Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart (16 page)

The cries that come from Annabel are different than before. A whole new verse in a song. Higher pitched, less controlled. And when I finally get her there, it’s a firework display of cuss words.

I lie next to her and gather her in my arms. “Good morning, again, Annabel Lee.” I chuckle.

Chapter Seventeen

Annabel

“You’re seriously designing a battle plan here,” Kennedy points out.

“Of course I am,” I reply, furiously crossing out and circling bands on the schedule I had printed out before leaving home. “There are like fifty acts performing today. I have to be very judicious with how I spend my time. That means a few Sophie’s Choices along the way.” I bite down on my bottom lip as I try to choose between going to see Børns and Twenty One Pilots.

“You seriously have to stop doing that if you ever want us to leave this room,” Kennedy teases, reaching up and rubbing his thumb against my bottom lip.

I grin and smack his hand away. “This is the only way I’m going to conquer day one,” I say, holding up my schedule. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“What about just going with the flow?” Kennedy asks as he leans back against the headboard.

Sitting up, cross-legged across from him, I learn forward and tickle his foot. “You’ve picked the wrong girl for that.”

Kennedy jumps up and pulls me into his arms, knocking my very detailed schedule to the floor. “I think I picked the perfect partner,” he says before kissing my forehead. His hand makes its way under my shirt, and even though every pore in my body screams out for him, I shift away so I’m sitting up again.

“If we don’t leave now, we might be late. I’ve calculated extra time for traffic, but we should leave in the next few minutes. I really want to see Chvrches. They’re one of the first acts,” I explain. “I would hate to miss them.”

Earlier in the morning, when Kennedy and I shared those moments, he made me realize something very important—he made me understand that it was all right to want things. Not just because they would make your existence better or put you ahead in the great game of life, but just because you wanted them. And I really wanted to see Chvrches. And then I wanted Kennedy…all night long.

I’m not saying it didn’t scare the crap out of me, but it’s like I didn’t know how to say no anymore. I have no proof that when life gets difficult he won’t leave, but I have no proof that he will, either. At least not any recently collected evidence. The not knowing is a little bit exciting. Like a dare.

Like losing your compass on the open sea and not giving a damn if you ever saw land again.

“Well, then let’s get our asses moving, so we can see Chvrches,” Kennedy exclaims, jumping off the bed.

After gathering our bags, we head out into the parking lot. As Kennedy loads up the car, I notice one of his tires is a bit low. “Kennedy? Have you seen this?” I ask, pointing it out to him.

Kennedy walks around to where I’m standing and crouches down to examine it. “I think we’ll be fine. Once we get to the festival campground, I’ll call someone to come out and fix it.”

“Do you have a spare?” I ask in case Kennedy’s car doesn’t decide to run on optimism alone.

“Yeah, about that…” He trails off, scratching at the back of his head. “I had to use it a few months ago, and I never got around to replacing it. Seriously, though, we will be fine. Trust me. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“I have AAA, though,” I say. “They’d be here in no time. Like I said, I did build in some extra time to our schedule for traffic. I’d rather we wait here than get stuck in the middle of nowhere.” While the hotel was located in a small town, there was still a bit of desolate country roads between us and the festival grounds.

“Annabel Lee, has anyone told you that you worry entirely too much?” Kennedy asks. He gently taps me under the chin with his finger. “We’ll make it. I’ve been driving this old lady around since I was sixteen, so I know what she can do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just trust me, Le Chat,” he says before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

I shouldn’t have trusted him.

Not even an hour into our drive, the tire goes flat. I slam the door a little harder than I need to as I climb out of the car. No sense sitting in it when it can’t go anywhere.

“It’ll be fine,” Kennedy tries to pacify me.

“Will it?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“It’s just a little setback.”

“A little setback that didn’t need to happen in the first place,” I mumble. “I know it’s not the most glamorous or rock-and-roll of tasks, but most people replace a spare tire after they use it.”

“I’m sure we’ll make it in time for you to see your band.”

“I am sure we will not.”

“What? You afraid you’ll miss meeting up with sad little hipster boy from the karaoke bar?” he jokes, trying to distract me from our current predicament. He knows I texted said hipster earlier in the morning gently letting him down. Considering it took three minutes of texting back and forth for him to remember who I was, I don’t think he was too heartbroken about it.

“Maybe I should text him and see if he can get me to the music festival. I bet he has a spare tire in his trunk,” I counter.

Kennedy strides toward me, wrapping his hands around my arms and backing me up into the side of the truck. “Take a deep breath,” he demands. “I know it makes you uncomfortable and anxious when things don’t go according to plan. And I feel like shit that you might miss your show, but this is going to be all right,” he promises.

I open my mouth to protest, but Kennedy grabs my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s rough and frenzied. I should pull away, but there’s something about the way it makes me feel that keeps me right there with him. His leg moves forward, forcing mine apart. His knee comes up and finds me, pressing against me. He rubs me gently in all the right places as our kiss deepens.

“You don’t fight fair,” I manage to gasp when I’m able to pull away.

His hands reach forward and unbutton my jean shorts. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his mouth against my lips.

I shake my head, wrapping my arms around his neck.

The blast of a car horn startles us apart. A minivan with large tie-dyes flags covered in symbols I’ve never seen before zooms past us, music blaring. No doubt, they’re heading to the festival.

“I have an idea,” Kennedy says, buttoning back up my pants.

“What are you doing?” I ask as he climbs into the truck. I wonder how he can even walk right now. My legs feel like wet noodles from anticipation and want.

“I have your fifth dare,” he says, returning to my side with our bags in our hand.

“Why do I feel like I’m not going to like what I’m about hear?”

“You probably won’t. But that’s why it’s a dare.”

I take a deep breath. “Fine. What is it?”

“I dare you to hitchhike.”

“Oh. Hell. No!” I exclaim.

“Now, let’s calm down and talk about this—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I interrupt. “Clearly you didn’t think I would take you seriously when you said I would be returned home with all my body parts intact.”

“What are you afraid is going to happen?” Kennedy asks.

“Um, I don’t know. Dismemberment. Death in general? This isn’t some Jack Kerouac novel.”

Kennedy reaches out and takes my hand in his. “There’s no one but music festival peeps driving down this road right now. The worst that could happen is they threaten to glitter you, or maybe offer you a bit of weed.”

“Well, I’d rather not catch the herpes of the crafting world if I can prevent it,” I retort.

Kennedy brings my hand toward his lips and kisses it. “Remember that whole conversation about calming down and trying to control our anxiety? This is the best way for us to get you to your show. I won’t let anyone glitter you, or dismember you for that matter,” he promises.

“You’re really going to just leave your car here?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not even sure your doors lock. What if something happens to it?”

Kennedy shrugs. “Then I’ll spend two hundred dollars to get another one. I promised you I would get you to your show, and I plan on keeping all of my promises these days.”

I’m not sure if his words are wildly romantic or further evidence of a carelessness that defined my childhood. “And you’re going to pay all that money to get it towed to the festival grounds when we could simply just wait for AAA?”

“I don’t care about money,” he groans, clearly growing a bit frustrated with my pragmatism.

“The only people who don’t care about money are people who have too much or don’t have any at all,” I argue. This was impractical. Crazy.

“Annabel,” he warns.

I sigh. “Please don’t make me do this. Besides, you only have one dare left, and we’re not even at the festival yet. Don’t waste a dare on this,” I beg.

“Don’t worry, I’ll save my last dare for something
really
good. Besides, I have other ways of coaxing you to do my bidding now.” He grins. Once he sees that his charm is not having its desired effect, he takes a deep breath. “Annabel, just give it a chance,” he says so earnestly that I am not entirely sure if he’s still talking about hitchhiking. Maybe Kennedy can also hear the doubts that whisper to me so traitorously.

I walk toward the edge of the street and stick out my thumb. “If I end up getting murdered, I swear I’ll haunt your ass.”

“Perfectly reasonable.” He chuckles.

“You sure about the car?”

Kennedy shrugs. “Leave it here. I’ll make sure it gets towed to where we’re going.”

Yes, wherever it is we’re going.

…

About an hour into our drive, I’m finding it less and less likely that I’m going to get murdered, rolled up in a ton of weed, and smoked. The Hot Van Damners, as they affectionately call themselves, are less scary
Dateline
material and more a hodgepodge of twentysomethings from all walks of life: college student, construction worker, aspiring fashion designer, computer programmer, caretaker, gardener. Gone are all my misconceptions about the types of people who ride in vans traveling to music festivals all summer. Not that the van didn’t reek of weed or I didn’t spy a few flower garland headbands, but these people are hardworking and intelligent. They’re just looking for a good time, a release. And as I settle against Kennedy, his arm around my shoulders, my head against his chest, all of us singing everything from Paul Simon to Sir Mix-A-Lot, I get it.

“See. Nothing to worry about, Le Chat,” Kennedy whispers into my ear, his lips grazing the skin right underneath.

I’m about to unwillingly concede when the car starts to slow down. By my calculations, we’re still about an hour out from the festival grounds. I turn and raise an eyebrow at Kennedy. “I meant what I said about if I get murdered, I’m haunting you.”

“I’ll see what’s going on,” he promises, giving me a quick kiss on the top of the head before navigating to the front of the van.

“You two are adorbs,” says a young woman named Natalie who’s seated behind me. “How long have you been together?”

“Um,” I begin. I’m not quite sure how to answer the question. While things certainly got intimate, there’d been no formal discussion about if we were
together
together. And even if our hooking up meant that, a few days didn’t seem like a suitable answer because even when we were apart for all those years, we were connected.

“We’re making a quick pit stop,” Kennedy says, saving me from having to answer. “And before you ask, I told them about how you wanted to see Chvrches, and they promised to get us there in time. It’s just this little tradition they do before the festival,” he explains as the van door slides open.

“Oh, yeah, Miracle Lake is the shit. You have to join us,” Natalie pipes in, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she and the two girls seated with her make their way out of the van.

“If we sacrifice a lamb to some festival god, I’m going to be really upset,” I warn as Kennedy offers me his hand.

Our feet have barely touched the ground before clothes start disappearing left and right. Natalie lets out a loud whoop as she rips off her shirt. Ben, our driver, is already pulling off his pants in the two seconds it takes my eyes to move from Natalie to him. Bras and boxers litter the ground like confetti. The laughter and yelps and cheers reach a deafening level as one by one the group jumps into the lake.

Skinny-dipping.

I look up at Kennedy, crossing my arms. “Man, you were really serious when you dared me to skinny-dip back in Belltown.”

“What? I…you think…I didn’t know this was going to happen,” Kennedy stammers, his face beet red. His eyes are laser-focused on mine.

“Of course I don’t think you planned this. I was teasing.”

“Come on in, you two! The showers costs like fifteen bucks on the festival grounds. Might as well get cleaned while you can,” Natalie calls out.

Kennedy’s eyes briefly shoot over toward the sound of Natalie’s voice. His face goes atomic red hot when he looks back at me. Could it be possible that Kennedy Harrison is embarrassed?

“Yeah, come on in and get cleaned before we all get very, very dirty,” singsongs a girl whose name I think is Hannah.

“Why don’t we just go back in the van and wait?” Kennedy offers.

“I’m fine right here. The scenery is amazing,” I reply, placing a special emphasis on the word “scenery” and nodding toward the shenanigans going on in the lake.

“Yeah, sure. It’s great,” he replies, scratching at the back of his head, his eyes still focused on my face.

I sigh. “What’s going on, Kennedy? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a pair of tits before.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about? Fine.” Without another word, I yank off my tank top.

“What…what are you doing?”

“Skinny-dipping,” I say after a deep breath, my fingers grazing my scars as I go to work unclasping my bra. Kennedy swallows hard as he takes me in. Even though I know my scars are out there for the world to see, something about his reaction and the way he looks at me makes me feel a little less anxious about it. I chuck my bra at his face.

I wait for Kennedy to disrobe, but he keeps staring at me, his eyes cutting over to the group in the lake, and I can’t for the life of me figure out his hesitation. I roll my eyes and start to take off the rest of my clothes. It’s only when I’m naked as the day I was born that I realize what the problem could be. I clear my throat. “Is it because you don’t want them to see? My scars, that is,” I ask quietly, crossing my arms over my chest. Suddenly, I’m feeling pretty stupid. And exposed.