Getting Hot (Jail Bait Book 3) (13 page)

Chapter 17

Bran

This is fucking torture. It’s been two days since Lilah flipped her shit on the sidewalk and my mind has been blowing gaskets trying to figure out what made her come unglued like that. She’s usually so composed. So confident. All kinds of scenarios are shuffling around in my head. Something with her boyfriend, maybe? Or maybe something from before, with the parents? But nothing really takes hold and forms into a solid possibility for her reaction.

All I know is she seemed suddenly younger and more vulnerable, the fear that Destiny would find out about us bringing out something childlike in her that I’d never seen there before.

And I know I didn’t imagine it when she won’t look at me when she comes in tonight.

Something’s going on with her, and I’m not sure I’m going to like what it is.

Destiny’s in the kitchen when Lilah slides onto her stool.

I mix her drink as she unpacks her guitar, then push it across to her and lean on my elbows. “So, you pumped for Tuesday?”

Her eyes flick to me then back. “I thought I told you I’d find another way.”

I shrug. “Been looking for an excuse for a road trip. You’re it.”

She takes a breath so deep I’m surprised she doesn’t burst a lung. “Look, Bran, there’s something I need to tell—”

Destiny bursts through the kitchen door with a plate of chicken wings in her hand and cuts her sister off mid-sentence with a hug. “Hey! It’s so awesome that we’re here together!”

Lilah bumps her forehead against Destiny’s and there’s a warmth in her eyes I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen plenty of heat there—fire that made me hotter than the pits of hell—but this is different, and suddenly I get it. They’re close.

Really
close.

They’re fucking twins, so I guess I should have known that, but it took seeing them together to drive it home.

All my insides cramp as the hard truth hits me. The second fucked her sister, any chance I had with Lilah was gone, even though I didn’t know she existed yet.

And I’ve been a royal dick, pushing her to choose me over her fucking blood.

I brace my hands on the bar as Destiny flits across the room and drops the plate on the table under the window. As much as I’m not sure how, I know I’ve got to back the fuck off.

“So…” I say, pushing off the bar and drawing myself a beer. “I figure if we hit the road by seven, that will get us to L.A. in time to grab a bite and head to the studio.”

Finally, Lilah really looks at me. “Seven. Got it.”

“Unless you think you’ll be able to hang out with your friend after the show, we should be able to be back on the road in time to get home by one or two.”

She shakes her head. “She tried to get a minute, but she says she won’t be able to hang out. They’ve got a car back to their hotel and then interviews and some taping for a commercial or something.”

“Okay, then,” I say with a nod. “Sounds like we have a plan.”

She looks at me a long minute, like she has something else to say, but when Destiny comes back by, she gives her an unsure smile and strums the strings.

I try not to let her voice affect me. I’ve heard it enough now that I keep thinking I should be building up some kind of immunity, but I forget how that smoky timbre caresses me, and how the pitch vibrates every cell in my body and goes straight to my groin.

She so fucking owns me.

Destiny’s busy enough that she doesn’t spend much time just hanging out at the bar, and when eleven thirty rolls around, Lilah starts packing up.

“So, I’ll come by your place Tuesday morning,” I tell her as she latches her case.

She empties her tip jar into her bag. “Seven o’clock. I’ll be ready.”

And that’s it. She finds Destiny for a hug on her way out, then she’s gone.

Chapter 18

Lilah

The doorbell rings and I jump at the sound.

“That’s him,” Destiny says, setting down her coffee mug and coming around the counter. “Go. I’ll call you in sick when school opens.”

I hike my bag onto my shoulder and walk toward the door as if marching toward my execution.

She comes with me. “I’d come down with you, but I don’t want Bran to see me with no makeup.”

“It’s fine,” I say, pulling open the door. “He thinks we’ll be back around one.”

“Just shoot me a text when you leave L.A.,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “You’re in good hands, so I won’t worry.”

I nod and start down the stairs.

“And hey, Lilah?”

I turn and Destiny’s sitting on the top step, her cheek in her hand. “It’s a long ride, so if you get a chance to, I don’t know, say something about how cool I am or whatever…” She trails off with a “you can’t blame a girl for trying” shrug.

“Will do.” I turn and head down the rest of the stairs so she can’t see the guilt on my face.

“Take pictures!” Destiny calls after me.

At the bottom of the stairs, I stop and collect myself before opening the door to the street. When I do, Bran is standing there.

“Hey,” he says. “You ready?”

I nod and he turns and leads me across the street to his car parked at the curb. I wait for him to click the locks, but instead he turns the key in the driver’s door lock then slides in and reaches across to unlock the passenger door.

I lower myself into the car and look around. There are cracks in the black vinyl of the seats and there’s a hole in my floor mat where it’s worn through. But otherwise, it’s spotless. No McDonald’s wrappers or old Coke bottles rolling around on the floor like our Neon. “How old is this car?”

“It’s a ‘70 Ford Torino. My grandpa bought it new back then, drag package and all.” He gives the steering wheel a pat as he starts the car with the other hand. “She’s a member of the family.”

“Wow,” I say, giving it a closer look. “And it still runs?”

He flicks on the headlights, hits the gas, and we rumble away from the curb. “It was our project the whole time I was growing up. Think I was five the first time he stood me on a stool at the side of the hood and told me if I learned to take care of it, it would be mine someday.”

“He gave it to you?”

He watches the road ahead as he grips the top of the wheel tightly with one hand as shifts with the other, weaving us through the quiet of the early morning streets. “For my eighteenth birthday, a year before he died.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, his eyes still firmly on the road, but in the brightening light of the rising sun, his eyes glisten with a sheen of moisture. “Everyone dies.”

There’s an awkward silence and I look out the passenger window as we leave the fire station and the last of town behind. We wind down the hill, through a few towns that look just like Oak Crest, eventually finding the never-ending orchards of the valley.

“So…you’re good with cars, then?” I finally ask as he negotiates us onto the southbound highway ramp.

“Learned a thing or two.”

“Our car’s in the shop. They’re going to charge us six fifty for a timing chain. Does that sound right?”

He nods and flicks a glance at me. The first since we left home. “It’s a big job. The parts are cheap, but you have to pull everything apart to get to it, so sounds like they’re charging you for six hours labor.”

“Yeah. That’s what they said.”

I only realize how dejected I sounded when he glances at me again. “You want me to take a look?”

I shake my head. “I just wanted to be sure they weren’t ripping us off. We’ll figure it out.”

“Have you told Wayne to start the work yet?”

“I think he might have ordered the part.”

“I’ll have him tow it to my place.”

My eyes widen and snap to him. “I didn’t mean…I just wanted to make sure it we weren’t getting ripped off.”

“If you pay for the part, I’ll take care of the rest.”

The engine rumbles every time he presses the gas pedal, like some kind of wild thing, and it strikes me how perfect this car is for Bran. They both feel wild and a little dangerous.

He glances at me as he weaves through the loose Tuesday rush hour traffic and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “How does your boyfriend feel about this trip?”

For a second, I’m totally lost.

He must see the bafflement on my face, because he clarifies. “White Mustang?”

I feel my eyes widen. “Jon.”

“Jon.” His lip curls in an acerbic smile as he repeats his name.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

His eyes cut to me. “Does he know that?”

I nod. “Definitely.”

“So, just a fuckbuddy?”

“Just a garden variety buddy. No fucking.”

He shoots me a sideways look, then takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “Good.”

“Why good?”

His lips press into a line and he shakes his head. I realize it‘s to reconsider the course of this convo when he changes the subject. “I think it’s great that you and Destiny are so tight.”

I scowl at him. “That was random.”

He flashes me a glance. “Just an observation.”

I settle deeper in the seat. “You have family other than Vicky?”

He nods. “My parents split when we were kids and Mom got the bar. Dad got the gym, which my sister Brenda runs. She and Ma live in town and Dad lives in Jonestown…so just far enough that he and Ma don’t need to see each other all the time, but close enough they can get in each other’s faces or beds—whichever mood strikes.”

I can’t stop my mouth falling open. “They sleep together?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“You don’t think they’ll get back together?”

He blows out a laugh. “No. They hate each other.”

“But they sleep together…?”

“It’s complicated.” He shoots me a glance, and in it, I see the fire he’s trying so hard to contain.

I should tell him. I opened my mouth to say it at the bar on Saturday night, but then Destiny was there, and after she was gone, the moment had passed. I even typed it into a text last night, but then decided the fact he’s been fondling a sixteen-year-old was something he deserved to hear from the horse’s mouth.

I
will
tell him.

Right now.

“Mind if I play some of Lo’s tracks?” I blurt, holding up my phone.

He opens the center console and pulls out a wire with a headphone jack. “It’s the original stereo,” he says with a nod at the dash, “but I rigged it.”

I plug the jack into my phone and cue my Lo playlist. She’s gotten the bonus bump on her score every week for hitting the top ten on iTunes.

I tip my head back and close my eyes as Lo’s voice fills the car and transports me back to the subway. I can hear her pure tones echoing off the tile walls around us, drowning me in awesome.

When it gets to the end and starts to repeat, I click it off.

“Don’t bite my head off, Lilah, but you’re every bit as good as she is.”

Bran’s voice is low, and when I look at him, he’s looking right back at me.

“Road,” I say, pointing out the windshield.

He turns his eyes back to the highway that stretches straight and flat for as far as the eye can see. We’re in the middle of nowhere, so there are very few cars, and none nearby.

“It could just as easily be you in the final tonight.”

I huff a frustrated laugh through my nose. “You don’t get it. Shiloh is special.”

His arm straightens, pushing his shoulders deeper into the seat. “So are you.”

Chapter 19

Bran

With just that one sentence, she totally closes off. Her arms fold hard across her chest and she turns to look out the passenger window. She’s so angry that I suggested she might be better than her friend.

“Why are you afraid of that?”

She turns back to me. “I’m not
afraid
of anything. It’s just not true.”

I’ve seen the look on her face a thousand times in Afghanistan—sometimes when I looked in the mirror. It’s the expression we all wear when we’re desperately trying to convince ourselves we’re not afraid. But our eyes always betray us, and I see her fear shining there.

I shake my head. “
Everyone
’s afraid of something.”

“What are you afraid of?” she shoots back.

“Wow,” I say, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Where should I start?”

She just looks at me, waiting.

“I’m afraid of dying before I’ve ever lived. I’m afraid the best is behind me and this is all there is. I’m afraid of missing out on something great because I didn’t recognize it in time to grab hold. I’m afraid of admitting that I want more, because what if there isn’t more?” I grip the wheel and look at her. “I’m afraid of falling asleep.”

“Nightmares?” she asks.

I look out over the endless road. “Not if I don’t sleep.”

“Tell me about them.”

Cold sweat breaks across the back of my neck and I rub it. “Not my favorite topic.”

Her lips thin into a line as she nods. “I can respect that.” She tips her head and those silver eyes cut through all my bullshit. “I know the shit I’ve been through is probably nothing compared to what you’ve seen, but it’s still enough to give me nightmares.”

I don’t know whether it’s just Lilah, or the idea of actually talking about things I’ve never thought I’d be able to, but my heart is galloping in my chest. “You train for months, drills and simulations. They tell you you’re ready and they send you off. They don’t tell you how loud it is. When you’re in the middle of a firefight…” I shake my head. “They don’t tell you that you’ll never hear your brother’s scream over the shells. That the only way you’ll know he’s dead is when you turn around and see his mangled body, bleeding out into the sand.”

I take a breath and hold it, waiting for the roll of acid up my throat to settle.

“They don’t tell you you’ll hear those shells for the rest of your life, and every time you close your eyes, you’ll see it again…try to change it, put yourself where your buddy was. They don’t tell you that’s the only time you’ll hear the scream, because it’s yours, waking you from the nightmare.” I swallow and glance at her. “They don’t tell you shit.”

She doesn’t say anything, but those eyes stay fixed on mine until I turn back to the road. Her hand slides like silk over the back of mine, on the gearshift, and she threads her fingers between mine. I know she feels me shaking, but I can’t stop it.

We stay just like that as I navigate us over the Grape Vine and down into the L.A. basin. When I have my shit mostly back together, I look at her. “I know you’ve been through some shit too. You’ve got the look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘don’t mess with me’ look. It’s the armor everyone who’s been through shit they’re not really dealing with wears to keep people from noticing.”

She takes her hand off mine and I wish I kept my mouth shut, but it’s too late now. Can of worms opened.

“I told you my shit,” she says without looking at me. “Tweaker parents.”

I cut her a glance. “But there’s more to it.”

She stiffens, her hands pressing into the seat next to her legs. “Why would you think that?”

My eyes brush over her and I flick my T-shirt. “Matching armor.”

She rolls her head toward the passenger window and watches the cars we pass for a good while. “The day of the fire, Lo and I got expelled for gambling at school. She kept all her odds spreadsheets in the school’s cloud account and she’d log bets in the computer lab at lunch. Our house was always full of squatters, but when I got home early, there was only Dad and a guy I didn’t know. Don’t even know what happened to him after. Guess he took off or whatever. I went upstairs and the next thing I know there’s screaming and…” She takes a deep breath. “I remember getting trapped on the stairs because the fire had already spread. Destiny soaked some blankets and we wrapped them around ourselves and ran through it. The fire trucks were just showing up, but Destiny and I just kept walking after we got out.” She shakes her head. “It’s all a little fuzzy, but I think we stayed at Lo’s group home that night. After, we kicked around between some of Destiny’s friends apartments until we found our crappy apartment in the Tenderloin.”

She’s quiet for a minute, but I wait to see if there’s more. “No one ever came looking for you?” I finally ask. “CPS or the cops?”

“Destiny thought if we kept our heads down, no one would think to look for us.” She shrugs. “Turns out she was right.”

“Wow. So you guys have been on your own since you were fourteen?”

She turns to me then, her eyes wide, and again, I see that vulnerability. She opens her mouth and looks like she’s going to say something, but then closes it again.

Acid burns through my insides at the knowledge that her drug addicted parents nearly killed both of their kids. I scrub a hand over my chin to keep from punching something. For a long time we’re quiet as I get my temper under control.

“Where was the rest of your family?” I finally ask when I can keep the shake of my rage out of my voice. “Grandparents, aunts, uncles. If your parents were strung out, someone else should have stepped up and looked out for you.”

“My uncle’s the one who started my parents using. Grandma knew things were bad, which is why she took us in the summers, but it didn’t get
really
bad until after she was in the nursing home.”

“Have you seen your parents since?” I ask, fury running like a river through my words. “Confronted them?”

She shakes her head. “What’s the point? It won’t change anything that happened.”

My jaw is clamped so tight I don’t know how I’m not cracking teeth. We get stuck in some traffic getting across L.A. to the Sony Studios in Culver City. A few blocks from the parking garage, there’s a diner. I pull into the lot.

Lilah makes no move to get out. “I’m not hungry.”

“Me either, but you should eat something.”

She shoulders open her door and gets out. I meet her at the front of the car and we head inside. We’re seated at the window and she stares out at nothing as the waitress fills our coffee mugs.

“Listen, you’re right about the past,” I say once she’s gone with our orders—a side of bacon for her and a slice of apple pie a la mode for me. “There’s nothing we can do to change it. This is about right now, and right now, your best friend is about to make something pretty spectacular happen, so that’s where your head should be.”

She pulls her gaze back into the room and finds mine. “You’re right. Fuck the past. The future’s going to be kickass and I’m not going to miss it because I’m too busy wallowing over my fucked-in-the-head parents.”

I nod. “That sounds about right.”

♫

We jump through all the hoops to get parked and through security, and we’re led to seats in the second row, in the “family box.” The minute we walk in, Lilah’s face lights. Her eyes scan the room, over the stage that’s being prepped and the seats where the judges or coaches or whatever sit, and she drinks it all in.

We settle into our seats and she reaches for my hand, nearly crushing it in her surprisingly strong grip. I focus on the feel of her skin on mine and realize, if I close my eyes and soften my hand, I can feel her pulse. It’s racing and she’s flushed with anticipation.

God, she’s beautiful.

And when she smiles at me, it knocks the wind out of me.

Finally, the four coaches take their seats and the show starts.

Some spit-and-polished guy with hair as shiny as his shoes stands up onstage in a monkey suit and tells us this is what the entire season has been leading up to; that one of the final four will be crowned The Voice and score a recording contract that will launch his or her career. But all I see is Lilah. I can’t take my eyes off her.

Each of the singers takes their turn, and when Shiloh is announced to perform last, Lilah screams and bounds to her feet.

I listen to Shiloh and she’s good, but the honest to fuck truth is, Shiloh has nothing on Lilah.

There’s a commercial break and the house lights come up. People all around us start chattering, but Lilah is still absorbing. She reaches for my hand again when they start cueing us to quiet down and the house lights lower.

The spotlight flashes to Spit and Polish, who says, “Here to sing her original song, ‘More Than Nothing,’ written by her best friend, Delilah Morgan, put your hands together for Shiloh Luck!”

I spin on Lilah as everyone rises to their feet and claps. She’s standing next to me with her hands pressed to her flushed cheeks, an overwhelmed kid at Christmas. “Did you know?”

She nods, and there’s a mix of terror and exhilaration in her eyes that makes them glow in the dim lighting. “She called me when they were deciding on songs and asked if I had anything fresh. I sent her the one I wrote for you and they loved it. I had to sign a release so they could use it.”

I smile and shake my head as her friend launches into the song I first heard Lilah sing from her perch on my barstool weeks ago. As I listen, I realize the song is about so much more than I first believed. It’s about breaking chains and not being afraid to live. It’s about making life count. And fuck me, that’s what this girl has done to me. All my fears about dying before I’ve lived, and missing out on something great—she’s the fix to all of it. Out of the blue, she showed up in my life and made it into more than the nothing it was before. She’s the thing I look forward to every morning. She’s the thing that gives my life color and flavor and amperage. She brings me to life.

I can’t stop staring at her as she jumps to the rhythm and sings along, oblivious to the furtive looks from people around us. And her voice does to me what it always does, wakes up the starving beast inside.

She speaks to me on every level, body, mind, and soul, and right now, they’re all in agreement.

Delilah Morgan owns me.