CHAPTER SEVEN
Rebecca Dawn
“Follow me to the bathroom,” I say as Fringe enters the apartment. “That eye must hurt like a mofo.”
“Wait. I want to look around.”
“Later.”
“Now.” He laughs. “I’m a big boy. I can handle a little pain. ‘Sides, it’s not the first time.”
I shrug and step back, letting him go where he wants. He’s all wide-eyed and staring at everything. It’s annoying. He’s acting like some starstruck fan boy.
“So, what did happen to your eye?” I trail after him as he moves down the hallway.
“Where are they?” he asks like he didn’t even hear me.
“Huh? Where are what?”
He looks back at me with a devilish little smile. “The Icarus trilogy paintings. I’ve always wanted to see them.” He heads off again and I stop him. “What? Where are they? I mean, c’mon. Who wouldn’t want to see them? They’re famous. Brandon Fahr and three unnamed models rolling around in the act while covered in paint? Brilliant. He’s a genius.”
“Ummm, that’s my dad you’re talking about so… ewww.” I cover my eyes. “I don’t want to think about him like that, you know… fucking.”
Fringe laughs. “Like you haven’t seen them.”
“Yeah, well, duh. I wish I hadn’t seen them.”
“So show me.”
“You know,” I try to distract him, “Rachel St. Claire has a recording studio here.”
That stops him cold. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s not that big but it works for her when she’s practicing or doing demos and stuff.”
“Okay, that you have got to show me.” His eyes are lit up like sparklers on Canada Day and I’m reminded again of just how stunningly dreamy he is.
“Follow me.” I dash off, looking back at him and grinning.
“Oh, baby doll, you better not be screwing with me.” He laughs, amused, and runs after me.
Because Mom and Dad combined so many apartments into this one huge one, the place is kind of like a jigsaw puzzle. If you don’t know where you’re going, you can get turned around, maybe even lost. There’s even more than one way to get to some of the rooms. I think Dad worked with the architects and did it this way on purpose, the artist in him making our home a work of art.
I take Fringe through the twists and turns—Mom’s studio is all the way at the back—and he pokes his head into some of the rooms as we pass. I’m thankful that my parents’ bedroom door is closed—that’s where the Icarus paintings are.
“Stop dawdling.” I disappear around a corner and he sprints to catch up. “Here it is.” I stop and point to the glass-enclosed studio.
His mouth drops open.
“Don’t you look intelligent like that,” I tease.
He snaps his trap shut, slowly opens the door and steps inside.
He doesn’t waste any time and picks up one of several guitars on a large stand. It’s an acoustic, an older one of Mom’s. He holds it reverently for a moment, then tentatively strums it and winces.
“It’s out of tune.”
I’m kind of amazed he could tell so quickly. He seems distressed by this and I laugh. “So tune it.”
A slow smile spreads across his face and he pulls up a stool Mom sometimes sits on when singing. Leaning an ass cheek against it, he brings the guitar up and fiddles with the tuning pegs while the fingers of his other hand press on the strings. His forehead is creased in concentration. I’ve never seen him so, I don’t know, happy. He looks at home. I’ve seen that look a million times on Uncle Milo and Uncle David, countless other studio musicians, and even Mom.
“Can you see through that shiner?” I’m concerned that he’s letting his passion overrule common sense about that eye.
He nods absently, then answers in a quiet, almost singsong voice. “Sure can, baby doll. It’s all good.”
When he finishes tuning, the old acoustic sounds amazing.
“Play something.”
He doesn’t need a second invitation and adjusts his fingers on the strings. In only a few chords I recognize the song—one of Mom’s early megahits—and snort at his choice. I know the words and break into song.
Fringe looks up at me, startled, then smiles and joins me on the chorus. Together, we finish the song.
“Damn, baby doll, you got a set of pipes on you.”
I smile at the praise but shrug it off. “I sound too much like my mom.”
“Yeah, a little, but you definitely have your own sound. Your own unique voice.” He nods. “I like it.”
“Anyway…” I’m getting a little embarrassed and want to change the subject. “What’s the other guy look like?”
“Huh?”
“Who’d you get in a fight with?”
“Ohhh… it was nothing, really.”
Slapping my hand against my thigh, I whirl on him. I’ve had about enough of his sidestepping and keeping secrets.
“What the fuck, Fringe? Stop keeping all these secrets from me! I thought we shared everything!” I pause to take a breath and he’s too stunned to speak. “Do you know how stupid I felt when Divine told me how you performed like a rock star at Lucifer’s the other night? How the fuck did I not know that you write songs and can perform like that!”
“Whoa, where is this coming from?” He stands and settles the guitar back in its spot. Turning to me, he shrugs. “My dad sucker punched me when I opened the door to my apartment.”
“Aren’t we best friends? Don’t we tell each other every—” What he’s just said registers and diffuses all my anger. “Your dad did that?”
He sighs. “Yeah. Can we get out of here? I feel like I’m trespassing. Where’s your room?”
I nod and lead him quickly to my bedroom. It feels weird. He’s the first guy I’ve brought here and I have to remind myself he’s not my boyfriend. Besides, I don’t even know what the rules are about having a boy in my bedroom. It’s never come up. Surprise, Mom and Dad. I hold in a delicious giggle.
Fringe looks around and then flops down onto my twin bed with a smirk. “You know, for a tomboy, your room looks like it belongs to a girly princess.”
“Shut up,” I squeal in a high-pitched voice. “It does not!” But he’s right. I don’t do dresses or tea parties but my room is frilly, with lots of pink.
He reaches around, pulls a pink teddy bear out from under him and holds it out toward me. “Say again?” Laughing, he tosses it at me.
It drops to the floor and I scoop it up and flop onto the bed next to Fringe. “No, not Snugaboo!” I settle myself beside him and hold the bear out. “Apologize.”
He bursts into laughter. “Baby doll, I’m crazy in so many ways but I’m not crazy enough to apologize to a stuffed bear.”
I laugh and whack him with it. “I wasn’t serious, doofus.” I gently place Snugaboo on the floor. “Why’d your dad do that to you?”
He runs a hand through his sexy mess of hair and shrugs. “Why the fuck’s that prick do anything? He comes around once in a while looking for money. I give him some and he goes away.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly and lay a hand on his arm.
“S’okay. It’s not your fault.”
“I still don’t get why he punched you, though.”
“Because he’s an asshole.”
“You’re not telling me something.”
His eyes look tired and there’s tiny lines around them I haven’t noticed before. “And we’re not supposed to keep secrets, huh?” I nod and his expression says that he’s resigned himself to giving up the deets. “He’s in the club and he’s pissed at me for turning down the invite to join the Angels.” He frowns and his foot taps out a nervous beat on the bed. “No way in hell am I joining a dumbass motorcycle club. It’s not what I fucking want out of life.”
My heart breaks for him. What a crappy life, especially compared to mine. I complain… a lot, but I know my parents love me and would do anything in the world for me. I can’t imagine having a dad like Fringe’s.
“Change your lock, or move. He can’t force you.”
Fringe chuckles without enthusiasm. “If only it was that simple. No, he can’t force me but he can make my life miserable. I make my living fixing bikes. He might have enough clout to turn away all my business. Then what would I do?”
I know he’s not looking to me for the answers but I wish I had one for him anyway. Instead of offering him useless solutions, I just pat his arm and rest my head against his shoulder.
That’s when Mom’s head appears at the doorway.
We scramble off the bed like we’ve been caught robbing the place.
“Raven, are you—” She’s stunned, her green eyes flashing dangerously. I’m guessing I’m about to find out what the rules are about having boys in my room. “Who is this?” She takes a couple of steps over the threshold, hands planted on her hips.
“Hey, Mom.” I try for nonchalance but I’m not sure I’m pulling it off. “This is Fringe, my friend. I told you about him.”
She looks from him to me then back to him with a true Mom glare. I can’t help wondering if he’s about to be turned into dust and half stifle a laugh.
“Is something funny, Raven?”
She’s pissed way out of proportion to what she walked in on—which was nothing—but I’m grateful when Fringe steps up and takes the heat off me.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Fahr.” He holds out his hand to her. “Real sorry if we startled you.” She doesn’t make a move to shake his hand, and after a moment, he drops it back down to his side. “I was, ah, just leaving.”
“Hmm.” She nods, frowning.
“Mom! He was not.” I can’t believe how she’s treating him. “Fringe, stay, okay. Stay for dinner?”
“Nah, that’s alright. Maybe another time when you’ve given your mom some advance notice?” He nods to my mom then steps carefully around her and out of the room. “I’ll catch ya later, cool?”
“Yeah.” I sigh and follow him to the door, Mom trailing behind me.
He offers a little awkward wave and leaves.
Staring at the closed door, anger and disappoint war within me. I do a quick one-eighty and race back to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.