He shrugs. “You’re his. You think you can walk away, and he might even let you, for a time. Because he’s a dumbass. But it won’t stick, Peyton. Rike doesn’t know how to be without you.”
I smile, so cold it hurts even me. “He’ll have to fucking figure it out.”
“Peyton?”
Scott tenses, and his gaze darts to Tommy. Back to me, questioning.
“Pey, is he bothering you?” Tommy asks. He sounds cold. Threatening, for the first time since I’ve met him, and Scott straightens slowly.
“Dude, she’s practically family,” he says. As if it were true, and an excuse. It’s neither.
“We’re going to be late,” I say and Tommy’s pushing me forward.
“You’re really just going to leave. Let this random dude into your life, and ignore your family? Is that it?”
“My family?” I bark. “Are you fucking insane? Because keeping shit like who I am isn’t what family does. Fuck you, Scott.”
Tommy pushes me forward, another two steps.
“Lindsay is paralyzed. She won’t ever fucking walk again, Peyton. And she needs her best friend. You don’t want me or Rike—ok. But she needs you.”
I glance back at him, and I know he's telling the truth.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I really am. But I need to figure out who I am and what the hell I'm doing. I can't be strong for someone else if I can't even figure out where I belong."
He gives me a sad smile. "You belong with us, Peyton. You always have."
***
Tommy is quiet the entire way home, after my appointments end. He gets me back to my hotel room, and I curl up on the bed. The doctor had nothing helpful to say, and no clue why I haven't remembered anything. She's ordered new scans of my brain, but what the hell will that do?
I'm so tired I can't even think, and Scott's words are still running in my head, an endless loop that keeps mocking me.
"Why are you walking away from them?" Tommy asks, pulling chocolate milk from my mini fridge and pouring a cup. He’s watching me as he settles into his chair and sips it thoughtfully. Waiting for an answer I don’t have.
I'm quiet for a long time, thinking about it, and he finally stands. "Don't push away people who care about you because they did something out of misguided good intentions. My Luce did that once, a few years after we married. It was right after we found we couldn’t have children. She thought I should find someone who could give me children. Almost destroyed us.” His dark, old eyes find mine, and I can see the sadness there still. “Don't throw away a life you've built because you're scared and can't remember building it. You come from good things and good places, and that guy, he cared about you. Maybe it's okay to think about that. To care about it too."
"They know who I am and they’re not telling me."
"But maybe Rike has a reason for it. Maybe you should listen to his reason." He hesitates. "What do you have to lose, Peyton?"
I think about it for a long time, when he's gone. Until my eyes are drooping closed.
Nothing. I have nothing left to lose.
Chapter 9 : Before
The tattoo shop has become one of her favorite places. Which makes me irrationally happy. She’s becoming a fixture in my life. Her flame red hair brightens my view from the stage on Thursday and most Fridays, and she shows up at Keegan’s unexpectedly—the old bastard even warms up to her when she stops by and chats with him before she drifts to me and snuggles into my side.
But for all that we’re together (for all intents and purposes), she’s keeping part of herself wrapped in secrets and dodges my questions. There’s so much she doesn’t say—questions she dodges and slides away from, a past that she doesn’t want to share with me.
She’s balancing cross-legged on a stool at the bar while Scotty and I finish the setup and I glance at her, her eyes distant as she taps away on that damn computer.
“What is she working on?”
I shrug.
“You don’t know?” Scotty demands, his voice startled.
I give him the flat warning glare that usually manages to shut him up, but he just shakes his head, laughing. “Ask her.”
“Tried that,” I grunt. He huffs, a quiet noise of displeasure, and I nod.
“Are we playing the new song?" He asks.
I hesitate. I don't usually sing. I prefer to be in the background, playing drums while Scott plays rock god. It's where I'm comfortable--I've never wanted to be a rock star. I just want to create shit.
But occasionally, I'll write something that is too personal and he'll insist. I glance at where she's perched at the bar in a gravity-defying contortion as she works on something she won't share.
"Let's play it by ear," I say simply and he grunts in acknowledgement. "Can you finish this?" An eyebrow arches but he nods and I slap him on the back before I jog across the bar to where she's sitting.
I come up behind her, slipping my arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck. I inhale the scent of her and get a quick peek at the computer screen, the words blurring as she closes it quickly and turns in my arm, her lips lifting up and finding mine. I smile against her as her fingers dig into my scalp and she shivers a little as I lick across her lips before pulling back.
“What do monkeys wear when they cook?”
Her eyes brighten and one corner of her lips hooks up into a grin. “I don’t know. What?”
“An ape-ron.” I deadpan and she laughs.
I lean in and steal another kiss, desperate for the taste of her laugh.
Peyton always tastes sweet and light, almost addictive, but when she’s laughing, it’s more than that—it’s like drinking down sunshine, and I can’t resist that. She sighs a little and I swallow my groan as I pull away from her, licking my lips to catch the last bit of her taste.
“Are you staying for the whole set?” I ask huskily.
She shrugs, her shoulders bare and delicate above a little tank top that makes me itch to pull it off of her. “Depends on how adoring your fans get.”
I bite down on the acidic response that wants to rise. I haven’t touched a girl—haven’t even looked at one—since before that first night that I talked to her. It’s been hell to listen to Scott fucking girls at the loft while I sat with my hard-on and fantasies of her lips around me. But I hadn’t touched them and I hadn’t pushed her for the more I knew she’d willingly give. Because there were too many secrets between us still.
“What are you working on?” I ask abruptly and her eye widen. Shutter. Block me out, and even though I expect it, it still fucking hurts.
She sees it and reaches for me. “Jokes.”
I pull back and shake my head. “This won’t work if we refuse to trust each other,” I say and her eyes flare with hurt and denial. I hate seeing that look in her eyes. But I bite back the apology and step back, toward the stage.
I want her to stop me. To explain. She doesn’t, and with a sigh, I return to Scott. Slip behind my drum set and sprawl on the stool. “I need to get fucked,” I grit out.
His eyes widen, and I know what he’s thinking. That it’s a bad idea, that I’ll hate myself for it later, that I’m self-sabotaging.
But he doesn’t say any of those things. He just nods at me and kicks off the set, and I follow him on the drums.
And I know that a pretty girl who looks nothing like Peyton will fall asleep in my bed tonight, after my best friend and I fuck her for hours.
If I know him at all, he’s already picked her.
Chapter 10 : After
I want to drown myself in you,
consume your soul,
until there is no you. no me.