Текст книги "Out of Play"
Автор книги: Nyrae Dawn
Соавторы: Jolene Perry
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Fifteen
Bishop
“Do you know that I’m proud to be here with you?” Gary leans back against the couch while I fidget next to him.
“Why would you be proud of that?”
“I hate that we need to be here, but I’m honored to work through this with you. Like I was honored with Troy or when I got my degree.”
Ah. I see where he’s going with this. Opening my mouth, I almost tell him this is stupid. All these talks are lame, but that’s not what comes out. “I’m proud of how I play the drums…of working with Gramps, being friends with Penny, and taking care of my mom.” Which I can’t do if I’m dead…
“That’s good. You should be proud of all those things. You take good care of her. Don’s talked to me about it a little bit.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, but I drum my thumbs and try to settle down. It makes sense they would all know my dad’s a prick. That there’s a restraining order and secret money involved so he leaves us the fuck alone. “She’s always taken care of me. It’s the least I can do.”
Gary nods and keeps talking. For the first time, we discuss my anxiety a little bit, how I feel and how often it happens. I’m sure he thinks it stems from my dad, but I don’t. I don’t think…
It’s a struggle to make the answers come out, but I manage it. He was right. This talk is more than trees and cold air. But…my gut doesn’t ache and I don’t feel like I’ve downed a ton of uppers.
When the time is up, I stop at the door. “I’m going to be out with Penny for a bit.”
He nods. “You know the rules.”
“Yep.”
Halfway out the door, Gary’s voice stops me. “Hey, Troy’s counselor tells him he should try to do one thing every day he’s proud of. It can be something little, like opening the door for someone or doing someone a favor. And when you do, let yourself revel in that. Congratulate yourself. Think you can do that?”
My fist tightens on the doorknob. After what happened with Maryanne, I’m not sure I deserve it. “I don’t know.”
…
I watch Penny as she walks along the wall, looking at tattoo designs for the millionth time. I’m not feeling anxious. Don’t want to push her into hurrying because I like watching her. She moves so smoothly, and I know that’s not something I’m supposed to notice or not something I would have noticed before, but it reminds me of the way she skates, or rides the snowmachines, or hell, the way she does anything. All fluid movements, but with a practiced perfection that I know is all automatic with her.
The tattoo guy sees it, too.
I want to break his nose.
“You’re slow as hell.” I stop right behind her. When my hands start shaking this time, it’s not because of anxiety, but because I want to touch her. We haven’t talked anymore about the kiss, or Loverboy, whose nose I suddenly want to break, but that doesn’t stop me from putting my hands on her shoulders, pretending I’m doing it to knead her muscles, when really I just want her skin beneath mine. She shivers.
Fuck, this girl is going to my head.
She said last night that I’m lighter, and though I still feel like weights are tying me down, I do feel more weightless when I’m with her. I want to hold onto that feeling even though I know everything else is still there, still threatening to pull me under. Shit, Maryanne came up, and I only took a couple pills and didn’t drink. That has to count for something.
That’s not the kind of thing I want to be proud of.
Maybe my talk with Penny last night could be, though. I think maybe I helped her. She trusted me to talk to me, and that means something.
“This is a serious decision, Ripe. You want to see me get inked, you’re going to have to learn some patience.” She turns around, which makes my hands fall off her.
“Don’t call me that,” tumbles out of my mouth. She looks at me like she’s trying to figure me out, and I move my head, hoping she can’t. It makes me feel like an asshole, but I’m not sure she’ll like what she sees. Suddenly, I’m not sure I like what I see.
“It’s your name.” She nudges me.
“My name is Bishop.” And then, because I want to kiss her, or because I need a little space because the way I’m acting is actually starting to freak me out, I step around her. “What about a flower? Girls are supposed to like flowers, right?” Like I knew she would, she gives me a dirty look.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” She crosses her arms and clips me with her hip, and even though I thought I wanted space, I reach out and grab her waist. She sucks in a gasping breath before saying, “You’re getting awfully touchy-feely there, Bishop. I don’t remember saying you could put your hands on me.”
Another weight drops free and sinks away. Leaning forward, my cheek touches hers. “If you don’t want me to, tell me to stop.” She still smells like vanilla and like her car, too. Who would have thought that could smell so hot? And I love how even though she’s tall, even though she’s a fucking hockey player, her body still feels fragile under my hands.
“You’re cocky.” She slips away from me and starts looking at the walls again. Looking at the same designs over and over again. “I don’t see anything. I’m not marking my skin unless it’s something really incredible.”
“Wussing out?” This time, it’s me who smirks at her.
“No, I have standards.”
Ouch. I’m not sure if that’s directed at me or not, so I ignore it. “I get it. That’s why I only have one so far. I love ink, but I’m not putting something on my body that I’m not sure I’ll want there forever. Like my drumsticks, no matter what happens, I know music will always be a part of me…so far, that’s the only thing I’m sure of.” I shrug. Maybe I’m being obvious and said too much, but it’s true.
“You have trust issues, don’t you?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “How did you get that out of what I just said?” But she’s right. I don’t have to answer her because both of us know it’s true. “Now hurry up. If you don’t decide, we’re not going to have time to do this, and then I’m going to start thinking you did it on purpose because you’re…” Again, I lean forward so my mouth is right next to her ear. “Scared.”
She shoves me away and I almost trip over a chair, but I’m laughing too hard to care.
…
“Are you sure you want one there?” I ask. “It hurts like hell.”
She’s picked this feather design that breaks apart and will spread small birds across her ribs.
Penny climbs up onto the padded table and rolls her eyes at me. “I get my ass kicked on the ice every day. I think I can handle it.” Then she looks at the tat guy. “I have a game coming up, so we can’t let it be really big. I don’t want it to screw me up on the ice.”
“Cool. I’ll shrink it down so it’s only a few inches.” He does and comes back to show her. She has to lift her shirt while they place in on her ribs. “Like this?” he asks her.
I think I’m going to like the view.
“If you sneak a touch, I break your finger.”
Hell yeah. That’s my girl. I look over at her tattoo guy and give him a cocky grin. He just rolls his eyes. She’s lying down now on her left side and facing me. Her shirt tucked beneath her breasts. I’ve seen her stomach before—seen a lot of them, but I can’t help myself from admiring the dip in her waist. The flatness of her stomach. And yeah… I want to touch. Want to touch so bad my fingers hurt. “You ready for this? For a needle to poke into your skin thousands of times, over each of your ribs?”
“Wow. You sound super traumatized over this. Did you cry when you got yours, Bishop?” The needle makes its first contact with her skin as she taunts me, but I’m pretty sure she’s too busy talking crap to me to notice. It’s what I wanted. There’s only one little flinch before she adds, “I bet you did. Bet you cried like a baby.”
“Always talking shit. You can’t think a girl is tougher than I am, can you?” It’s so fun pissing her off. And I wasn’t kidding when I said tats on your side hurt. It’s not that I don’t think she can handle it, because I’m pretty sure she can handle anything, but I’m hoping the distraction helps.
I’m sitting in a chair, eye level with her as she lies on the table. Her skin is puffy and red as the needle stabs into her, but she’s doing awesome. Keeping still and not flinching at all. “So, tell me about this hockey stuff. How’d you get into it?”
“My dad played. Just local teams, pick-up games. ‘Old-man hockey’ is what they call it here. He’s been on the ice since high school. It was the thing we did together. That, and all the guys said I’d never make it. So, you know. I had to then. And when I was out there proving them wrong, I fell in love with it.” She pulls in a deep breath as the guy takes a short break, leaning back and stretching his shoulders and neck. “So, what about you? What started you with music?”
I check out tattoo guy. He’s not paying attention to us. I’m almost 100 percent sure he doesn’t recognize me, and if he does, he’s not talking. I screw with my lip ring for a minute, trying to figure out how to reply. This is dangerous territory to navigate. Trying to decide what to say and it sucks because I actually want to talk to her about it. It means bringing up my asshole father, but I can deal with that.
“Touchy question?” There’s a little accusation in her voice. Penny’s not stupid. She knows something’s up.
“We moved around a lot when I was a kid. My dad was a real prick. Abused my mom and shit.”
Her brows pull together as she processes. “Oh my God. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, sort of surprised I’m even telling her this. “It was a long time ago. She was smart, though. She left him and didn’t look back, but he was also a bastard and he’d follow her. We’d move somewhere. She’d get a job, and a few months later, he’d show up. Restraining orders don’t do shit, by the way.” The only thing that worked was money, but the piece of paper keeps it legal. “So yeah, we moved around a lot. Never had much…”
Guilt starts surging inside of me again—that weight that fell off trying to hook me. Mom always took care of me. No matter how hard it was, she took care of me, and I’m doing a shitty job of returning the favor.
“Did I lose you, Drummer Boy?”
Her words pull me back to the surface. “Drummer Man.” I wink. “So yeah, one of the waitressing jobs she had was right next to this music store. I was like, ten. When she worked, I would go next door and hang out with the owner. He was cool to me. Played the drums, and he taught me stuff. I’d trade hours illegally working for him for lessons. We were there six months. I was fucking pissed when we moved, but like I said, dude was cool and he gave me an old kit. After that, I always played. I’ve learned guitar, too, but I’ll always be a drummer.” Shrugging, I attempt to play it off like this isn’t the big deal it is. I don’t do the whole baring-of-the-soul thing.
Her ink is coming along nicely. It’s a contrast, the black ink and the red skin against what’s usually such a pale white. I never knew how sexy it would be to see a girl get tatted. Or maybe it’s just sexy to watch her. I’m not sure.
She’s been quiet for a minute, so I watch her, wondering if the pain is getting to her or what, but it’s not. She’s looking at me, too. No, into me, and I’m actually scared of the answers she’ll find. Nothing scares me. Not my asshole dad, not waking up in the hospital, but crazily this does.
“What?”
She bites her lip and then says, “So…I had a really bad night with my gramps once. Some hot, cocky guy who thinks he’s better than me on a snowmachine confused me by showing me he’s more than I thought when he helped. And then he kissed me…like the best damn kiss, but I pushed him away.”
I’m trying to figure out what she’s saying. Focusing on the fact that she thinks I’m more and hoping I really am. Suddenly, I don’t want to be the guy who downs a pill every few days.
She breathes.
I breathe.
“I shouldn’t have. Pushed him away, I mean. I wish I hadn’t.”
Heat runs the length of my body. Damn, I like this girl. Actually like her. And I’m totally wishing we weren’t in this tattoo parlor right now. I brush my finger against her stomach, watching goosebumps spread across her skin. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a chance to redeem yourself. He definitely plans on doing it again.”
…
I close the cabin door behind me. We just got home from the tattoo parlor, and I let her go inside while I ran over and gave Gary my check-in. She jumps a little and looks at me, her hand sliding over the bass drum. It usually pisses me off when people touch my drums, but this time, it doesn’t.
“Play something for me.” She gives me a smile. I normally kind of hate this—being on display when someone asks me to play. If it happens naturally, it’s different, but I like the idea of her seeing me in the zone. She’s incredible at everything she does, and drums are one of the only things I have. It’s what I’m good at, and yeah, I want to show off for her.
“Are you sure you can handle it? I don’t want you to be jealous because I’m so good. Plus, I know how hard it is for girls to resist a guy in a band.” A sharp stab of fear hits me. I really just fucked up by saying band. Please don’t let her catch that.
She pretends to gag. “Yeah, pot-smoking kids in a basement with a couple of their dad’s old guitars is a serious turn-on. Oh, no. I don’t know if I can restrain myself. Please, Bishop, take me now!”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Shrugging out of my jacket, I toss it on a table before sitting at the drums. Penny sits down on the couch across from me. The room is so small, I know it will be loud for her. Only a few feet separate us.
I close my eyes as I slide the sticks through my fingers. One, two, three, four, and then my sticks slam down. I go up and down the line, finding the beat and the rhythm I want. Over and over, I pound down on it. My heart matches the rhythm. My arms feel the burn, but I welcome it—always welcome this kind of sting because it’s what I crave. I don’t think. Never do when I play outside of that stadium. Just feel. My body automatically knows what to do.
Sweat drips into my closed eyes, but I keep going, because this is the one thing I have to offer her. When I finally open my eyes, hers are closed like she’s savoring the beat. My beat. It feels amazing. It makes me proud.
Playing right now feels better than it ever has, and part of me doesn’t ever want it to stop, but I do. “Wanna try?”
She opens her eyes. “Do you have to ask?”
God, she’s so fucking cool. I love that she’s always up for anything.
I get up so she can sit in my spot behind the drums. “Okay, just—” My words are cut off by the worst sound I’ve ever heard. “What are you doing? You’re abusing my shit.” I grab her arm. “People don’t realize this is an art. Let the expert show you how it’s done.”
We spend the next hour playing. Well, she tries to play, and I try to teach, but it’s not coming off so well. I get to touch her a lot, so that’s a plus. My gut hurts from laughing so hard, and I’m sure hers does, too. Finally, she throws the sticks on the floor. “I’m done. The drums suck, and you’re a sucky teacher.”
“Tell me you’re kidding. I’m Bis—” Bishop Riley. Drummer for Burn. Liar to the girl he likes. “You hungry? I’d offer you pizza or something, but then I’d have to deal with one of your admirers, and I’m not in the mood for that right now.” Hopefully, my wink shows her I’m kidding.
She gets up and falls to the couch, kicking her feet up on the table. “You don’t ever let anything go, do you?”
“Nope.” I sit down beside her, one of my drumsticks in hand.
We’re quiet for a few minutes. I keep looking over at her, wondering what she’s thinking.
“So… You told me about your dad earlier. I can tell you about mine, if you want.”
My insides turn to ice. I don’t know why, but I know this is big. Know she doesn’t like to talk about this, and I feel totally unworthy of knowing because I’m keeping so much shit from her.
But maybe this is a way to tell her. She’ll tell me something, and then I’ll tell her. She’ll understand, I think. Get why I didn’t tell her who I really am. “I want to know everything you want to tell me.” And I put my arm around her, playing with the strands of her hair. It feels even better than the drumstick in my other one.
Penny looks over at me, all steel strength, somehow filled with softness. “It’s not like a huge secret or anything. I just don’t like to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.” But I want her to. Want to know she wants to tell me.
“You know my one-beer rule? The reason I watch the guys when they party? Some jerk who was stoned out of his mind hit him while he was on his motorcycle when I was ten.”
Every. Single. Thing inside me explodes. Not the good kind, either. She tries to sound like it’s not a big deal, but I know it is. My insides are shredded apart. I start to shake again. Panic simmering beneath the surface. Don’t let her notice. Please don’t let her see I’m fucking cracking apart. “Yeah?”
She nods. “I guess he downed a handful of his pain scrip, chased them down with a few beers, and left me without a dad. Sucks. It’s why I don’t drink and why I’d kill the guys if they ever did anything heavier than that. Why I make them give me their keys at parties, and why I hate leaving early because I can’t be there to make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”
My mouth is so dry, it’s hard to speak. “I’m sorry.”
And I don’t know where it comes from, but I feel like it was me. It could have been me. Not thought or cared about anything except getting messed up and then did something stupid. The Mitch conversation takes on a whole new meaning. Her fear of being left is because of someone like me.
I think about waking up in the hospital. About the pills I’ve taken since I’ve been here. About the pills in my fucking bag right now, and for the first time, I feel like a pill-head. I’m a loser. An addict. I’m sitting here with my hand in her hair, knowing what happened to her dad when she doesn’t know about me. It makes me feel like a failure. Like I’m letting her down the way I let Mom down.
“You’re quiet. Did I totally just ruin the mood or something?”
I try and shake it off, but I’m torn in half. Not one thing I’ve ever done makes me deserve to be here with this girl, but I’ve never wanted to be anywhere more. “We need to put the cream on your tat. I forgot about that.” Getting up, I try to forget what she said. Try to take care of her so maybe I’ll deserve to be here a little, because I can’t stand the thought of not sharing this room with her right now.
I grab the tube and walk back over. Penny smiles, then leans back on the couch and lifts her shirt. When I sit on the coffee table in front of her, I don’t know if my hands are shaking because I feel guilty, because I want something to take the edge off, or because I want her.
“You’re shaking,” she says when I pull off the bandage.
Yeah, it’s definitely partly because of her.
“I know,” is the only reply I can give her, and then I’m smearing the cream. My finger brushes her skin, higher and higher, just under her breast. So soft, so gentle because I don’t want to hurt her. You’re already hurting her, she just doesn’t know it yet.
“It looks amazing on you. You did awesome today. You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”
Instead of answering, she says, “I thought you were going to kiss me again, Bishop.”
I know it’s all kinds of wrong. I shouldn’t do this, but I’m so broken up inside, I can’t deny her. Not anything. I’m going to kiss her, and I’m going to start doing the right thing. I’m done with this pill thing. Done with it all. I kneel on the floor between her legs, pushing my hands through her hair and then I kiss her. Our tongues tangle together. Our lips mold to each other’s. And I could swear that with each touch, she melts the ice in my veins.
I want to tell her everything.
I never want to stop kissing her.
“You don’t even know who I am.” My whispered words are probably the most honest thing I’ve said since we met. “I’ve screwed up…so fucking much.” This is the first time it’s hit me exactly how much. But she quiets me with her mouth, and I let her. She leans down and lies on the couch, and I follow her. I kiss her collarbone, behind her ear, before going up to taste her lips again, knowing the whole time I failed. Nothing I could ever do would make me proud.
Please, don’t let me fuck this up.
