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Restraint is Useless Here

Chapter Thirteen

“Hey guys?” Jimmy’s voice called from the bathroom. “If I didn’t wash my hands after chopping those jalapeños, would that be a reasonable explanation as to why my penis is on fire right now?”

Anna looked up from chopping cilantro to exchange glances with Maria and Val across the oversized kitchen island. They all burst into laughter. Wincing slightly, Anna sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. It had been about 2 weeks since she’d gotten the stitches in her eyebrow and lip, but still felt a sharp tug whenever she smiled—or made any facial expression whatsoever.

“Dinner is in 30 minutes, Reverendo,” Maria shook her head as she finished sprinkling cheese on top of the enchiladas. “And you think now is the best time to play Diablo Dick?”

The toilet flushed and Jimmy walked out, zipping up the fly of his jeans. “I’ll have you know,” he retorted with a finger pointed toward the bathroom. “There was no dick play going on in there. Only dick business. Nature doesn’t wait.”

As he plucked a tortilla chip from the bowl on the granite countertop, he leaned down and rested his chin on Anna’s shoulder. Between crunches he whispered, “Did you hear? We just talked about my penis. She loves me, Annie. She does. I can feel it.”

As Maria bent over to preheat the oven, he fanned himself dramatically when the black-haired beauty’s shirt rode up, exposing her lower back.

“Stop looking at my ass, Jimmy,” Maria scolded, but there was a smile in her voice.

Anna threw a sprig of cilantro at Jimmy’s face before he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He hugged her to his chest—tightly, but gently. She let herself lean into him for a moment and closed her eyes; she was so tired.

Since the incident, Jimmy had treated Anna like a shattered porcelain doll, freshly glued back together. Through the emergency room visit, the stitching up of her skin, and the first couple of nights she spent at Matt and Val’s house, Val had rarely left her side—and neither had Jimmy. Somewhere along the line, he’d become somewhat of a stronghold for her.

The nights were long and restless. Panic often stole her breath right on the brink of sleep. Phantom hands squeezed her neck, and she’d bolt upright, gulping in air and placing two fingers over her carotid to make sure she still had a pulse.

Heart pumping.
Chest rising and falling.
Oxygen perfusing.
She was still here.

Insomnia paired with idleness did nothing to help the anxiety; she needed to busy herself. On one of the longer, more sleepless nights when Jimmy had fallen asleep on the couch, he’d awoken to Anna playing Matt’s PlayStation and, from then on, midnight hangs had become a staple for them. Though midnight gaming quickly transitioned to midnight grocery runs, as Anna much preferred baking and Jimmy was somewhat of a sore loser.

During one of their baking marathons, Jimmy broke down and confessed to the shame spiral he suffered, being that he provided Jack the cocaine that night at Diamond. He shouldered much of the blame for Anna’s assault and promised to never touch the powder again. Of course, she waved off his apologies insistently. Jack’s problem stemmed far deeper than one bender with Jimmy.

Still, that didn’t stop him from bringing her anti-inflammatories every 6 hours as ordered.
And bringing her chocolate malts every day.
And insisting on spoon feeding her since straws were a no-no in the first week.
She refused the spoonfeeds, but definitely wasn’t going to turn down the malts.

He’d even driven her to campus to discuss delaying her final exam. Showing the damage to her face helped plead her case, as did seeing Jimmy’s—her rigid nursing professor was a apparently a rabid metal fan. It only earned her a B-minus, but she’d live to see her final semester in the fall.

“What’s all this?” asked a gravelly voice from the foyer. Matt, Johnny, and Zack walked in with armfuls of grocery bags. “Are you posing for a Good Housekeeping cover? You girls are too good to us.”

“We aren’t finished yet,” said Val, welcoming her boyfriend with a kiss. She took a small bag of avocados from him and handed them to Anna, then began unpacking the other bags Matt held. Nothing made Val’s eyes sparkle quite like organization. “Well, Anna and Maria aren’t finished. The kitchen is not my forte, so I’m just directing traffic. Where’s Brian?”

Anna’s ears perked up at the mention of Brian, but kept her focus on slicing and pitting the avocados. She had only seen him once since the night he’d essentially rescued her, when he dropped off her car after he and Matt picked it up from the Saloon. The experience was awkward—uncomfortable, at best—and he avoided eye contact. And besides that, they hadn’t discussed that night in the alley. Or spoken at all, really.

Brian had suffered a fracture to the pinky finger on his right hand and Anna couldn’t help but feel guilty for the drama she brought to their group. Jimmy and Matt insisted that, as a right-handed guitarist, breaking anything in his right hand was far better than the left, but the pit in her stomach was firmly lodged. She hadn’t even thanked him yet.

For safety’s sake, Anna had abruptly quit her job at Diamond. Her mom felt she was too accessible there and had initially demanded she move back to LA, but Anna didn’t want to leave the friends she’d established.

So Val, in typical mother hen fashion, paid Anna’s next month’s rent up front and offered their guest suite to Anna. Anna declined the idea of a both a restraining order and pressing charges against Jack. His parents had more money than God and they were white and armed with a considerable team of lawyers willing to go to bat for their precious son. A slap on the wrist would be a generous punishment. Plus, the idea of the band’s guitarist being violently involved in the matter was not something anybody wanted to broach.

So they all reached an agreement that Anna would live in the Sanders-Dibenedetto fortress until she graduated in December and moved back to Los Angeles. Something about “safety in numbers” and “lowering Val’s chances of committing homicide.”

“He’s been back and forth between his dad’s and Huntington since the tour ended,” replied Zack as he helped Val unpack the groceries. “Something about helping move stuff? Or somebody renovating? I can’t remember. I’ve basically been asleep the past two weeks. Anyway, he should be here any time now.”

Anna looked up from mixing the guacamole to find Zack watching her. It was a strange, unnerving sort of look. His green eyes were calculating, like he was trying to peek through the fracture lines on her broken doll’s face.

She forced a carefree grin and said, “Happy Cinco de Mayo, Zack. I hope you’re ravenously hungry, because there’s enough to feed one of your sold out venues.”

He gestured to the four large casserole dishes lined with rolls of corn tortillas and a ridiculous, but necessary, amount of cheese. “You made did all this?”

“Well, Maria and Jimmy helped. There’s beef, pork, bean, and chicken,” Anna replied, pointing to each dish as she named them. “Kind of a thank you to Val and Matt. It’s the least I could do for taking me in and letting me stay. And to Maria for making sure my abandoned shifts are covered while I find something out here.”

“That’s pretty rad of you.” The sharpness of his gaze dulled some.

“It’s a thanks to all of you guys, really. You’ve made a shitty time... less shitty.” Her voice wavered a little and she was grateful for the dinging of the preheat timer. Her emotions didn’t typically run high and low, but the outpouring of love from Matt and Val vice gripped her heart. She picked up a dish and piled them all into the double oven, quickly wiping a tear and letting the clang of glass on metal drown out a sniffle.

“Hey, you’re one of Val’s, so you’re one of ours,” Johnny remarked warmly—a rare break from his constant sarcasm—before unsheathing a bottle of 1800. “In the meantime, let’s get a nice buzz going before we ruin it with food, yeah? No offense, Anna.”

“None taken, as long as you pour mine first. I’m parched.”

“1800? We may as well drink piss water,” scoffed a voice from the foyer. “Did you not get your allowance this week?”

Brian leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. When the hell did he get here? Anna hadn’t heard the door. Was he some sort of ninja? He definitely had a knack for just sort of... appearing places.

And there he was. All slicked black hair and black jeans and black boots.

He was Danny fucking Zuko—swapping the chin dimple for the most beautiful hands she’d ever seen—and the present day doppelgänger of her preteen sexual awakening. If she could morph herself into Bad Sandy right then and there, she would’ve done it—red fuck-me pumps and all.

And he wore a black v-neck. For god’s sake.

Reaching into his bag, Brian pulled out a bottle shaped like a sun, filled with amber liquid and placed it on the island with the flourish of a game show model—pinky splint notwithstanding.

Bumping his friend’s fist excitedly, Jimmy beamed. “Hell yes! That’s like a $500 bottle. Where’d you snag the good shit?”

“Stole it from my dad.” A toothy grin punctuated his pride.

“You raided your dad’s liquor cabinet, but you’re on my ass about an allowance?” Johnny spread his arms wide in offense before launching a handful of shredded cheese at Brian’s face, only to scatter most of it on the ceramic floor.

Val immediately darted out of their pantry and jumped between them, wielding her label maker like a sword. ”NOPE. All wrong. Johnny, clean this up now. Brian, quit antagonizing. You are not destroying my kitchen or all of Anna’s amazing work.” She pointed to the closet and Johnny sulkily fetched the broom and dustpan.

Jimmy took the sun bottle from Brian, collected more margarita glasses than was probably safe at one time, and meandered toward the wet bar in the great room. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be making magic.”

Ni pensarlo,” Maria chided as she shuffled after him. “What do you even know about mixing? This is my people’s day and there’s no way you’re messing it up!”

The bickering—and the clinking of glass as Maria tried to snatch the alcohol from Jimmy—echoed throughout the large great room even after they were out of sight.

After picking a stray piece of cheddar jack off his shirt and popping it into his mouth, Brian‘s eyes scanned the massive spread—enchiladas in the oven, rice on the stove, fresh guacamole, salsa, and pico de gallo arranged on a serving tray before resting on Anna. “You did all this by yourself, Sinclair?”

Maria‘s voice carried in from around the corner. “I hear those assumptions flying through your brain!”

Brian held up his hands and chuckled. “Hey, it just looks authentic is all.” His eyes flitted from her mouth to her eyebrow to her neck before he shook his head at Matt and Val. “Shame on you lazy asses for putting this poor girl to work.”

“Hey, this is entirely self-motivated,” Anna defended. “You guys have done so much for me in the last month. So much more than you should’ve.” A pointed look at Brian. “The least I can do is fatten you up a bit after eating shitty tour food for over a year.”

“And you’re sure this’ll be better than our shitty tour food? I’m a pretty harsh judge. I hope you’re up for the challenge.” He did a piss poor job of hiding his smile as he echoed the words she’d said to him right before the concert.

This magnificent bastard. Anna recalled how completely self-assured he was right before he justified that confidence. Musical chops, he had. But the kitchen was her domain. Tonight, he’d succumb to death by churro.

She flipped her curls over her shoulder as she said, “Nothing but raw, masterful talent here, sweetheart.”

————— “Oh God,” groaned Johnny, rubbing his bare and protruding stomach. “I’m never moving again. You’ll have to pry me off this couch with a shovel and dump me into a wheelbarrow if you want me out.”

“I can actually feel the cheese solidifying in my arteries,” muttered Jimmy from the floor, his legs propped onto the ottoman. He had bits of cinnamon sugar speckled around his labret piercing. ”But goddamn, what a way to go.”

After dinner, the lazy bodies had slowly migrated into the great room from the dining room, dropping onto the nearest soft surface; the carnage on some kind of culinary battlefield. Anna couldn’t help the pride swelling in her chest. She milked it some more, reclining on the sofa next to Maria. “So it sucked, then?”

Maria gave her a half-hearted slap to the arm and stage-whispered, “Quit fishing.”

Grunts of affirmation sounded from around the room. Zack gave a nod of approval at her from the sectional where he was sprawled next to a snuggled up Matt and Val.

“You did good, Sinclair.” Brian laid back in the armchair, one leg slung over the arm. Her heart skipped a beat as he lolled his head sideways toward her, eyelids low, and smiled sleepily. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

“I had a lot of solo time as a teenager,” Anna replied. “Before my parents got divorced, my dad cooked for us all the time. Like, full three-course meals. So many of my favorite memories are in the kitchen with my dad. He bought us matching aprons and he’d always let me help—cracking an egg, using the mixer, flipping the pancakes.”

“Mmm,” Val chimed in. “Pop Sinclair’s strawberry-covered chocolate chip pancakes were divine.”

Anna smiled sadly to herself, allowing a second to mourn her comfortable childhood. She waved a hand to clear her clouded thoughts before saying, “Anyway, my mom had all these cookbooks packed away in her closet. I guess she had every intention to learn, just no time to do it. Lots of divorces in Southern California. Ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches got pretty old after awhile, so I pulled out the books and took matters into my own hands.”

“Well, you did a hell of a job. You’ve spoiled the hell out of us the last couple weeks. I mean, the muffins and cookies every morning are one thing. But this entire meals thing...” Matt dropped his head onto Val’s shoulder, patting a hand onto his stomach. “Shit. Can you do that like, everyday?”

“THAT’S IT!” Val jumped to her feet, nearly knocking Matt’s glass out of his hand. “Oh my God, that’s it.”

“What’s ‘it?’” asked Anna.

“Hear me out,” Val began, palms out and eyes shining. Anna knew this look. Val wasn’t so much looking at Anna as looking through her, to whatever grand plan materializing in her mind’s eye. “You are out of work right now. You feel the need to repay us, for some reason. You love to cook. We love that you love to cook. We need to eat. Do you see where this is going?”

“You... want me to be your chef?”

“Just until you graduate. Just until you get on your feet again.” Val plopped next to her on the couch and grasped her hand, smiling that 1940s movie star smile of hers. “Pleeeease, Anna. There are absolutely zero negatives to this situation. Think of it as earning your keep, since you’re so adamant about doing so.” She said this like Anna was ridiculous for not taking a handout. “And, when school resumes, you’ll have all the time in the world to study.”

Anna considered this. It wasn’t a bad plan. She did hate feeling like a freeloader and she was already cooking and baking at completely asinine hours anyway.

Val’s head cocked sideways. “You’d better just be deep in thought about all the recipes you’ll be slinging, Anna Sinclair, because I swear to God, I refuse to try and live up to whatever the hell you just did in that kitchen.“

“Oh, Jesus. Please, don’t make her try,” Matt groaned. “We’ll starve.”

“Good grief, you guys lay it on thick.” Anna failed at hiding her grin. Throwing up her arms, she conceded. “Fine. I’m in.”

Val clapped her hands excitedly before pulling Anna in for a hug.

“We’re gonna get sooo fat, dude,” Jimmy muttered from the floor, eyes closed and wrapped his arms around Maria’s legs like a security blanket. Her friend shook her head, but didn’t move him.

“Don’t assume she wants to cook for all of us, jackass,” Zack said.

“Pipe down, Z. You act like we hang out with anyone else, ever,” Jimmy shot back.

Zack opened his mouth to speak, but then shrugged a shoulder. Apparently, Jimmy had a point.

Amidst their noisy banter, Brian let out a soft snore. He had nodded off in the armchair, his injured hand hanging an inch or so off the ground. His face was the epitome of peaceful. Jealousy niggled at Anna that he could sleep so easily.

“What if we did like, a weekly menu schedule? Oh, that would be fun. I could format something on my laptop tomorrow and laminate it and pick up some dry erase markers and—“ Anna placed her hand over Val’s mouth.

“Stop. Your eyes are about to pop out of your face.”

Val walked into the kitchen, retrieving a small rectangular notepad. “We’ll keep a grocery list on the fridge. Just write down whatever ingredients or materials you need and we’ll make it happen, okay?”

Johnny hopped up and began walking toward the fridge. Grabbing a pen, he read the words aloud he as he scribbled, “French... maid... outfit.”

_________
Like clockwork, Anna bolted upright and clawed at her neck. As usual, she came up empty-handed.

Bone tired didn’t begin to describe her fatigue. She had reached every waking moment is physical torture exhausted. Something had to give.

The numbers on her Blackberry read 2:37am—she had to get a new phone and new number after Jack had kicked hers into a puddle—and she figured the insomnia muffins wouldn’t bake themselves. Jimmy had gone home—he had a family vacation planned for that week—so she’d be baking solo. She found herself a little saddened by this, because she had a new recipe and needed a taste tester. Matt had purchased raspberries and white chocolate chips on his latest grocery run, so she actually found herself marginally excited to be awake.

Marginally.

Shrugging into her oversized cable-knit cardigan, she shuffled her way toward the kitchen. Just then, a muffled, twangy sort of tune filled her ears. Good grief, she was hallucinating now. As she neared the floor-to-ceiling windows of the great room, the music grew louder, clearer.

There, on the patio, was the silhouette of a figure with a guitar—Brian. Why was he there so late?

Her head ached with the dull beginning of a hangover headache, so she pulled a couple pink bottles out of the pantry, poured them over ice, and made her way outside.

She was slow to approach so as to not startle him. He sat reclined in a lounge chair, having swapped out the T-Birds getup for a white t-shirt and red flannel pajama pants. It was a sweet sort of altered reality. “Hey.”

The music stopped abruptly as Brian’s set his hand on the guitar body—an acoustic—making a hollow thump. A small grin graced as he took in her presence. “Hey, yourself.”

“I come bearing sustenance.” Anna extended a glass of the red liquid to Brian, which he brought to his nose and sniffed. She rolled her eyes with a laugh. “It’s not poison; it’s Pedialyte. Strawberry-flavored, even. It’s typically for little kids, but if we drink it, we won’t be so dehydrated in the morning. Better source of electrolytes than Gatorade.”

“God, that’s so nurse of you.” He took a sip and scrunched up his nose. “Holy shit, this tastes like diabetes.”

“Beneficial and delicious.” She clinked her glass to his before drinking. “It’ll wake up your pancreas.”

Brian gestured to the lounge chair behind her. “I do love an audience.”

She plopped down and reclined, looking at the moon as it illuminated Matt’s and Val’s picturesque terrace. Smooth paver stones extended from the French doors of the house and outlined a below-ground swimming pool, heated, and shaped like a kidney bean. A brick wet bar was located on one side while a fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs flanked the other side of the pool. And fairy lights twinkled from the lattice of the pergola above them. Anna couldn’t help but wonder how costly their electric bill must be.

She sunk into her sweater as Brian’s jazzy, pleasant melody resumed. The leaves of the palm trees rustled above them and, as she closed her eyes, she pretended it was autumn. Fiery reds and orange painting towering maples ablaze, a stark contrast to the crisp, chilled air. Not that Southern California leaves had much to offer as far as fall foliage or crisp breezes went, but a girl could dream.

She sighed. “I wish it was fall. But not a Huntington Beach fall. I want a New England fall.”

He finished his glass of Pedialyte and gave her a look. “New England fall is cold.”

“I wouldn’t know. But I’d like to. It’s on my bucket list. I’ve only ever seen the leaves changing colors in pictures or postcards.”

“Everything is all crusty and brown and damp. Things are just all...dying.”

“Maybe so,” Anna said. “But there’s always the hope of spring. Even though everything is ugly and withered for a while, it’s only temporary. Come spring, everything blooms again.”

After a few moments of amiable silence, he resumed playing. It was remarkable to watch, really. He was so precise as his fingers danced across the guitar neck—a spider weaving the most intricate designs—and yet, he hardly looked to be trying at all. He probably could’ve played just as beautifully in the dead of sleep. Greedily, she let herself watch and listen for a moment before softly saying, “This is nice. What you’re playing, I mean.”

“Just ‘nice?’”

“You’re insufferable,” Anna gave him the side-eye along with a chuckle. Even at 3am, the man had snark. “As if you need me to tell you you’re talented.”

“Still nice to hear it.” A tiny smile crossed his face as the melody shifted into something softer, less complicated—inviting conversation.

“Just ‘nice?’” she mimicked, deepening her voice.

His mouth formed an O. “Oh shit, Sinclair’s got jokes tonight!” Anna shielded herself as Brian dipped his hand in the pool water and flicked droplets at her. The wrapping of his splint darkened from the water and he muttered a curse.

“No big deal,” he said dismissively. “I’ll just change the wrapping when I get back to my room.” Does he plan on going home tonight?

Anna frowned. The splint was a brutal reminder of that night and the fact that she couldn’t ignore it forever. “Does it bother you much?”

“Nah, not really,” he said quietly. He set his guitar to the side, balancing it against the arm of the lounge chair. “I have to overcompensate with my other fingers when I play, but it’s not too bad. If anything, it makes everything I do feel posh.” He imitated the act of twisting an imaginary mustache, pinky extended. “A proper fucking gentleman.”

Anna laughed hard; a belly laugh. It felt so good to laugh like that.

He swung his legs over the side of the chair, elbows on knees, as he laced his fingers together. They held each others gaze for several moments, playing conversational chicken, before he asked, “How have you been hold—“

At the exact moment she blurted, “I never thanked you for—” and they both chuckled sheepishly. She knew she didn’t need to finish her statement, but she did anyway. “Thank you, Brian.”

“I did what anyone would’ve done.“ He blew out his cheeks and brought his arms across his chest. “I’m just sorry you had to see it.”

“Sorry?” she echoed, incredulous. “Why would you be sorry? You saved... quite literally, you saved my life.”

“I lost it for a moment. Blacked out. I didn’t think I’d be able to stop.” Brian looked out over the still surface of the pool, the moonlight illuminating his pained expression. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me or think I’m some violence-hungry maniac.”

“I’m not. How could I be afraid of you? You came for me. How did you even...” She couldn’t find the words for such a loaded question. “It doesn’t even matter. You found me.”

His voice was barely above a whisper as he said, “That wasn’t even the first time, was it?”

“No.” She knew he’d seen her bruises. Still, she appreciated that he wasn’t presumptuous.

Brian took a steadying breath and smoothed his palm over his hair. Gone were the spikes from the first night they’d met. Most of the product had rubbed off when he slept, she assumed, because his formerly slicked back hair was surprisingly floppy. She thought she noticed a slight wave to it as it fell down over one eye, which did painful things to her chest.

“Why?” he asked.

Why? There were too many possible answers.

“I guess I just... lost myself in him. I know, I know. Every battered girlfriend says this, but Jack wasn’t like that in the beginning. He was loving. Considerate. Caring. He had these weird little moments of paranoia or jealousy, but idiot me just thought it was cute. Like it meant he really loved me.” She fingered a stray loophole of her sweater, which had doubled in size since she’d put it on. “He’s always been intense, but I never thought he’d actually hurt me. Med school put so much stress on him. It ate away at him while I just watched it happen. And nothing ever helped. He started with all these irrational demands—he didn’t want me to work or go to school or talk to anyone. It’s like he wanted me to exist only for him. All my wants became secondary to his.” The words sounded so ridiculous, so obvious as she spoke them. “I loved him. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I didn’t know how to help him. He just became... I don’t know. Rotten, somehow. And the cocaine.” The word tasted bitter on her tongue. Pounding a fist on the arm of the chair, she cursed, “Goddamnit, how did I not know? Could I have stopped it? Would he even have listened?”

Somewhere nearby, crickets chirped. The wind stirred the trees once again and she began to shiver, though she suspected the chilly air had nothing to do with it. In the chair across from hers, Brian watched her, his brown eyes patient and understanding as she unraveled.

“I used to be more, you know.”

“More?” He asked.

“More. More everything. I loved my life and I loved my friends. I actually had friends. I loved to go dancing and do karaoke, even though I’m horrible at it. I loved video games—The Legend of Zelda series is my favorite.” Anna loosed a harsh laugh. “Jack hated them. What kind of guy hates videos games, right? Said only losers who live in their parents’ basements play video games. He could’ve at least come up with a more original reason. “Anyway, now I’m just this... shell. Of what I was before him. He whittled away at my core and scraped out everything that made me me. There’s this hollow now.” She gestured to her chest. “I can’t even fall asleep because I’m afraid I’ll stop breathing—I can still feel his hands...” She felt her eyes blur and sting. She paused to compose herself, but her voice still cracked. “I’m weak. I’m so fucking weak and I hate it.”

The tears flowed easily down her cheeks now, darkening the pavement where they fell. She staunched them with the heels of her palms, aware that she was a complete mess. In the smallest voice, she said, “Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize myself. I don’t even see myself.”

“I do.” His voice was so gentle, so inviting. So intimate that she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes as he spoke.

“Hey,” he said, firmer now. A rustle of fabric and suddenly he was kneeling in front of her, his warm hands encircling her wrists and pulling them away from her face. The majority of her leftover mascara stained her palms and she probably looked like a corpse, but it didn’t seem to affect him. His calloused fingers were so tender on her chin as he lifted it, his eyes clinging to hers. “I see you.”

Their noses were inches apart. The scent of cigarettes and soap and a hint of strawberry as he exhaled went straight to her head, dizzying her senses. She could get high off this.

Moving his fingers up, he cupped her cheek with the length of his hand and thumbed away an errant tear. She leaned into his palm, pressing her cheek into it. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched so lovingly and it felt like paradise.

How? Despite the weight of everything, how did he make her feel so light? Peering up from beneath her wet lashes, she let herself fall into those impossibly sweet eyes. Brian’s gaze dropped to her mouth, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.

In that moment, the whole world slept except Brian, Anna, and the moon.
And in that moment, Anna thought she might die if she didn’t kiss him.

But then Brian dropped his gaze with a near imperceptible head shake. He sat back onto his heels—but hooked his finger through hers, letting their hands hang lax between them. She felt him squeeze once, then quickly two more times before letting go.

She mourned that the charged moment between them had passed, but she didn’t blame him. Not really. The situation was heavy enough.

”Oh, shit. I meant to show you,” he said, perking up. He grabbed his guitar and gestured for her to scoot over. She curled up against the back of the chaise as he sat down next to her, not pulling her legs away when they rested against his. They were past that point tonight. “So, the other night at Johnny’s, I felt inspired.” His face was bright with amusement as he tuned his guitar. Winking, he added, “You know, after I lost my name to Jimmy.”

As he began playing, the familiar melody was on the tip of her tongue, but she’d hadn’t heard it in so long.

She squinted in concentration as she asked, “Is this...?”

“You are,” he sang softly. “My fire.”

“WHAT.” A gun to her head couldn’t have hidden her smile.

“The one.”

“BRIAN.”

“Desire.”

“Oh my God, you ridiculous person.” she said between laughs, but she would never ask him to stop.

Oh, how she loved listening to him sing. And sing he did. His voice soared and dipped in perfect pitch to the anthem of her teenage heartthrobs. Song after song, he serenaded her in this private concert, silhouetted by the moon, until her eyelids grew heavy and she couldn’t hold them open any longer.

His rich tenor was the last thing she heard before her dreams took hold.

________
Brian sat statue still for about 30 minutes in fear of waking Anna. Well, that, and she’d drowsily straightened her legs across his lap, effectively seatbelting him to their shared chair.

On one hand, he felt proud that he appeared to be an integral factor in her falling into such a deep sleep. On the other, he was pretty damn tired himself.

Loving someone to his own detriment had never been a problem, so he couldn’t quite grasp the concept. The musician lifestyle catered to his testosterone-driven wants: drugs, sex, money, alcohol, and sex.
And sex.
And sex.
It had only ever been about Brian.

But the dreams...

He hadn’t wanted to crane the spotlight toward himself, as Anna clearly had some shit to get off her chest, but he understood insomnia. Brian had never purposely considered how many ways a man could be killed, but his subconscious had an arsenal. It disturbed him how graphic his dreams were, but it also disturbed him that he enjoyed it.

Jack was over now, though.

The thought of kissing her, however? Far from over. Nothing sounded more enticing to him than leaning into her, nipping her bottom lip gently between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth.

Itwouldn’t have stopped there, though, he knew. And that wasn’t fair. Despite the hunger that blazed in her tired eyes when they shared the same space and the same breath, she didn’t need him to fuck her.
She needed a friend.
She needed a safe place.

He squeezed her finger three times—one for each syllable in I’m sorry and for each syllable in I want you —before doing the honorable thing and breaking contact.

For the next couple of months, he had to keep himself in line. He could not fuck Val over like that, either. She and Matt, they were too good to him.

The early morning air was probably in the upper 50s and her once smooth legs had erupted with goosebumps while she slept, despite being warm atop his. That gargantuan—and hideous —sweater was worthless for her bare legs and the skimpy pajama shorts she wore pretty much cancelled it out altogether. Silly, beautiful girl, he thought.

Her chest rose and fell with gentle, steady breaths and there wasn’t a single sign of panic in the time she’d been asleep. It was probably safe to get up.

Through the large windows of the great room, he’d spied the chenille blanket draped over the armchair and slowly contorted his way out from under her legs to retrieve it for her.

The patio door creaked as he opened it, but Anna didn’t stir. Through the moonlit room, Brian snuck over to the chair and snatched the blanket just as a shriek sounded from the foyer, followed by a smack and a plastic tumbler rolling into sight.

He flipped on the light to find Val sprawled on the tile floor near the bottom of the staircase. He pulled her to her feet and whispered, “Jesus, Val. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just needed a glass of water and...” Adjusting her glasses back onto her bewildered face, Val gestured to the many suitcases, guitar cases, and duffle bags scattered haphazardly around them. “What the hell is all this?”

“My stuff.” He’d left everything in the foyer to avoid waking anyone.

She turned to him, not seeming to process this answer. “Why is all your stuff in my foyer at 4am?”

He chuckled awkwardly until he realized she was serious. It was his turn for bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

She cocked her head, the gesture exclaiming, precisely what I just asked, you idiot.

“Matt said he would mention it to you back when we were on tour. I cleared this with him a month ago!”

“Cleared what with him, exactly? This is the first time I’m hearing about anything that needed clearing, Bri.” She was whisper-shouting now.

“I’m renovating,” he replied, a bit of anxiety stirring in him at presenting unexpected information to his friend who very much loathed the unexpected. “That’s why I’ve been gone. I’ve been carting all my shit to my dad’s house. My entire first floor is a demolition area. I’m, uh... I’m living with you guys for the next 6 weeks.”

Notes

FORCED PROXIMITY IS THE BEST TROPE AND I’LL HEAR NOTHING TO THE CONTRARY.

Also, I’m curious to know how you guys feel about super long chapter. This one is over 6000 words when a standard novel usually ranges between 2500-4000. That’s why it takes me so freaking long to crank out a chapter. (Well, that and kids.)

Would shorter chapters be better?

A thousand XOXOs to you guys for reading. If you’re the type who looks to music for inspo, the major influence on the Brian/Anna heart to heart is “Talk to Me” by Cavetown. Such a sweet song and an important message about mental health.

(I’ve been told I’m long winded.)



Comments

Thanks to me re-reading one of my favs, I will now be dreaming of Gates slowly pulling olives off toothpicks with his teeth. Why oh why is that so sexy?! #thoselips #chapter8

@violetshade
gahhh you’re the sweetest ever. I need this pandemic to GTFOH so my kids and husband let me write. :(

@AvengedRomance
Just my usual drop in to say I love this story! I'm so desperate for an update that I might have to re-read this whole thing, lol!

violetvictoria violetvictoria
4/28/20

@AvengedRomance
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees.

Misery Misery
3/26/20

@violetshade
YO. I live to serve and to set impossible sexually frustrating standards for the fornication of fictitious (kinda?) characters. you’re a gem and oh my god I hope it’ll live up to the hype that I’ve been building for FUCKING EVER. I make no promises <3

@kimmie THANK YOU. I bow to you for reading even after all this time and my ridiculous inconsistency in posting! <3

AvengedRomance AvengedRomance
2/20/20