tear rolls down my cheek as I glance down at my lap.
“I don’t think I am,” he disagrees. “And I think he’d likely take you in whatever capacity he can get.” He exhales heavily, and I glance up at him to find him tracking the new tear that travels down my cheek. “Did he tell you he nearly died this past year?”
“No.” I turn my head, looking for Bo again, but I can’t find him. Only Harmony, my mother, and my father are on the set now.
“When?” I return my gaze back to Bryan. “What happened?” I’d prefer answers from Bo. But that’s all over. I’ll have to get what I need elsewhere now.
“He went on a terrible bender after he saw a photo of you with your college boyfriend. He drank so much, he gave himself alcohol poisoning.”
“Bo wouldn’t do that.” I twist my hands together. “Not because of me anyway. We weren’t even talking until recently.”
“He did, and he said some things to me in the hospital before he sobered up…” Bryan trails off, raking an unsteady hand through his brown hair, the agitated gesture reminding me of his son. “But then he clammed up like he usually does.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Even though Bo and me are over, I’m not going to share my insights about Bo with his father.
“I don’t really need you to say anything.” He exhales heavily. “I just know you’re going on tour with his band and I’m hoping you’ll keep an eye on him. Be his friend if he’ll allow it.” A shadow darkens his eyes that are the same striking shade of greenish gray as his son’s.
“I don’t think he’ll want me to be.”
“He’s stubborn. He hates admitting he needs help.” His brow creases. “I blame myself that his self-esteem isn’t what it should be. I didn’t handle his dyslexia diagnosis well. I was too hard on him. He doesn’t even want me to be a part of his life anymore. He won’t give me another chance.” His voice hitching, he glances away.
“He might,” I say softly. “He gave me one recently.”
“Doubtful.” He returns his gaze to me. His expression is so sad, witnessing it makes me inhale sharply. “But I still hold out hope that he’ll mend things with his mother. And I believe he’ll let you close again if you ask him.”
“I can’t.” I won’t put myself out there with him again.
“Try, please. If not for me, for him,” he begs. “I’d rest easier if I knew you were keeping a close eye on him.”
A knock on the glass makes both of us jump. I turn my head and gasp at seeing Bo. He looks furious. Opening the door, both the silver curb chain around his neck and the one swinging low across his muscular thigh sways. Avoiding eye contact with me, he announces tightly, “They’re asking for you on set.” Then he turns, leaving the door ajar. My yearning for him burns inside my eyes as I watch him walk away.