Incomplete (12 page)

“Fuck you,” he tosses back at me.

I laugh. “She
dump you or what?”

This lost look crosses his features.
“Yeah.” Ben nods, staring at something I can’t see. “I’ve never been dumped before,” he says in a small voice.

I almost laugh again, but can tell he’s really down about this. “I’m sure it gets better the more often it happens.”

Ben gives me a look, throwing the uneaten half of his sandwich on the tray. “How would you know? You won’t even date the
one
girl that actually wants you, thereby forfeiting any chance of getting dumped.” He blinks. “That’s actually kind of genius.”

“That’s me. Genius,” I mutter.

Despite all the voices in the room, Lily’s laughter still manages to flow over to me and I stiffen, my eyes straying to her. Her head is close to Garrett’s as she smiles at him. My stomach roils and I shoot to my feet.

Still staring at her, I say to Ben, “Forget about her. You’ll go to college soon, you’ll move on, she’ll move on, and it’ll be like you never knew her.” My words sound false, a
s though I’m trying to convince us both, which I am.

I storm from the cafeteria, looking away when Lily’s eyes lift to mine. Entering the hallway, I punch the locker closest to me. Pain laces through my knuckles and I curse, holding my throbbing hand with my other.

“Mr. Lee, did the locker do something to you?”

I look up at Principal Young. He’s somehow across the hallway from me though I never heard him approach or even saw him, one eyebrow lifted as he watches me. How does he
do
that? I sigh. “No.”

“Then I suggest you refrain from hitting it.”

I nod, swallowing.

He begins to walk away, and then turns to look at me. “Anything you need to talk about?”

I wordlessly shake my head.

Principal Young stares at me for a moment. “All right,” he finally says. “Just be nice to the lockers, okay? They’re kind of sensitive.”

“Okay.”

“Get some sleep. You look like you need it,” he calls over his shoulder.

I slump against the locker I just punched and hang my head, wondering how everything got to be so screwed up.
You did this
, whispers back to me.

The door to the lunchroom slams open and my eyes lift, along with my pulse rate. Lily stands frozen, one hand on the door, her ever-changing gaze locked on me. I straighten, waiting. The effect of her eyes on me is dizzying. I’ve missed them, missed them looking at me, looking into me.

“Um…” She rubs her nose, glancing away.

My breath is fast, leaving me in little pants and my heart is twisted with longing, with anger and regret. Still I wait, silent and unmoving.

Lily lets the door close behind her, blocking out the sounds of the chaotic cafeteria, and it is quiet once again.

Taking a step toward me, she asks, “Are you…
is everything…okay?”

“Why?” My voice is rough.

“What?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

She lowers her eyes to the floor. “You just…seem upset.”

I laugh bitterly. “I’m fucking fantastic, Lily. Never better. Go back to your boyfriend.”

I whirl around, blocking her sad face from my eyes, but not my head. Those eyes are stuck in there, hurting, making me torn up inside. Silence is all I hear as I turn the corner. She didn’t even try to deny it—about being Garrett’s girlfriend. My heart thumps in agony.

***

I’d never given forever much thought. I mean, I always pictured Lily with me, through the years, no matter what happened or where I was. I never thought of us being apart, but I never really envisioned us together as a couple either. We were just…connected. We were one. Now we’re nothing and I can’t stand it. The pain in my chest is
maddening
. I can’t go through my life without her, I know that now.

With l
ungs burning so badly each breath is torn from me, I finish my run by walking the last few blocks to my house. The sun has gone down for the night, so it has to be close to eight. Days are longer now in May, but still too short for me. Sweat covers my hair and body in a layer of dampness and I tug my shirt off, shoving part of it into the elastic waistband of my gray shorts. My arm swipes across my face, brushing shaggy bangs out of my eyes. I need a haircut. Lily always cut my hair. I focus on my breaths instead of the sharp ache that slices through me at the thought, evening out my pulse rate with difficulty.  

When I see Lily walk out of her house with a flaming red halter dress on, black heeled sandals that ribbon halfway up her calves, and her hair an erotic mess around her face, it is too much. I snap. Missing her, longing for her, hating the way things are, being unable to change the ways things are—it is too much. I don’t even think; I just charge.

I grab her wrist, ignoring the thrill of her skin against mine, and demand, “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”

Startled, her brows lower as she tugs her arm away.
“What do you think
you’re
doing talking to me and manhandling me like that?”

I ignore that because I don’t really know.

I shove a hand through my wet hair, showing her my profile as I try to put my emotions into words that actually make sense. “Why are you dressing the way you have been lately? This isn’t you. I don’t like it.” I like it. A lot. For me. Not for anyone else. Anyone else seeing this deserves their face punched in.

I clamp my jaw shut and flex my fingers, really wanting to do that to the next guy I see checking Lily out. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it will be Garrett. I smile thinly at the thought.

“Why are you smiling like that? It’s creepy.”

The smile slides from my face. “Why are you acting the way you are?”

She tosses her head, a totally unLily-like action, and glares at me. “What the hell do you care?”

Flinching, I stumble back a step. “What is with your language lately?”

“What? You don’t like the way I talk?”

“I don’t like swearwords coming out of your mouth.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re a big hypocrite. You can swear all you want, but I can’t say things like asshole, fuck, bitch, bastard, damn, hell, shit—“

I clamp a hand against her mouth, my eyes inches from hers. Heat rolls off her to me and me to her, a sauna of repressed passion whirling around us. “Stop it. Just stop it. This isn’t you.”

She bites me. With a curse, I yank my hand away. “What the hell, Lily?” I holler, holding the stinging hand with my uninjured one.

Her body quivers, and by the look on her face, I know it’s in fury. Features scrunched up, eyes narrowed, she states in a trembling voice, “How do you know what I am or am not? I wonder if you ever really knew me.
Just like I wonder if I ever really knew you too.”

I tilt my head beseechingly, my chest constricted, tight. “Lily—“

She slices a hand through the air to silence me. “And just so you know, this can be me if I choose it to be. We all have choices, don’t we, Grayson? Some are good, some are bad, some we regret, but we always have them. You chose to be a certain way. Now I have too. Deal with it.”

A horn toots and she waves as she walks away, leaving me. Speechless, I whirl around just as she’s getting into Mia’s Ford Escape
, which is the same shade as her dress. Most of her thigh is showing as she maneuvers it into the car and I have a hard time breathing. The desire slamming through me is not enough to block out the single thought, What did I
do
to her?

***

It is Sunday afternoon and the bar is closed. Most of the lights are off, so it’s dim inside, and the scent of lemon cleaning solution lingers. Sometimes I come here on Sundays to write or sing, or just to think. Bud and Jackie Love don’t mind. In fact, they encourage it. They trust me. It’s quiet, empty, and I have music and a microphone. It’s perfect.

I mess with the s
ound system until ‘Free Fallin’’ by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers is queued up. I grab the microphone and sing, thoughts snuffed out by the music and lyrics. I am not free, but I am falling. I know this. My voice is deeper, rougher than Tom Petty’s, but untrained and unique like his.

The drive to succeed as a singer/songwriter is overshadowed only by the desire to be with Lily. I live and breathe music. It thunders through my veins, it has the power to alter my perception, thoughts,
and emotions. I cannot go a day without it. It’s like a drug, the only one I’ll allow myself. And the drive is there, always—the need to prove to myself, to everyone, and to show the world that I am not a mistake. I am not worthless, and I do have a purpose—to show my mom that maybe even though I am not someone special, I am at least noteworthy.

No matter what I accomplish, it never seems to be
good enough. The need to prove myself to others, to feel like I matter, is endless. I could blame this inefficiency in myself on my mom, and maybe that is a lot of it, but maybe I’d be this way no matter what.

I don’t need to be rich and famous. I don’t need my name and face plastered on magazine covers. I just want to be able to do what I love as a career. I just need to make enough money to be sufficient. That would be enough. I don’t think I could give it up even if I tried. I know this as well.

The only time I can push reality away is when I’m lost in music. I need that now. ‘How You Remind Me’ by Nickleback plays next. I wander around the room, closing my eyes as I sing. I don’t need the lines on the screen to sing; I have the lyrics memorized. The final word leaves my mouth and I know I am no longer alone. I open my eyes and turn around.

“Grayson!
” Ana waves from the bar, her face lit up with excitement. Her body is clothed in a white tank top and short pink shorts, her hair in two braids. Tanned and glowing, she is a picture of health and beauty. Her barely contained eagerness makes me suspicious. Enthusiastic Ana is trouble. 

“Hi,” I greet slowly, turning my gaze to the man beside her as I set the microphone down.

“This is my cousin Johnny. Johnny Love. Johnny, this is Grayson, my friend I was telling you about.”

The guy is shorter than Ana, his hair black and wavy, his skin tanned golden brown. Though it is around eighty degrees outside, he is wearing tan dress slacks and a white dress shirt—way overdressed for Fennimore. He appears to be in his early thirties, judging from the fine lines around his eyes. The hard edge to him boasts of worldliness I don’t know I’ll ever experience, nor do I particularly want to. The man oozes money and arrogance. His eyes are the same green as Ana’s and they are much too intense as they study me.

I shift my stance, feeling uncomfortable under his unmoving stare. “Hi.”

“Grayson.”
He nods, accepting the drink Ana hands him with a murmured thank you, his eyes still on me.

“Come here, Grayson.” Ana motions me over, sipping her customary rum and Coke.

Hesitant, I carefully weave my way toward the pair. “What are you doing, Ana?”

She blinks innocently at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Narrowing my eyes, I say, “I meant here. Today. What are you doing here? Your mom and dad said you were out.”

Ana lives at home. I don’t know why. After college, she moved back to Fennimore and back into her parents’ house—something else I don’t know about her. Ana only allows you to know the details about her she wants you to know.

“Oh. Yeah. Johnny and I went shopping. When we got back, Mom mentioned you stopping by for the key.” She shrugs. “We were bored so I asked Johnny if he wanted to come over and have a drink, maybe meet you. He’s going back to
California
soon. He’s in the
entertainment
business.”

I frown at her. Ana knows the only time I come here is when I want to be alone with my music. And what is with her weird behavior? She keeps widening her eyes at me. I just nod as she talks, knowing she is up to something.

“Ana tells me you write your own music. And you sing.”

I shift my attention to Johnny. “I do.”

He flashes a smarmy grin. “Impressive. Want to share something with us?”

“No. I don’t,” I reply curtly.

He is beginning to creep me out. It’s like he is studying and cataloguing each detail of my exterior. I’m suddenly self-conscious of my messy blond hair, my glasses, and the fact that I’m wearing a gray shirt with cut-off sleeves and old cargo khaki shorts. I look like a slob next to Johnny Love. And really—
Johnny Love
? Who names their kid that?

“Pity,” he murmurs, tossing back a shot of brown liquid.

I turn a glare on Ana; silently asking her what the hell is going on. She shrugs, avoiding my eyes. I look at her cousin. Shocker—he’s watching me again. “Nice meeting you. I got stuff to do. Here’s the key.”

I don’t wait for a response, striding for the door. The weirdness of the encounter stays with me as I step out into the abnormally hot day, my skin heating up almost immediately. Clearly Ana and I need to have a talk the next time I work with her so she can explain to me what that was all about.