CHAPTER 8

"Bitch! I missed the hell out of you." Avery bounces at my front door Thursday right before noon, her lime-green Mini in the driveway. She holds out a gold rectangular box. "This is for your Dad and your Stepmom from my parents. It's some fancy booze."

I take it from her and lead the way through the house. "Perfect. Dad, Haley and Sophia are out, but I'll put it with the fancy booze collection."

I head for the wine storage room off the kitchen and drop off the box.

"One for them, one for us. I'm so ready for this PA day."

I grab a bottle of champagne at random out of one of the coolers.

Surprise crosses Avery's face. "I thought we were studying."

"Later, I want to hear all about your trip."

Soon, we're in bathing suits by the pool, the sun baking us. She's telling me about Tuscany, the house and rolling hills.

"And your books were on point." she adds. "I made it through two rom-coms, plus the one about the refugee who started a business in her new country and got all the local women involved. So good."

"I'm glad. Any guys on this trip?" I prod.

"The winery next door had a son."

She pulls out her phone and shows me pictures of a guy with dark eyes and curly hair,.

"Avery. Did you...?"

"Second base. Which I think is only first base in Italian." She sighs. "I forgot how much I love your pool."

"You may be seeing more of it. I'm grounded." I lift my glass in a toast.

"Wait, what?" Avery's screech echoes off the house as she grabs my arm.

"I decided to drop AP calculus. My Dad was not a fan."

"You can't drop calculus."

I explain my reasoning, and she finally concedes. "So, is this grounding thing the reason you went out and bought that fuck-hot bikini? To give your Dad a heart attack?"

I look down at my bathing suit. That's not how I would've described it, but now that she says it, I can see where she's coming from. It's red and cut high on my legs, makes my ass look great, and the magic top pushes everything up enough that it looks as if I have real, live boobs. Cleavage and everything. "I just felt like it."

"What about the pool party?"

The memory has me shivering despite the sunshine. "Chris hit on me, but when I passed, he turned pissy fast."

Her face turns thunderous. "I'm going to shove his balls down his throat."

"Too late. He had a black eye the whole week." I nod toward the pool house.

She picks up the bottle of wine and fills her glass halfway. "Timothy Adams hit him. I should go away more often."

I nearly drop my glass as Timothy and Brandon come around the side of the house. My throat goes dry, and it's not from the champagne.

They're both wearing shorts and nothing else, but it's Timothy's body that has me sitting up straighter.

His shoulders are broad and deliciously rounded, his pecs defined. Suddenly, I'm remembering how he looked playing at the party. How he smelled. How he felt, that body pressed against mine.

I hate how girls trip over themselves for musicians as if the fact that a guy can play a chord progression magically predicts his ability to get you off.

But from the second I walked in the door of the fraternity house and saw Timothy on that stage, I was lost.

They didn't deserve him, didn't even appreciate what he was giving them.

I did.

Thank goodness for padding because it's way too hot out for my nipples to be getting hard under this bathing suit.

"Timothy hit who over who?" Brandon asks.

"Chris Albright." Avery pulls her sunglasses down her nose, then reaches for the sunscreen.

"That's how I heard it." Brandon cocks his head at my friend. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of tanning?"

"If I was trying to tan, yes. If I'm studying, no."

Brandon smirks. "Doesn't look like studying."

"Do you want me to prove the fundamental theorem of calculus on this patio with my lipstick? Because bitch, I'll do it." His jaw goes slack, and she turns her attention to Timothy. "You've been looking out for my girl."

"Someone's got to." Timothy answers.

Avery smirks. "Gasp, Adams."

"Your girl knows exactly what she's doing," Brandon weighs in. "Lil' sis was a serious cock block last night."

He grins at Timothy, who's shooting him a death glare, before returning to Avery.

"It's obvious the whole come play our party thing was Tricia's excuse to get our boy on campus for a little extra-credit homework. Then you show up." he nods at me. "and Tim's gone all night."

I take a sip of my drink. "Sorry."

"Like fuck you are." Brandon cackles.

It's true. Learning that girl is Timothy's tutor made me feel like he didn't bail on me for someone else not in January, not even this week.

Has Timothy slept with anyone since he moved here?

Maybe that's why he's so broody and repressed. The guy needs to get laid.

"You girls going to use the pool or just gawk at it?" Brandon grabs Avery's glass, drains it despite her squeak of protest, then jumps, cup still in hand, into the pool.

I stare at Timothy over the rim of my glass, and his gaze warms on mine.

"Brandon's right." I rise, adjusting my swimsuit, then toss my hat on the patio and yank my hair up into a messy top knot. I brush past Timothy and cannonball into the water.

When I come up, I hear cheering from Brandon and squealing from Avery, who carefully steps over the edge into the shallow end.

Timothy's the last one in, but I can't take my eyes off him when he disappears below the surface or when emerges once more, tossing his wet hair back with a grin that makes my stomach flip.

Last night with Timothy felt exhilarating.

We both have reasons to be weighed down, but hanging with him, like it was us against the world, was a rush I didn't expect.

The news of his Dad's blackmail, or whatever you want to call it, made me angrier than anything I can remember.

My Dad's never made me feel like I owed him. Even the shock of my birth mom showing up, the secret I've been carrying around about the letter that lives in my desk upstairs, feels small and less dramatic by comparison.

I want to track Timothy's Dad down and chew him out. I want to tell him he doesn't deserve to have a son who's talented and capable, one who's resourceful enough to fend for himself when his parents don't.

I want...

God, I want so many things with Timothy.

I shouldn't, but I can't seem to stop.

We splash around for a while, trying to keep a volleyball in the air. Eventually I pause on the wall to catch my breath, watching Avery and Brandon fall into teasing conversation.

"Hey." I gasp as I realize Timothy's sneaked up on me in the pool. My gaze pulls to his abs and the water that licks at his stomach a couple inches above the waistband of his shorts.

"What is that?" he asks.

I glance down at the ink sticking out the top of my bikini bottom and mentally curse that i forgot to scrub it off. "Just words. I write things I want to remember."

"Like 'buy milk'?"

I put my hands on my hips. "No. Like 'be fearless' or 'open your heart'."

"Can I see?"

I hoist myself half out of the pool on my elbows and try not to squirm as he tugs down the side of my bikini bottoms.

"Leave it all."

I feel my body flush under his scrutiny.

Normally I write wherever I have space and my words won't be seen my wrist, my thigh, my waist. Of course, this time it's on the front of my hip, below my hipbone. Dangerously low.

"It means don't hold back. Leave the fear, the doubt, the uncertainty, and give everything. Be everything. I've been telling myself that in rehearsal."

I drop back into the water, and he shades his eyes with a hand. "You could get a tattoo. It'd last longer." I shake my head. "I couldn't decide on one. I'd be covered everywhere. It'd make Dad's sleeve look like one of those girly ankle tats."

Timothy grins. When he motions me closer still with a crooked finger., I inch toward him, the water doing nothing to cool my heating blood.

Then before I can decide what his game is, he dunks me.

"I keep seeing banners around for prom. That your doing?" Brandon asks Avery as we head inside after we finish swimming to find something to eat.

"I was on the junior prom committee, but one of the directors of senior prom came down with chicken pox." Avery shrugs. "Anyway, A's gonna be my back up."

"We'll see.": I say as we scrounge some sandwiches from cold cuts in the fridge and fresh ciabatta rolls on the counter. "I might still be grounded, and I draw the line at serving drinks to the minions while wearing a monkey suit. Are you guys going?"

"I'm still waiting for the right moment to ask Timothy." Brandon drawls, and Timothy snorts.

"Bring me roses, B, or there's no way I'm letting you blow me in the limo."

I shake my head because, apparently, I'm not getting a real answer. "Carla's been bragging about how Chris asked her. If only that'd get her off my back."

'"Guess you missed your chance." Brandon laughs at Timothy as we take our plates of food back out to sit on the patio.

I shiver at the thought of Timothy taking Carla. I picture him in a tux, soft lights and white smiles and flirting in corners.

"I wouldn't touch her if my life depended on it." Timothy shifts into the chair at the head of the table. Even out here, he naturally assumes the control position.

"What about at the pool party?" I ask.

"I let her use my bathroom, then kicked her out."

"Why?" I can't resist asking. "She's a dick to us, but she'd probably wax your motorcycle with her tits if you asked her to."

"Guess she's not my type." He reclines in his seat, pushing sunglasses up his nose. "I don't want her tits anywhere near my shit."

That pronouncement makes me irrationally happy.

My phone buzzes, and I glance at it. "Miss Norma just said the gym is free for rehearsal for anyone who can go! I need to be there."

Timothy cocks his head. "You're grounded. Yo're not leaving."

I wink at him. "Watch me."

I'm grateful we ended up consuming less than half a glass each of champagne earlier as I say goodbye to Avery, then head to the garage and reach for my keys.

They're not there.

I whirl and stalk back to the patio, where Timothy and Brandon are still sitting.

"Where are my keys?"

Timothy clasps his hands behind his head. "Beats me."

I'm halfway down the driveway to catch the Uber I called when I hear footsteps behind me.

"Come back. Your Dad'll be pissed if you leave on my watch." Timothy's voice at my back is one part amused, one part annoyed.

"I need to rehearse."

"You can rehearse in the house." he catches up and cuts me off.

"I'm going. You can't stop me."

"Wanna bet?"

He slings me over his shoulder before I can take another breath.

The ground is a few feet from my face, blood rushing to my head as I try to orient myself. "What the hell! This is medieval. No, these are like...press gang tactics. Put me down! Timothy!!!"

"Once we get to the house."

I grind my teeth together as I bounce on his shoulder. "You're staring at my ass, aren't you?"

"As much as you're staring at mine."

The finger I'm tracing over the stitching on the back pocket of his jeans stills, and Timothy chuckles.

"I was hoping you'd have a comic strip on your thigh. This is a long driveway."

The only sounds for the next dozen steps are his steady breathing and my awkward huffs of breath. When he finally sets me down, we're in the rose garden where I was with Chris last weekend.

"I have to tell you something." he says.

I blink, feeling the blood flow back down my body and out of my head. "Okay.."

Timothy bends to pick something off the flagstone, turning back to me. It's a purple rose, its stem broken but its petals intact.

"I called you nothing that day because I figured if I said it enough, I'd start to believe it."

My throat tightens. "How's that working out for you?"

"Not great." He rubs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in a way that should be stupid but isn't. "Before I came her, Eddie told me to keep my distance to you."

Unbelievable.

I open my mouth, but Timothy continues first.

"He was right, by the way." He steps closer until I'm forced to lift my chin to hold his gaze. "I have no business inserting myself in your life."

I fold my arms over my chest, taking in his contrite expression. "I will be the judge of who inserts themselves in my anything, thank you very much."

His mouth twitches, and he holds up the rose.

A gift has to cost something. Not money but time, emotion.

The flower's not a gift, but it feels like one.

I take the stem from his hand and turn it between my fingers. "When I lived with Aunt Gwen, back before I learned Eddie was my Dad, we had roses in the house at least once a month. Usually red. Her husband bought them for her." My chest squeezes hard at the memory. "I always knew when they were coming because it was the day after they fought. She'd sleep in that morning, spend extra time putting on makeup when she got up."

Timothy's body stiffens as my words sink in. "Did he ever hurt you?"

His voice is so low I nearly miss it.

"He never touched me."

"That's not quite the same."

My lips curve. "No, it's not."

I think of the backhanded comments he muttered when my Aunt wasn't in earshot. How I was useless, didn't belong, didn't deserve to live with them.

I know now the words were directed at my Dad, not at me, but I found ways to cope. Writing words of encouragement on myself, things I could hold on to, was one of those ways.

Timothy looks past me, his jaw working. "Fuck, you must hate roses."

He reaches for the flower, and I hold it away. "Not at all. They're breathtaking and fragile and resilient. For everything in life that sucks, there's something beautiful if you know where to look."

The disbelief on his face has me smiling in earnest.

"Our lives are the stories we tall about them. The stories we sing about them." I go on pointedly. "And our hearts don't belong in cages. We're meant to be fragile. We're born to bleed."

I squeeze his arm before turning to start back toward the driveway.

"Emily..." His voice is a warning.

I pull up, sighing. "I need this musical. You can let me go to rehearsal, or you can help me."

He stares me down, emotions running together behind his dark eyes. Helping me would mean more than just going against my Dad, and we both know it.

"That's what I figured." I say when he doesn't respond.

When I get to my room, I set the rose on my night stand and call to tell Miss Norma I can't come to practice. Through the window, I hear Timothy's voice, Brandon chuckling on the patio.

I drop the phone on my bed and grab my music box off my shelf, the one that plays "It's a Small World." I lift the window frame and chuck the music box into the bushes, where it lands on a graden light with a sickening crunch.

The laughter stops.