Chapter Two
Levi
I scan the faces in the crowd, but don’t see the one I’m looking for. Dozens of half-drunk girls are swaying along to the music we play, singing every note. There was a time when seeing their lustful eyes, watching me play, was the biggest high ever. And it is, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that things might have changed.
Playing with Crush is fun, but it’s not what I live for anymore. It’s a way to unwind after a long-ass workweek. If I’m not on the rig, working as an EMT for Jupiter Bay Hospital, then I’m at the station as a volunteer firefighter. Both are an adrenaline rush that I crave. Just like playing in the band has been.
But now things are different. I’m getting older, and hopefully wiser. Yes, I know I’m only twenty-five, but back when we started six years ago, it was all about the music, booze, and girls. And there were plenty to go around, believe me. Now, it’s still the music, but it doesn’t own my heart the way it used to. There’s still plenty of the other two. Most places we play give us free drinks, and most women we meet are ready for a little one-on-one time with someone in the band. Oh, and I used to take full advantage of it, all that I could. Girls were practically handing it out like cocktail napkins at a party. But lately, I’m just not looking for a quick hookup. Does that make sense?
I guess I’m just getting tired of all this bullshit.
My band mates say I should be having the time of my life, living up the fame that comes with being a small town, local musician. Oh, and I do, believe me. I get passed more phone numbers than a phonebook everywhere I go. Blonds, brunettes, redheads of all shapes and sizes. Thongs, double D’s, black mascara, and stilettos. I have my pick of the party everywhere we play, but lately, they’re just not doing it for me.
We’re getting closer to a break, and damn, could I use one. I need some water to rehydrate, and I wouldn’t mind finding Abby. I haven’t seen her since the sun set and we started to play. She was out on the poorly lit Frisbee golf course with her sisters, enjoying another night with the girls. It kinda makes me jealous that they’re so close, especially because my only sibling is a brother who doesn’t live around here anymore. He’s super smart, went off to college, and now lives in New York, raking in the dough for a finance firm.
Much smarter than me, that’s for sure. He’s all straight-laced and proper, and I’m all tattoos, piercings, and rock music. Sure, I went to the community college and worked hard to be an EMT. Those classes were fucking brutal for someone who hated school, especially when you mix in volunteering for the local fire department AND playing in a band. But I made it through.
Some nights, I wasn’t sure how. I’d call Abs who was away at State. Sometimes when my mind gets going in fourteen different fucking directions, I need to hear her voice. It grounds me, soothes the turmoil brewing in my head. That’s why, after almost fifteen years of friendship, she remains the only constant in my life. Well, besides my job and my parents. Abby is the one person who knows me, inside and out, and doesn’t give a shit that I sometimes transpose letters when reading or that I can’t balance my checkbook to save my life. She doesn’t care about my status in the band or how great my ass looks in my uniform pants. (Don’t judge–I hear it all the time.) She’s one of the only girls to know I cook and bake better than Martha fucking Stewart and that I make my own laundry soap.
I know you’re wondering, so I’ll tell you. The whole laundry soap thing happened after Abby talked about having sensitive skin and how difficult it was to find a laundry soap that didn’t make her break out. Do you know the kinda shit they have on Pinterest? Well, I found this recipe for this do-it-yourself laundry soap. Long story short, it worked so well for her–and smelled so fucking clean–that I use it myself to this day.
She’s my rock, my constant, my best friend, if it’s okay for dudes to say they have one. But she is, dammit, and I can’t imagine my life without her.
And she’s out there somewhere in the night, I can feel it.
When we finish our set, I put down my guitar and jump off the hay wagon we’re using as our beachside stage. We’ve played many shows atop this wooden beast over the years, that’s for sure. As soon as I head towards the cooler and start digging for a bottle of water, I feel long, slender fingers slide up my back and wrap around my shoulder. I don’t know who it is, but I can tell you who it isn’t. Abby would never touch me like this, even though part of me wouldn’t mind that one fuckin’ bit. Just the thought of her fingers –
No. I will not go there.
“Hey, handsome,” the owner of the hand purrs in my ear. Her body is now pressed against my back, ample tits smashed against me. I can feel nipples through the material of my shirt, which doesn’t bother me much, since I am a red-blooded, heterosexual male.
Turning around, I come face to face with the owner of the hand. Ahh, yes. I’ve had those hands on me before. “Crystal,” I croon in a deep voice. “Lovely to see you this evening.”
Her hand slides from my shoulder, down my chest, and lands on my abs. Apparently, she doesn’t care that I’m a bit sweaty from playing. Instead, it seems to only wind her clock that much more. “I’d let you see a lot more of me later tonight,” she replies with a coy smile.
I bet she would.
“Ahh, thanks for the offer, darlin’. I’ll see how my night goes and get back to ya,” I answer without committing. She keeps her hand on me, running a single finger down towards the button of my pants.
“We had such a great time before,” she coos while biting her lower lip.
“That we did,” I respond, even though nothing really stood out from our night together. Unfortunately, those kinda nights were more frequent than not. Booze and music would take hold and leave me a little on the wasted side by the end of the gig. Those were the nights where the girls all blended together into one big wild, drunken night. Well, probably about two years’ worth of nights. Fine, call it three.
“We could have some fun again,” she says, her finger dipping into the top of my pants.
A year ago, my dick would have already been hard and ready to play. Tonight? I just want to grab some water and head over to find my friend. How pathetic am I?
“Ahhh, maybe later, sweetheart. I gotta run and catch a friend,” I tell her with a wink. She practically orgasms from that one little action. I’ve learned to perfect the wink since I was a horny teenager. My band mates call it The Panty Dropper. Yeah, we’re dicks. What can I say?
“Levi,” she whines, pouting to the extreme. Crystal actually sticks out her bottom lip, silently pleading for me to take her behind the hay wagon and give it to her right now. Ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.
“Yeah, maybe later,” I say, taking a step back and dislodging her finger from my pants. I take one, then two steps backwards before turning towards the beach. “See ya later,” I throw over my shoulder as I step into the crowd and start looking for my girl.
No.
Not my girl.
My friend.
My Abby.
Abby. Just Abby.
Even after I stop and say hey to a few guys I know and get chest-crushing hugs from the chicks, I make my way towards the edge of the beach. It doesn’t take me long to find her sisters there, laughing and carrying on like a bunch of banshees. Ryan and Dean are right there, watching over the girls with a hawk’s eye. It still feels weird not to see Josh there, Meghan’s fiancé. I also realize real quickly that I don’t see Abby.
“Hey, guys. Having a good night?” I ask my friend’s sisters; women I’ve known for fifteen years.
“Levi!” Lexi hollers, barely taking her beer bottle away from her lips.
“You guys sound great tonight,” Ryan says as he throws a protective arm around Jaime’s shoulder.
“Thanks.” I take a long gulp of water, practically finishing off the bottle. “Who won?” Oh, if that ain’t a loaded question, I don’t know what is!
“AJ, the cheater,” Payton grumbles, swaying into Dean’s arms.
“Whatever, harlot! I won fair and square,” AJ defends.
“If you call shaving strokes off the holes as fair and square, duckface, then I guess you did.”
“Did you just call her duckface, Payton?” Meghan asks with a smile and glassy eyes.
“I’m working on my cursing around little ears. I got upset and called someone fuckface once and Bri was there to hear. She repeated it like a friggin’ parrot for a week,” Payton explains.
“Oops!” Meghan giggles.
“Yeah, it was all fun and games until I got a call at work from her sitter,” Dean adds.
“I made that up to you,” Payton coos, not-so-subtly moving in front of him and rubbing her ass on his crotch.
“Yes, you did,” Dean concedes with a laugh.
“Hey, where’s Abby?” I ask casually. Or at least I hope it’s casual.
“Oh, she went for a walk,” AJ tells me.
“She’s been funky lately, Levi. Did you piss her off?” Leave it to Lexi to not sugar coat something.
“Not that I’m aware of,” I say with a smile. “I’ll go look for her.”
Throwing goodbyes over my shoulder with a quick wave, I head off toward the darkened beach, away from the lights and the people and the noise. I walk about a hundred yards, scanning the tall grass around the golf course for any sign of her. There’s a few couples every now and then making out and a group of guys bullshitting, but I don’t see my–
Abby.
Another fifty yards or so and the beach is vacant. The crowd is a distant hum, drowned out by the waves crashing on the sandy shores of the beach. The salty air tickles my nose, the almost-full moon casting a glow off the Bay.
That’s when I spot her.
She’s standing along the water, small waves crashing over her bare feet. Plain black sandals dangle from her fingers. Her arms are wrapped around her chest in a protective manner or to help keep herself warm. Moonlight bleeds from her hair, shiny and sleek, as she gazes out at the vast mass of water.
She looks beautiful.
Abby’s always been gorgeous in that simple, girl next door kinda way. She wears minimal makeup and no-thrills, non-revealing clothes. She’s modest and shy and sweet in a way that most women could only dream about. Her heart is worn squarely on her sleeve, and she’d do just about anything for anyone. She’s honestly the best person I know, and I’ve always wondered how I got so lucky.
That’s why I can’t fuck this up.
“Hey,” I say, joining her along the water’s edge.
Abby jumps a bit, so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear me approach. “Oh, hey.”
“Watcha doing down here by yourself?” I ask, not caring that water is soaking my boots.
Instead of answering, she returns her gaze to the water and shrugs her shoulders. I look out at the rolling waves, wondering what’s got her so forlorn. She hasn’t even said anything, but I can feel it. Years of gauging and learning her moods, her smiles, her tears, has me pretty much an Abby expert. Other women? Fuck no. But this woman? I’d like to think I know her as well as she knows me.
“Everything okay?” I ask, taking a step closer to her without moving my eyes from the Bay.
“Yeah,” she responds, a little too chipper. “Meghan came tonight, and it was so great to see her smiling real smiles again.”
“It’s gonna take some time,” I tell her. No, I don’t have a clue firsthand what I’m talking about, but I’ve seen enough death in my line of work to know that it takes time until you’re feeling a bit more human again.
“I know. She’s doing well, though, I think.”
“She is. She’s strong and she has the support of you guys,” I remind her. Abby’s answer is a small smile.
Finally, after three long minutes, she glances over at me. Her green eyes are so bright, even in the dark. The moonlight is reflecting off them so vividly, it’s like the moon casts shadows in her eyes every night. The breeze catches her hair and flings long, dark strands into her face. Without even thinking, I react. Grabbing hold of a cluster, I gently move it away from her eyes. In doing so, my pinky finger grazes across the apple of her cheek.
I hear her gasp upon impact. My finger tingles where it touched her smooth, pale skin, a sensation that is new to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve touched Abby a lot in the fifteen years we’ve been friends, but never in a sexual way. Never. She’s my friend.
But that slightest touch? Like a few others over recent months, it causes my heart to actually palpitate and crazy lightning bolts of lust to shoot through my body, making it hyperaware of her proximity. The scent of something fruity (probably that lotion she likes from the bath store uptown) wraps around me, choking me with a mixture of familiarity and newness. Her hair, blowing in the breeze, tickles my arm, making me want to wrap it around her body and pull her into my embrace and push her and these unwanted feelings away, all at the same time.
Friends.
Clearing my throat, I take a step sideways, out of the line of fire for her hair and her scent. “Are you gonna come listen to us play? Your sisters are all up there,” I ask, glancing down at my watch and noticing our fifteen-minute break is almost up.
She hesitates, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Something’s going on with her, and I hate that she won’t talk to me about it. “Listen, Abs, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? I can tell something’s going on. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.” My heart practically jumps out of my chest, my hands twitch to touch her hair again, so I shove them in my pants pockets instead and roll back on the heels of my boots.
Glancing at me, her emerald eyes speak of confliction and hope. What the hell is going on with her?
“Yeah,” she finally whispers. “I know.”
“Good.” Taking one hand out of a pocket, I extend it towards her. “Come on. I’ve gotta get back on stage, and your favorite song is in this set.”
Her smile is warm and genuine, and I can’t help my own that spreads across my face in that moment. Abby reaches for my hand, hers feeling warm and acquainted as I wrap my fingers around hers, and we step out of the surf. The water is gone as we reach drier land and continue to head towards the beach party, but I don’t let go.
And neither does she.
“You catchin’ a ride from someone tonight?” I ask.
“Ryan or Dean will give us all rides home. I rode with Jaime so my car wouldn’t be stuck here all night,” she says, her warm voice matching the warmth of her hand.
“You could stay ‘til the end and ride home with me,” I offer casually, though my heart is beating anything but a casual pace.
“Oh, thanks for the offer. I’m not sure I’m going to stay.” I glance over at my friend and see storm clouds still in her eyes. I can’t let go of the feeling that something is bothering her, but she won’t tell me. Fuck knows I can’t force her to talk to me if she doesn’t want to. I can only assume she’ll come to me when she’s ready. All I can do is be ready to listen.
Several couples litter the beach the closer we get, upbeat rock music pumping through the massive speakers we use. I can see her sisters and their significant others on the outskirts of the party, but my legs suddenly feel heavier, leaded. I’m so preoccupied at trying to figure out a way to stall our arrival to her little group that I don’t even see the flash of yellow or the half-dressed woman before she’s squealing my name and throwing herself into my chest.
The impact of her sends me back a few steps, my hand dislodging from Abby’s. “I’ve been looking for you,” she coos loudly.
Crystal wraps her long legs around my waist and plants her lips squarely on mine. The shock of the moment leaves me completely motionless. I stand there like an idiot, unsure how in the hell I went from walking with Abby along the beach to having Crystal plastered against my chest and kissing me.
“Get a room,” someone yells, pulling my attention away from being kissed by someone I’m not really interested in making out with.
I pull back, Crystal’s smile wide and mischievous. That’s when I glance around and see Abby standing there, wide, stunned eyes trained directly on me. Her sisters are standing right behind her, their own faces showing displeasure and disgust. Shit! How did this happen?
Wiggling my body, I try to dislodge the woman attached to my chest like some sort of spider monkey, but when I do, she takes the move as more sexual, and purrs. Yeah, she actually fucking purrs like a cat and wiggles her barely-covered ass in my hands. Apparently I grabbed onto her when she launched herself at me.
Dropping my hands and grabbing her waist, I help remove Crystal from my body. She doesn’t go far, though, and practically plasters herself to my side. A lump rises in my throat and lodges firmly in my esophagus, blocking my airway. Guilt creeps up my back and smacks me upside the head. I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do. I’m not dating anyone, and if I wanted to bang Crystal fourteen ways to Sunday, that’s my business. But the fact that I don’t want to, and this little scene is happening in front of Abby and her family makes me feel guilty.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Great, I have a half-dressed woman plastered to my side, my best friend is across from me looking like I ran over her puppy, and I’m suddenly mute. Just fucking great.
“Can’t wait for later, Levi.” Crystal draws out my name like it’s sixteen syllables. The sound of her sexpot voice doesn’t turn me on the way it used to. Instead, I hear the whiny undertone, which is equivalent to nails on a chalkboard.
“Looks like you don’t need me to hang around,” Abby says to my left. When I glance at her, she’s wearing a big, bright smile–almost too bright. It’s plastered on her face perfectly, but it’s not real. I know Abby’s real smiles and that shit ain’t one of them. She glances over her shoulder and sees Dean. “Dean, you don’t mind dropping me off at home tonight, do you?” Her voice is soft and sweet like always, but it lacks authenticity.
“No problem, Abs,” he says while Payton kills me with eye daggers. Seriously, what the fuck did I do to her?
“All set. You can go home and entertain Crystal. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’m good. I’m all taken care of.” Quickly, before I can get a word in edgewise, she turns and grabs one of the drinks in Jaime’s hands and takes a long gulping pull. I’m not even sure she realizes what she’s drinking, but by the looks of it, she doesn’t care.
“Yay! You don’t have to babysit the little friend tonight,” Crystal says behind me.
My gut tightens and my body tenses. Abby stands statue-still. Shit, the air doesn’t even move. I’m pretty sure even the noise evaporates around us. Abby doesn’t even turn fully to face us; I can see the hurt on her beautiful face.
Without even thinking, I grab Crystal by the arm and pull her towards the stage. She’s shuffling beside me, teetering unsteadily on platform sandals. Who the fuck wears those kinda shoes to the beach? The guys are already on the stage, preparing for our final set of the night, when I move her just out of earshot.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask quietly.
“What?” she giggles, her blond hair flying in her face. I make no move to adjust the strands.
“That back there. Why would you treat Abby the way you did? I don’t babysit her,” I direct, my voice growing louder with agitation.
“Oh, come on, it was a little joke. Besides, everyone knows she has a crush on you. She follows you around like a lost puppy.” She giggles again, which just pisses me off that much more.
“Are you kidding? Follows me around? She’s my friend, dammit, and not that I owe you or anyone else in this town an explanation, but last time I checked, friends are allowed to do things together.”
“Okay,” Crystal says. She runs her hand up my chest once more, causing me to take a big step back.
“I gotta go. We’re supposed to be on,” I say, turning towards the stage.
I only get a few steps away when she adds, “I’ll wait for you after the show.”
I don’t even stop walking. “No thanks. I’ve got plans with Abby tonight.”
“But…” she starts, but I tune out the rest of her whining.
Back on stage, Gage instantly starts heckling me about where I was with Crystal. I don’t bother telling him I wasn’t with her because he sure as shit won’t believe me. He’s one of those guys who latches onto something and won’t let go. Like a dog with a bone, he’ll keep needling me until I give him the juicy details. Only this time, there are no details to give, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll just accuse me of keeping my dirty little secrets to myself. We’ve been down this road before.
Grabbing my guitar, I give it a quick tune, making sure everything is just right. Dexter starts tapping out the beat on his drums, and Andy and I join in on guitar. Gage belts out the opening notes of “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash and the crowd goes nuts. It’s not the typical rock music we usually play, but when we find a good song that the fans love and we enjoy playing, then we go with it.
After another two songs, it’s time to slow it down. Gage heads off stage to take a quick break, and I step up to the mic. I usually sing backup, but for three songs during our show, I take the reins and sing lead vocals. This song is one of them. It’s my favorite song to sing because it’s Abby’s song.
Way back when we were in grade school, I caught her humming it as we walked home from school. She was going to help me work on our Constitution assignment at her place, which happened every week or so. That particular day, she was quiet, lost in thought, so I let her be. Suddenly, she started humming, and it didn’t take me long to catch on to the tune. She had the voice of an angel, I remember thinking, and wanted to beg her to sing something for me. I had already discovered my love for music, but knowing that Abby shared this passion with me was like kismet. When I asked her about it, she just shied away and hid behind her books. I went home and started working on that song on my guitar. It took a while, but eventually, I got it down, and have been playing it ever since.
I start strumming the opening notes of Jeff Healey’s “Angel Eyes.” Continuing to play the song I know by heart, I scan the crowd until I see her, standing in the back, a soft smile on her face as she sings along to the song. Everything and everyone around us just fades away. It’s as if we’re the only two people on the beach. The way she watches me kicks my heart into overdrive, because I know, when it comes to this song, she only has eyes for me. Not that I want her eyes on me or anything. I mean, we are just friends. But if it were something more than friendship, then I’d be the luckiest son of a bitch to have her there with me.
Closing my eyes, I sing the words I’ve known by heart for fifteen years to my best friend. I can picture her out there saying the exact same words at the exact same time. We’ve sung this song together for years. Not publicly, of course, because she’d rather strip naked and do the chicken dance in the rain in the middle of Main Street than to get on stage and sing. In the privacy of her apartment or mine, we’ve belted out the words on several occasions. Abby actually has a beautiful voice. She just refuses to let anyone but me hear it.
When I reach the end of the second verse, I open my eyes and scan the crowd. She’s still there, standing in the same spot, watching me and singing along. I give her a knowing grin as I finish off the song strong, singing it for her. For her because she loves it, not because it means anything more than that. She’s my friend, remember? We’ve covered this.
Why does it feel like I’m completely full of shit?