Avra's God (28 page)

So, Avra had prayed after all.

Jesse sat on the hard bleacher seat, the
reverberation of the ball rattling in his chest as the center
pummeled it down court. This was the first game he’d been to since
Dad sidelined him. Envy filled him like the scent of sweat in the
gym. A guy from Communications 401 leaned on his knees on the
bench, uniform immaculate, eyes riveted to the court. Even if the
guy’s turn never came, at least
he
was on the team.

“Wow, Jesse, you are so awesome on stage. I
swear I could listen to you all day ...”

Jesse nodded at the girl chattering beside
him. She had a blonde halo of hair. Flitting from one subject to
the other, she demanded little from him. Shelby belonged to Jenna’s
fan club. Jenna had switched bands with the ease of a figure skater
when
Beach Rats
belly-upped.

Somehow he’d wound up at the game with this
human firefly. He never thought he’d say it, but hero-worship got
old. What he wouldn’t do for a conversation with someone who really
knew him. A girl with long hair the shade of Kallie’s pushed
through the double doors into the breezeway at the end of the gym.
Maybe having someone’s tentacles dug into your soul wasn’t such a
bad thing.

The guys on his basketball team had all
graduated. He’d been too angry to follow their seasons. Now he
wondered what had become of them. The bond of sweat hadn’t been so
deep after all. Melancholy bore down on him, brewing a song.

“So Jenna says we gotta take good care of the
band members so they can keep performing at the top of their game.
We’re like the home front for you guys because you live in New
Smyrna Beach. So, I told her I’d make sure you relaxed. You’re
coming over to my place after the game.”

Jesse followed the shooting guard as he went
in for a layup. “Not tonight. I’ve got a song begging to be
written.” Jesse jumped to his feet. “Yes!” He waved one arm over
his head.

He glanced down at the girl, the only person
on their half of the gym not on her feet. She’d quit talking for
the first time all evening. He’d hurt her feelings. Tough. He’d
been through this drill enough to know he wasn’t going to her
apartment.

What if Kallie really did get him out of her
system? What if she went to the game tonight with another Zack, or
some perv—or worse yet, a guy she could actually go for?

Avra scrutinized Kallie as she sat across the
table from her in the Beacon. A stiff night wind whistled through
the cracks around the doors and windows of the empty restaurant.
“You actually blocked Jesse’s e-mails and Facebook, took him out of
your phone, and returned snail mail unopened?”

Kallie piled her tips on the table in front
of her. Metal clattered in the kitchen. “I told you about Denny’s.
Jesse understands that I have to move on.”

“Have you?”

Kallie wadded up her apron and stuffed it
into her purse. “Every time I think about him, I sing a country
song in my head. Jesse hates country.”

“How’s that working for you?”

Kallie smiled ruefully. “I’ve gotten through
all of Carrie Underwood, Taylor Swift, and now I’m halfway through
Rascal Flats.”

“In a week?”

“I thought we were talking about how Cisco
wants to marry you.”

“What? I’m working on forgiving him. I’m not
even ready to go out with him, much less
imagine
marrying
him.”

“I’m talking about what Cisco wants, not what
you want.” Kallie pushed a quarter across the table to her. “He
showed up on Saturday—even after you laid him out about STDs.”

He
was
kind of wearing her down with
his persistence.

Kallie pushed another quarter at her. “Do you
think he quizzed you about your career and life goals just to make
conversation?

She chewed on her lip. “Yes.”

“Come on—kids? Day care?” Kallie shoved
another quarter into the row. “And he said, like it was a
no-brainer, that somebody might marry you before you could afford
Amnesteem for your face. He wants to marry you. Duh.”

Avra sat back. Her shoulder blades thumped
against the chair back. “You think he loves me more than
I-just-want-to-get-my-ex-girlfriend-back kind of love?”

Kallie scooped the rest of her tips into her
purse. “You’re the one who’s been hanging out with the guy. What do
you think?”

She pushed the quarters toward Kallie. “I
don’t know what I think.”

“You keep them. If there’s a happily ever
after, you can glue them into your scrapbook.”

“Since when do you believe in happily ever
after?”

“Since I see how he looks at you when you’re
not watching.”

Jesse leaned against his duffle bag, his
shoulders against the back of the passenger seat of Zig’s sun-baked
minivan.

Mac slept, slack-jawed, on the middle seat.
His knee flopped against Jesse’s arm and Jesse shoved it away. Mac
shifted and settled. Bailey slumped against the glass behind the
driver’s seat, his even snores leaving a circle of fog on the
window around his nose.

Jesse stretched out his legs, inching the
drums toward the rear hatch. His butt had gone to sleep miles
ago.

The band’s demo CD played over and over until
Jesse thought he’d throw up. Every missed note chiseled into his
memory. Zig’s vocals grated on him. But, he’d signed on to play
guitar and sing backup, so he couldn’t complain—at least not out
loud. He breathed in and expelled the smell of dirty sweat
socks.

With their stream of weekend gigs—thanks to
sound tech/manager Pooch Jones’ efforts, he’d paid off first
semester’s tuition. Pooch drummed on the steering wheel with two
fingers. He always slept in the hotel room while the others
partied—which was why he usually drove. Jesse was more often than
not asleep in the next bed.

Jesse was living his dream. He’d been
propositioned by girls up and down the Florida coast. He played
music on stage. Why wasn’t he happy? He stared through the
rain-sluiced rear window at occasional palm fronds poking over the
top of the Mack truck behind them. How did truckers stand the
constant traveling? For him, it evaporated the pool of quiet where
his songs germinated.

Bowing to Kenton Zigler’s leadership had
gotten old in thirty seconds. Not that Zig led poorly; Jesse had
never been a good follower. Even the girls seemed somehow
not
right
. The band lifestyle was inches deep when he’d spent his
whole life up to his neck with people. He’d gone to school and
church with the same faces, had the same friends. And he liked it
that way, he realized.

He had stayed out of God’s way because he
knew God wouldn’t let him do what he wanted to do. But what if God
fashioned him to do a specific thing—something he would enjoy
doing? He rubbed the stubble on his chin. What if God’s idea for
his future involved staying in New Smyrna Beach and music?

Kallie’s face flashed in front of him, the
soft veil of hair that begged to be touched, the full lips he
had
touched. A spot under his ribs ached. All or nothing—why
couldn’t Kallie do casual?
Kallie’s ‘nothing’ bites.

Avra thumped her foot to the floor from the
chair in her room and pulled her phone from her pocket. Cisco.
Anger woke like a hibernating rattler and she jammed her thumb down
on the
off
button, just stopping herself from hurling the
phone at the cross on the wall. She owed Jesse a text. She’d do
violence to her phone after she answered him.

She would be fine for days, weeks, but the
anger kept coming back. What was the matter with her? Other girls
had reconciled with unfaithful boyfriends, married them, in a
fraction of the time it had taken her to attempt basic forgiveness.
And obviously, she hadn’t made any progress. Maybe she had actually
regressed to the initial white hot anger stage.

She’d stood Cisco up this morning for the
first time and swung from rage to misery all day. She couldn’t even
identify what he’d done to set her off.

She crumpled to her knees in front of the
cross, sobs racking her chest.
God, if this is PMS, would You
make me start in the next five minutes? Put me out of my misery. If
not—if this is about forgiving Cisco—I’m too weak. I beg You to
step inside and kill the bitterness snake. Please. Please.

Jesse studied the girl over the steam from
their coffee. He couldn’t help remembering another restaurant,
months ago, across the table from Kallie. He shoved away that
image.

“You ought to sing more solos,” she said.
“You’ve got a good voice.”

Jesse grinned wryly. “So I’ve been told.
Anyway, it’s Zig’s band. His call. What about you—” His mind
whirred searching for her name. “Marissa. What do you do?”

“I’m a Days Inn desk clerk by night, college
student by day.” She had a throaty voice, probably an alto if she
sang.

“I pegged you as a girl with a brain.”

Her sensuous lips wore her intelligent smirk
well. Jesse liked her. She was different from the bobbleheads he
usually attracted.

“Can I be honest here?” She flung sleek dark
hair over her shoulder.

“Shoot.”

“It’s after midnight. I didn’t come looking
for you backstage for coffee and conversation.”

Jesse’s eyes widened, then fell to the skin
exposed in the V of her button-down shirt. His gaze flitted away to
the plate glass window across the front of the restaurant. The menu
board, hung purposefully askew, reflected back at him. Two guys
played chess in a corner. A loud group crowded a center table.

Jesse’s eyes circled back to Marissa.

“So?”

“You’re bold, girl.” He studied her
eyes—confidence with a pinprick of uncertainty.

That pinprick moved his hand across the tiny
table to her cheek. Her skin was silky under his palm. He kissed
her, then, skimming the ground they’d already covered in
conversation, and flying past. The kiss of exploration morphed into
desire.

Jesse eased away from her, indecision
swimming inside him. The smell of coffee and temptation hung in the
air.

Marissa reached for her purse and jacket.
“Where do you want to go?”

He shook his head, nixing the idea. “I’ve got
to be on the road by six a.m.”
That was lame.

She stopped halfway out of her seat. He
doubted she got turned down often.

She stood beside the table. “I showed up at
the stage door, but you invited me here. What were you
thinking?”

“Give me your number. I’ll call.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “I could have
had an extra half hour of sleep if you’d told me this at the club.”
She dug for her keys in her purse. Her dark lashes lifted for a
moment, and he thought he read hurt under the anger.

“I’m serious. I want your number.”

“You had your chance.”

She strode across the hardwood floor. Bells
clattered against the glass door and his nerves as she exited.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he
pulled it out. A text from Avra. He’d texted her about forgiving
his dad. He pulled up the message.
God smiled.

He looked at the door Marissa had gone out.
Yeah, He did.

Drew poked his head into Avra’s room.
“Cisco’s here—on the porch.”

Her eyes darted to the clock. Eleven thirty
p.m. She hadn’t met him this morning, hadn’t answered his calls. If
he felt half as ripped in half as she had all day, no wonder he was
here. Her prayer was still dumped out on the floor challenging her
to follow Drew down the stairs.

She glanced at the cross and breathed in its
strength.
Help me.

She stepped out the door, pulling on her
sweatshirt jacket. One look at Cisco’s haggard eyes and she knew
he’d been as miserable as she was today—maybe more so.

He stood with his hands in the pockets of his
jeans. “Just let me say what I came to say. You didn’t show this
morning, didn’t answer my calls. I’m not stupid. I know we’ve come
to the end of the line.”

Her breath stopped in her chest. Her skin
went clammy. Were they over? She’d been mad, not choosing to end
it. Did she want a permanent break?

“You never need to talk to me again. But just
do one thing.” He took her hands.

Her body shivered as if she was cold, but the
night was warm and Cisco’s grip on her fingers warmer, still.

“I’m begging you, Avra—for your sake, for
mine—will you forgive me?” His eyes pleaded with her.

“I—I forgive you.”

He stood there, frozen for a moment, his eyes
glistening in the porch light. Then, he folded her shoulders in his
arms and held her against his chest.

She inhaled his scent and a thousand flashes
from their past.

“Thank you.” His voice was rough. He released
her and stepped back toward the edge of the porch. He stared at her
while her heart hammered. “See you around.” He jogged down the
steps.

A minute later she heard the sound of his
engine start, and then his car pulling away from the curb.

Oh, God, I still love him.

Jesse glanced around Zig’s garage while the
guys settled in behind their instruments. Fingers tense, he
strummed the melody of the first original song he’d brought to the
band. The bare light bulb dangled over him like a stage
spotlight.

Finally, Zig, then Bailey and Mac, turned
toward him. He breathed in one last breath of mildew-laced air and
launched into “
Lookin’ for Forever.
”

The steam rises from our coffee

While a girl who barely knows me

Offers more than the kiss I’m takin’.

But I’m achin’ for love that lasts,