BoysLikeYou.indd (16 page)

idea? I know I’m not the only one dealing with crap. I heard you

the other night. Your mistake died? Is that it? Does that make

your shit worse than mine?”

Pain lashed across my chest so tightly that, for a moment, I

couldn’t breathe. I looked away, afraid that I was going to lose it big time, and I tried to still the trembling in my fingers.

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“I can’t believe you just said that.” My words were barely a

whisper. How had everything fallen apart already?

I stared across the street for the longest time, not really

knowing what to do or say. Nate was right. This was my

fault. I
had
brought him here. I must have known this wasn’t going to end well, so why had I done it? What was wrong

with me?

Me, Monroe Blackwell, the person who didn’t like to feel

anything, and now I was so full of emotion I was choking on it.

It hurt.

I’d forgotten how much it could hurt.

Brent poked his head out of the door and I watched him

look across the street at us. He lifted his hand, gave a half wave, beckoned for us to come, and then disappeared back inside with

most of the crowd following him.

It was after nine, so I knew they were getting ready to play.

I watched a couple walk along the sidewalk, the guy

with his arm across the girl’s shoulder, leaning into her,

laughing, talking, kissing her neck as they headed toward the

Coffee House.

They looked happy. Carefree.

Something else ripped through me in that moment, and it

took a few seconds for me to get what it was. Jealousy.

I had to look away. I had to bury it or choke.

“I’m going in,” I said quietly. “You can come with me, or wait

in the car, or you can leave. I really don’t care.”

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Except that I did. I cared a lot.

I yanked on the door, slammed it shut, and crossed the street

without looking back. What was the point?

I was alone.

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I waited in Monroe’s car for about twenty minutes. I sat there, pissed off at everything. Monroe. Brent. Myself. Trevor. The Coffee House.

I watched guys I knew walk in with their guitars, and it was

hard not to get out and walk in the other direction. I couldn’t

fathom hearing and feeling the music without Trevor. I didn’t

think I could stand it.

And yet, there was a part of me that was tired of fighting all

of it, and I suppose it was that part of me that propelled me

forward. I got of the car, but instead of heading in the opposite direction, I found myself crossing the street.

Out here, near the patio, I could hear Brent singing— or

trying to sing. The guy was great for background vocals, but

he didn’t have the chops to carry anything on his own. He hit a

particularly difficult note— a high C— and I winced.

“Please tell me you’re going in?”

Janelle, one of the waitresses, wiped up the last table and

nodded toward the door. With the music on, the patio was empty.

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I didn’t answer her because I wasn’t sure.

“I hope you do, hon,” she said before heading to the door.

“I’m pretty sure Trevor would want you up on that stage.”

I wasn’t so sure of that. I thought that maybe, if Trevor

was here right now, he’d want to knock me on my ass. And

I’d let him.

She disappeared inside, and I stared after her until my eyes

blurred. I took a step but froze because I couldn’t go inside.

Not yet.

I slid into a chair and leaned forward, resting my hands on

my knees as I gazed at the stone floor. My shoulders felt heavy.

So did my feet, like my boots were encased in cement or some-

thing. The air was damp, and I shivered as a wave of laughter

rolled through the coffee house.

Someone was speaking, Brent maybe, but the words were

muffled— it sounded as if he was talking under water.

For a second, with my eyes closed, I went back in time. Back

to last summer when Trevor, Brent, and I would spend every

other Friday night inside, playing until our fingers felt like they were gonna fall off.

Trevor could pick apart any song we wanted to play. And his

voice, man, we sounded good together. When the two of us were

in the moment, when that rush of adrenaline pumped through

our veins, when the crowd chanted and clapped because they

wanted more— it was heaven.

There was nothing like it.

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I wondered if he heard anything now. If, when he was alone,

unable to speak or to communicate…did he hear stuff? Did he

think of all these things from before? Did he wonder why he was

in a hospital bed, frozen in time? Broken. Damaged.

“Jesus,” I muttered and ran a hand through my hair. It was

still damp from the shower, and as I leaned back and gazed up

at the starless sky, I heard Brent and his buddy break into an old Skynyrd song.

My fingers began to move, and as Brent found his place, his

comfort zone, he began to belt out the lyrics. A little off key, but there was something there nonetheless, and I heard the crowd

singing along.

I was up on my feet before I knew what I was doing, crossing

the patio and pushing the door open.

A wall of heat hit me.

The Coffee House was full— standing room only— and even

though the tables had candles burning, it was dark. Dark and

intimate. Just like I remembered.

It was a great place to be. You could find a dark corner and

get busy with your girl while enjoying the tunes.

I closed my eyes for a second, knowing that the coffee bar

was to my left. That over top of the door leading to the kitchen, there was a fake talking parrot. I knew that if you asked it a

question, it would answer with something nasty.

I knew that Mr. J would be back there cooking and that

his wife, Macy, would be serving up coffees and lattes, their

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daughter Kristy helping out. I knew that if I went over to the

coffee bar, Kristy would try to slip me her cell number and her

mom would frown but pretend that she hadn’t seen anything.

In here, the sounds were the same as before. The smells.

Cinnamon. Chocolate. The muted voices, the music. The vibra-

tions along the floor.

Nothing had changed and yet, as Brent sang a Foos song, his

voice cracking a little, I felt the weight of my world crushing me from the inside out. I felt the weight of my existence.

The weight of
my
change.

Someone bumped into me and I moved forward, sliding

through the crowd gathered along the edges. It was three

bodies deep here, and I nodded at a few girls who waved, not

stopping to talk. My eyes scanned for Monroe, and I found her

near the stage.

She was sitting at a table, just in front of Brent. And she

was alone.

Brent grinned when he saw me, and I felt a bit of that weight

lift, though when Monroe followed his gaze, I kind of froze.

Her large, expressive eyes didn’t waver as I took another step

closer. Someone grabbed my arm and I glanced to the side, irri-

tated. It was Rachel.

“Hey, Nate,” she said. Her eyes were glassy and her smile was

lopsided. She was high. “Come sit with me.”

“It’s not gonna happen, Rachel.”

Her eyes narrowed a bit and she looked past me toward

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Monroe. “So that’s her? That’s the girl you took to the festival?”

Her voice trembled a bit and I felt bad. Some kids were looking

our way, elbowing each other and waiting for something big to

happen. Rachel had never had a filter when it came to public

scenes. The girl liked it when everyone was watching.

“Rachel,” I groaned, so not in the mood for a fight.

“She’s pretty,” Rachel said. “Real pretty.”

Surprised, I gazed down into her eyes. She had a wild look

about her that went beyond being high. “Are you all right?”

It didn’t matter that we weren’t together anymore— she would

always be my first girlfriend and I cared about her.

“No, but as soon as Brad Lawson gets me out of here, I’ll

be flying.”

Brad Lawson. No surprise there. At one time, the thought

of her with that douche bag would have driven me crazy, but

now…now I just wanted her to be safe and to not hate me.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I don’t want to hurt you, I just…”

“So that’s it?” she asked. “We’re really over.”

“It wasn’t good for a long time,” I replied softly.

“I know,” she replied. “I know,” she said again. “But it doesn’t

make me feel any better to see you here with her.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Oh?” she said. “What is it exactly?”

I glanced back toward Monroe and found her eyes on

me. I shrugged. “I don’t know.” But it could be something

big, I thought.

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“Well,” Rachel said. “Maybe you should figure it out.”

We stared at each other for a long time, and then she reached

up and hugged me, her mouth near my ear. “I miss you. Please

tell me we can at least be friends.” She pulled away and looked

up at me. “No one knows me like you do, Nathan, and I…I

don’t want us to act like strangers, you know? It would just be

wrong.” She sighed. “It would be so wrong. After everything.

After Trevor.”

“I know.”

And then her friend Gia grabbed her arm and dragged her

away from me.

After a few seconds, I turned and slid through the crowd, not

stopping until I was inches from Monroe.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hating the way her eyes fell away from me.

For a second, I thought I’d blown everything. I thought my

need to hurt and to lash out had ruined whatever it was that

we had.

But then she moved her chair, and I knew things were going

to be all right. A bit more of that weight left me, and I slid in beside her.

Brent and his buddy broke into some kind of hillbilly crap

that Trevor would have loved, and after a few seconds, I relaxed

enough to sit and watch. Link, the drummer in our band, was a

table over and grinned, his arm around a redhead. I nodded but

kept my focus on Brent.

Monroe and I didn’t talk or even look at each other, but when

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my hand crept over hers, she didn’t move away. Her fingers were

cool and I loved how they fit inside mine. I felt as if I’d just won the war or something.

Brent played for nearly twenty minutes more, his eyes

laughing as the girls up front sang along to everything that came out of his mouth. His buddy, a guy I vaguely knew from a town

in the next county, was pretty good, and by the time they were

done, I was completely relaxed.

Was it the music? Maybe. Though I’m guessing it had more

to do with the fact that Monroe’s hand was still in mine and her

bare thigh was pressed up against my leg.

Brent finished off with a flamboyant chord run and then

leaned over to whisper something to his buddy. The guy slid

from his chair and jumped off the stage, his eyes on me, his

guitar outstretched.

“Hey guys, why don’t y’all make a lot of noise and maybe

we can convince Everets to get his ass up here and play for us.”

Brent was standing, clapping his hands and gesturing to the

crowd behind me.

His buddy grinned. “Dude, you should get up there.”

Monroe nudged me with her leg and I glanced down at her.

“I’d love to hear you play,” she whispered.

My eyes moved from her shining eyes down to her mouth.

To her lips that were slightly glossed and so damned kissable

they should be illegal. I thought of the week before. I thought

of our kiss.

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And I thought of what she’d said.

I jumped up and grabbed the guitar that was held in front of

me, but before taking the stage beside Brent, I bent forward, my

mouth close to her ear.

“I’ll play for you, Monroe. Just for you. But remember it will

cost you.”

She shivered a little, and I tucked a strand of hair behind

her ears as I straightened. The weight that was on my shoulders

was nearly gone, and the girl in front of me was the reason for

it. I knew that it would come back. It would come back with a

vengeance, but I was willing to forget about it for tonight.

I was willing to see where this was gonna take me.

“Huh,” she said huskily. “What’s the price?”

I chuckled, a grin in place as someone let loose a long

wolf whistle.

“I play for you and in return, I want that kiss.”